The toilet flushed like thunder in the silence. His upper lip was crusted with dried snot; he scrubbed it off and rinsed his mouth several times. In the mirror he saw a haggard, red-eyed madman.
His son's door was still closed as he stepped out of the bathroom. He left it that way, and went to bed.
49
The alarm went off at seven, sawing at his ears like a cheese grater. He hit the snooze button and repeated the process nine minutes later. Then again. Then again.
At 7:30 he staggered into the living room and called in sick. He was lucky enough to get Justin's voicemail. That was good. He didn't want to talk to him.
He thought about going back to bed, but knew it wouldn't do any good. He stayed on the couch instead, staring blankly at the TV as the curtains over the windows slowly started glowing with daylight.
Justin would be pissed when he got the voicemail. Wonder if I'll still have a job on Monday. Ian remembered Billi telling him to look into FMLA. Maybe if he qualified for that, Justin wouldn't be able to fire him. He idly considered Googling it, but that would mean going downstairs.
His listless gaze strayed away from the jumble of images on the TV to the hallway, half expecting to find Alex there, but it was empty. For both of their sakes, he hoped the boy was gone.
Some channel was playing an all-day marathon of the Simpsons' Halloween shows, and he realized dully that Halloween was Sunday already. Gotta get some candy. He remembered Alex's first Halloween, and how amazed he and Alina had been that the kid seemed to know exactly what to do. His mastery of the phrase "Trick or Treat" had come faster than "I'm hungry" or "I love you". After two houses had given him candy, he was running to the next one.
He shook off the memory, stood up, and went to make breakfast.
50
At Target, he picked up four bags of candy (two Sour Patch Kids, one Snickers, and one Almond Joy), various supplies for the house, and a few more frozen pizzas. He wasn't much of a cook, but on a lark he also stopped at the grocery store and bought a raw steak and a baking potato.
His back seat remained empty for the entire trip.
He stopped off at home, made a quick lunch, and put the groceries away. He couldn't see the door to Alex's room most of the time, but when he stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall, he drew up short, staring at it.
That door had been open for months, ever since Alina moved out. To see it closed now felt wrong. He didn't like closed doors. He always left the doors to the bedroom and bathroom open - the only doors in the house that he normally left closed were the ones in the basement. A part of him wanted to open this one again, even if just a crack.
He remembered playing hide and seek, opening the cellar pantry. He left the door closed.
Just to be out of the house, he left again that afternoon. It was a cold, clear October day. He drove around aimlessly, his mind wandering. It was hard not to think about Alex, but he also thought about work. He thought about Sheila leaning over his lap, and the curve of her breasts. She'd done that on purpose, he was pretty sure, but not because she had any interest in him. She'd wanted to prove that she could do what she wanted, and he wouldn't have the backbone to stop her. It was a stupid power game, but he'd lost.
Alina had never done anything like that when they were dating, in college. He wondered if it was something all women recognized as an option: using their sexuality to get their way. It seemed like a dangerous way to live. He knew there were men who wouldn't tolerate it, who would think of it as cock-teasing.
That was one of the things that had so attracted him to Alina. They had never played games. They'd always been straight with each other.
He saw the library ahead on the right, and decided to stop. In the parking lot, he pulled out his phone and texted her. -Thinking of you. I love you.- He didn't know if he was supposed to do that. He had never been estranged before. She wasn't living at home, but they weren't divorced. He knew they had some things to work through. And yes, a lot of it was his own shit. But he was sure they could do it.
The truth was, he would go to counseling if that's what he needed to do to get things under control. Shauna annoyed the bejesus out of him, but he could see why Alina wanted him to go. He used to know how to handle his temper. He could do it again. He could be the man his wife fell in love with.
In the library, Ian used one of the public computers to Google "FMLA". He'd be eligible for up to twelve weeks of unpaid leave if he had a "serious health condition" that made him unable to do his job. That sounded like cancer, or something. Not grieving.
He was pretty sure the company would argue that his situation fell under the corporate policy on bereavement leave. Under that policy, when his son had died, he had received three days off. According to Smartlink, that was enough. Get your ass back to work.
Jesus, it pissed him off. He'd seen the soulless machine at work before. But the contrast between Alex - his vitality, his joy, his boundless enthusiasm for life - and the grey, iron gaze of Ian's employer was just staggering. Weren't the Smartlink executives human beings? Did any of them have children, did they understand that losing your only child was like having your heart torn from your chest? How could someone become so caught up in profits and the need to oil the machine that they no longer cared when the brightest points of light in the world were snuffed out?
"Kal can take six weeks for depression," he remembered Billi saying, "and I'm pretty sure that was all bullshit."
He printed out the page and took it home with him.
51
The house was empty and quiet when he got back.
He set the books he'd checked out on the dining room table and went to the bathroom. Coming out, he saw that Alex's door was still closed. He kept expecting to find it open.
Is he still in there? he wondered. Is he sitting there right now, waiting for me to come find him?
But if he was, he was being quiet. That in itself was strange enough that it seemed to rule out the possibility. Or maybe there really was a light, and he really found it.
Maybe I actually helped him.
A warm glow blossomed in his chest. It felt right, somehow, that notion. Maybe that was even the reason Alex had come back. It was horrible, what he had gone through. Maybe he just hadn't been able to escape it, and he had just needed to hear from his Daddy that it was over. That he was safe now, and it was okay to go on.
Ian shook his head, let out a breath of disbelief. It sounded like something from a stupid primetime drama, one of those supernatural ones that took itself far too seriously.
All the same, the warm glow didn't go away.
52
The steak wasn't gourmet, but it wasn't a total fuck-up, either. The hardest part was seasoning the thing. He wasn't sure what was best, so he just used a little seasoning salt and pepper. For good measure, he sprinkled on some italian seasoning. He considered the paprika, but that didn't seem appropriate.
As he brought the dishes back into the kitchen, his phone buzzed with a text message from Alina.
-I love you too. See you Wed.-
He wondered what she had done today. Worked, probably. What were her plans for the weekend? Was she finding her life easier without him?
He carried the phone back into the living room. The message said I love you too. Because of that, he was able to let the other questions go.
53
"Hey, it's me."
"Hey, what's going on?"
"Nothin. Called in sick today."
"Nice."
Ian chuckled. "Raid on for tonight?"
"Yeah, planning on it." The creak of furniture as Derek twisted to see the clock. "Like an hour, I think? We're starting invites at seven."
"Got room for a tank?"
"You coming?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"Then we will make room."
Ian smiled. "Don't... kick anyone out or anything."
"Nah, I mean I know we have cancellations. We'll make the tank part work ou
t."
"Sweet." He wondered whether to say anything else.
"How... is everything?"
Ian let out a long breath. "Okay. I mean, not great. I don't know if I'll ever be able to say again that things are good. I know that sounds... what? Fatalistic? But I can't say it." Silence. "It just seems dishonest."
"That's fair."
"I had another one of those dreams last night."
"About Alex?"
"Yeah."
Derek waited.
"It's like I was seeing him after he was kidnapped. His arms and legs were taped together. He was... calling for me. Calling for help. I couldn't get to him. Of course."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. But I told him it was over. That... you know, because he was gone, the ugly part was over. The guy who took him can't hurt him anymore. I told him he was safe now, and he just had to let go. To go on."
A pause. "What happened?"
"Well, I haven't -" Ian stopped himself. He was about to say, I haven't seen him all day. "I mean, there was no light for him to go into or anything. But he left. I think... I don't know, it sounds stupid, but I think he might be okay."
"Doesn't sound stupid to me."
"Yeah. I hope you're right."
"'More things in heaven and earth,'" Derek said. "I don't know what's out there, but I know a good thing when I hear it. So should you."
"Yeah." Ian tasted the idea that Alex was okay in some kind of afterlife. That he'd been through hell, but it was over; and that he had forgiven his father.
It was good. He smiled a little bit. "All right. See you at seven."
54
The raid was fun, and distracting. His skills at tanking had atrophied in the seven months or more since he had last played, but his online friends were too happy to see him to really give him any grief about it. It felt comforting to get the private whispers welcoming him back, to receive the blithe assurances from people he'd never met in real life that they'd missed him. To participate in something so trivial, with people who took it so seriously.
When his screen went dark between loading screens, its depths reflected the closed door behind him. It only caught him by surprise once. Every time after that, he just closed his eyes for a few seconds until the game's display came back.
They finished up around eleven. Ian thanked the raid for bringing him, sent Derek a separate message to thank him, and logged off. He went upstairs without looking at the utility room door.
He considered grabbing a snack and watching some infomercials to ease the tension in his neck (it cramped a bit sometimes while he played), but opted against it. He didn't want to spend tonight the same way he had spent so many other nights. Tonight had been different. Tonight he hadn't been alone, or tormented. Tonight he could imagine playing online again, excelling at work again, having Alina home again. He went to bed right away, instead, daring to imagine that he could recover.
He was in that twilight place between sleeping and awareness, where the edges of mundane thought just start to bleed into dreaming, when Alex screamed.
55
Ian's body seized. His eyes shot open and he stared upwards, into the dark and the silence, heart hammering. The red gaze of his alarm clock glimmered on the wall. The blurry shape of the ceiling fan crouched above him. He waited for the second scream, the one that would confirm it hadn't been a nightmare. His nightmares had woken him more than once since Alex had been taken. Maybe -
"DAD-DEEEEEEEEE!”
He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting his own sudden urge to scream. Grabbed his pillow and clamped it against his ears.
"DAD-DEEEEEEEEE!" The pillow didn't help. "IT'S TOO DARK! DAD-DEEEE! OPEN THE DOOR!"
Ian jumped out of bed, ran into the hall, grabbed the knob on his son's door.
"DADDY! IT'S TOO DARK!”
His hand clenched the knob, but he didn't turn it. He wanted to throw the door open and scream, or throw the door open and comfort his son. He wanted to run outside, right now, and get away.
He'd thought he was done. He'd thought he really made a difference.
"DAD-DEEEEEEEEE -"
"Alex!" he barked through the door. The screaming stopped. He didn't know what to say next. He had just needed that screaming to stop.
Through the door he heard sobbing. It wasn't the same as the noises Alex had made the night before. It was heart-rending, yes. But it was bearable.
"Alex," he said again, less sharply. "Why are you crying?"
"Be - be - be -" The boy stammered over his words, choking on tears. "Because you - you - you closed the door!"
We warned you, Alex. You knew if you kept playing instead of going to sleep like you were supposed to, that we would close the door. But he said, "Alex, do you remember what we talked about last night?"
Silence.
"This isn't a place for you, anymore. Do you remember?"
Quiet sobbing.
"You need to go on to the next place. Remember? You're too sad here, and you need to go on. You'll be happier -"
"Dad - Dad -" Huge, gulping breaths. "Daddy?"
"Yes?"
Alex's voice trembled as he fought to keep it under control. "May you open the door, please?"
Ian winced, felt tears burning down his cheeks. This had been hard for him when it had been real - he and Alina had constantly reminded each other that Alex had to learn that bedtime meant bedtime. They weren't flaying the flesh from his bones as his cries would seem to indicate; they were merely closing his door so he didn't have light to play by. They were in the right, they were the parents, and teaching him to go to sleep at night was their job, however difficult he might make it -
But that logic was obsolete. Alex was still in the dark, still screaming for his father, but the nightmares that must plague that darkness now...!
He turned the knob, nearly pushed the door open - and remembered caving to his son in life.
All right, Alex. Listen to me. We'll leave the door open a crack. Okay? But you have to go to sleep. No more playing. It is really late, you need your sleep, and Mommy and Daddy have to work in the morning. Do you understand?
And five minutes later the boy had been out of bed again, racing Donnie in the tiny strip of light from the cracked doorway.
The stakes were higher now. But the methods were the same.
"Alex, I can't do that."
From the other side of the door came a guttural moan that slowly crescendoed to a wail.
"You need to find another way. Look, like I told you. Look for a light, or another way to... to go on. There has to be something."
"DAD-DEEEEEE!"
Ian lurched into the living room and turned on the TV.
56
He steadfastly ignored his son's screams. He thought about going downstairs, to see if it was quieter, but couldn't bear the thought of those cries echoing through the floor so close to the room where he had seen Alex getting raped.
After an hour, he threw on his coat and left through the front door. Standing on the porch, his breath pluming in the frozen air, he waited and heard nothing. But it was too cold to stay outside, and when he went back in the cries resumed.
He curled into a ball on the couch and turned up the TV until the music and the voices from the speakers crackled with distortion, and still he heard Alex shrieking in the snatches of silence between commercials. At 2:30 he put his coat back on, got in his car, and drove.
Alex didn't follow him. Ian turned on the radio and listened to whatever was on, his mind racing, his soul raw.
He can't keep doing this. He can't.
I have to figure out a way to tell him. He has to understand. There has to be something to convince him.
He thought again about séances and exorcists, Ouija boards and psychics.
The lights of oncoming cars on 169 mesmerized him. They looked like a river of souls, flowing to heaven. They were running past him, the other way. He was in a different river - the one filled with red lights, the one going to h
ell.
The scream of a horn jerked him awake as he started drifting across the lane marker and into another car. He wrenched the wheel back and managed not to crash.
He got back home just as dawn broke. The house was quiet. He collapsed on the couch, and slept.
57
He woke at ten, and again at noon. Each time he struggled to get up as a brick of exhaustion behind his eyes dragged him down. Each time he surrendered to it, and fell into the grey.
When he woke the next time, the light from the curtains was starting to die. His bladder drove him from the couch, and once he was up, the jagged kink in his neck made him recoil from the thought of going back to it.
He couldn't stand to stay in the house so he drove away, wincing at the pain in his neck every time he had to check his mirror. Alex left him alone, and somehow he ended up at the mall where he and Alina used to come to walk.
His stomach grumbled as he parked, but he didn't get anything to eat. Instead he just wandered the broad halls, shuffled past the other shoppers, surrounded by people but completely alone. He passed a store that sold Ouija boards and stared at one in the window, wondering if its arcane face would let Alex speak in plain language instead of always aping things he had said in life. The hand-written price tag said $17.50. He bought it.
When the mall closed he threw the board in his trunk and thought about calling Derek, or Alina, or his mom. Then he went home, ate a banana, and tried to go to bed, hoping to get his sleep schedule back to something resembling normal before work on Monday.
Alex started screaming around eleven.
58
Ian stood in the empty hallway of his empty house, outside a closed door, and spoke.
"Alex, I know what you're trying to do."
"Dad-dy!"
"I know you want me to open the door so you can keep talking to me in the car, and in the living room, and try to get me to read books with you. Right?"
Screeching. A tantrum to tear down the heavens.
"But you're still not listening to me." God, his head hurt. Exhaustion bulged at the backs of his eyes. His ability to keep his voice level astounded him. Thinking back, though, it always had. Short of an occasional snap or sharp outburst, he had never had trouble keeping his temper with his son. Even reasoning had always seemed to work best, and Alex was the one person on earth that Ian had always been able to stay level with. He didn't want to hurt him. He didn't want him to feel unloved or disliked. But he still had to teach Alex how to behave, and that meant administering the rules firmly but dispassionately.
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