Stranger in the House

by MacDonald, Patricia

  Thomas turned away from the family and stared vacantly across the street. They are probably back from the doctor’s by now, he thought. All morning he had found himself wondering, with an intensity that surprised him, what might be discovered wrong with Paul. He did not like to think of Anna’s dealing with bad news, if bad news it was, by herself. He realized, with a sickening sense of guilt that his leaving last night had probably robbed her of her sleep. She would be exhausted today. He could picture the weariness in her eyes. You wanted to punish her, he reminded himself. And it was true that last night he felt she deserved it. But with the morning had come the old impulse to hover near her.

  He opened his briefcase, and pulled out his cell phone, weighing it in his hand. He could just give Anna a quick call, to ask about Paul, he thought. Then from the corner of his eye he saw Gail mounting the steps to where he stood, watching him. There was a flat package under her arm and she was tearing a piece off a giant pretzel. Thomas slid the phone back into his briefcase. If Gail had noticed him holding the phone, she didn’t mention it. She held out the pretzel to him, but Thomas shook his head.

  “That saleswoman was infuriating,” said Gail. “I thought she’d never get off the phone.”

  Thomas nodded. “Persistence won the day, I see.”

  Gail handed him the box and he tapped it against his thigh. “I guess we should be getting back,” he said.

  Gail nodded and they started off together down the steps. He could sense that she was studying him, hoping that he had enjoyed their outing. He did not want to hurt her, but he could not seem to shake the melancholy mood that had descended on him. I’m hardly the picture, he thought, of a man on the town with his new mistress. He wondered if he was not so distracted whether he could concentrate on her.

  “There’s a nice little Italian place in my neighborhood,” said Gail brightly. “Does that sound like fun for dinner?”

  “Sounds nice,” he said with a forced enthusiasm.

  Gail’s high heels clacked on the stone as they descended the steps. A little farther down the sidewalk, she spotted a wire trash basket about five feet away from them. With a flick of her wrist she tossed the remains of her uneaten pretzel dead center into the trash.

  Thomas squeezed her arm and smiled.

  “College basketball,” she admitted with a rueful smile.

  Thomas shook his head. “You’re a marvel,” he said. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

  Gail did not answer but flashed a cheery, uncomplicated smile as she slipped her arm through his and held his forearm in a firm grip.

  “Cutchee, cutchee, coo,” crooned the proud grandfather, and his breath formed a cloud on the plate glass window in front of him. Gus deBlakey waved energetically and beamed at the newborn, swathed in a soft blanket, which the nurse in a face mask held up for his inspection. The wails of the other babies were muffled by the window pane as they flailed their miniature red fists and feet drunkenly against the sides of their little beds. Gus’s infant grandson blinked and yawned but did not cry as the nurse showed him off.

  “What a good little fella. Yes, you are,” Gus exulted, his face distorted by a besotted grin, his eyes disappearing into crinkles. “You’re a little angel, just a perfect little angel.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. deBlakey?”

  Gus turned away reluctantly from the window and faced the handsome, neatly dressed man beside him. “That’s me,” he said. “Hey, does one of these belong to you?”

  Buddy Ferraro shook his head, and Gus turned back for a last look as the nurse replaced the baby in the little bed. The child started to wail with his nursery mates as he was released onto the sheet.

  “Have a stogie,” said Gus, reaching into the pocket of his work shirt and fishing out a cigar. “His father’s out on the road in his rig, so Grandpa gets to do the honors for him.” He pressed the cigar on Buddy, who took it and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. deBlakey, but I need to talk to you.”

  Gus peered at Buddy with pursed lips. “Another cop,” he said with resignation.

  “I stopped by the motel a while ago, and the chambermaid said I could find you here.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Gus, biting off the tip of a cigar ferociously and spitting it into the palm of his hand.

  “That Rambo character again. What a mess this turned out to be.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Buddy agreed. Gus shot one longing look back at the babies, who twisted and yawned in their newborn slumber. It took him a moment to locate his pride and joy. “Isn’t he cute?” he asked.

  “Fine boy,” Buddy assented.

  “All right,” Gus muttered. “Come on outside. Can’t smoke in here.” Waving his cigar, Gus led the way out to the hall and down the corridor to the waiting room. “I thought I told you guys everything there was to tell,” Gus grumbled, but Buddy detected the familiar note of authority which being a witness to a crime often conferred.

  “I’m not from Kingsburgh,” Buddy explained. “I’m from Stanwich, where the Langes live.”

  “Oh,” said Gus, shaking his head. “That was something. Well, what do you want to know?”

  Now that Buddy had the man’s attention, he was not precisely sure what he wanted from him. He could not fully accept the idea that Rambo’s death was a suicide for two reasons. One was his gut reaction, which simply made him uneasy. The other, more specific reason was his own observation that Albert Rambo had dyed his hair on the day of his suicide. Despite all the other evidence of suicide, Buddy was plagued by that fact. He could not understand why any man, even a crazy man like Rambo, would dye his hair just before taking his own life, and then carefully save the remaining dye in his suitcase. It didn’t make sense and it was making Buddy lose sleep. He was supposed to be on his way, right now, up to Mark’s college, but he had kept his family waiting while he decided to make another stab at the motel owner’s memory.

  “I’m trying to find out if by chance Rambo had any other visitors, if anything suspicious happened while he was staying at your place.”

  “Nope,” said Gus. “The only one was the Lange woman. That I know of.”

  “Did you see any automobiles you didn’t recognize in the area or anything like that?”

  “Hey, mister,” said Gus, “it’s a motel. There’s always cars there I don’t know.”

  “What about when you went through the room?” Buddy persisted.

  “Nothing,” said Gus. “Anyhow, the police made a list of everything he left in that room. They kept all his stuff. They’ll probably let you look at it.”

  “I’ve looked at it,” said Buddy with a sigh.

  “Well.” Gus shrugged. “I wish I could help you.”

  “I know,” said Buddy, “I know. Look, I’ve got to go away for a few days, take my son up to college, but I’ll give you this card. It has my name and my number at the police station in Stanwich.” Buddy had reached into his wallet and extracted a card, which Gus took and studied. Then Gus slipped it into his pocket.

  “If you think of anything, even if it seems stupid or unimportant, would you just give me a call?”

  “Sure, I’ll call you,” said Gus, “although I don’t know why you’d care about this guy after what he done to that kid. I say good riddance.”

  “I guess I’ve just been following him for so long I can’t quite give up on it so easily.” Buddy grimaced and then walked away.

  14

  A half-eaten tuna fish sandwich lay on the plate with a couple of potato chips beside it. Anna picked up the plate and put it on the counter beside the sink. At first, when they got home from the doctor’s, Paul had said he wasn’t hungry, but when she put the sandwich in front of him, he had managed to eat some of it. Then he had gone upstairs to rest.

  I’m going to fatten you up, Anna thought. That’s my next project now that I know you’re all right. All right. She felt a thrill of happiness at the doctor’s verdict, which had finally begun
to register. He was going to be fine. Her strong, healthy son. And now that Rambo was dead, there was nothing more to fear from that quarter. For a moment Anna rested against the sink, counting her blessings. Her son was safe. She could stop worrying, despite what Thomas had said. Stop worrying and concentrate on putting her life back together.

  A faint sound from the front of the house drew her attention. Tiptoeing through the dining and living room, she walked to the foot of the stairs and put her hand on the banister. She strained her ears to listen for him, but all was silent from the rooms above. He’s all right, she repeated to herself. He’s going to be fine. For a moment she wondered how Thomas would feel if he knew. She felt a sudden weakness, a need to share the news with him.

  She stopped by the phone in the foyer, her hand hovering above the receiver. It would be a way to open up communication with him and to let him know that she still wanted to share her life with him. Then she remembered what he had said about Paul: that he was a stranger.

  Shaking her head, Anna turned away from the phone and walked resolutely to the kitchen. She went over to the sink and with a fork began to scrape the sandwich and prod it through the garbage disposal, followed by the chips. She didn’t really like using the garbage disposal. She hated the idea of those teeth inside her sink, so powerful that they could twist a piece of silverware like a coil of clay. But Tom had insisted on it when they had the kitchen redone a few years back, to make life easier for her. She sighed and shoved the last of the food through the rubber sleeve into the disposal. Then she turned on the water and flipped the switch.

  The disposal went to work, its harsh din making Anna flinch, as it always did. She had seen forks tied into knots by that thing. She hated to think what it could do to human fingers. She noticed that a corner of bread was still in the sink. Gingerly she pushed it toward the opening of the disposal, ready to jerk her hand back as soon as it disappeared. Suddenly she felt a hand clap down on her shoulder, pushing her forward. She cried out, bracing herself against the sink.

  Edward Stewart drew back his hand apologetically and tried to shout her name above the racket. Regaining her balance, Anna leaned over and turned off the switch with a trembling hand.

  “Edward!” Anna exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest as if to calm her heartbeat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “The front door was open.”

  “Oh,” she said, exhaling a deep breath. “I was daydreaming. Here, sit down, sit down.” She cleared a pile of clean, folded dishtowels off one of her kitchen chairs and glanced at her guest, who was wearing a business suit. Seeing him sitting there in her kitchen unnerved her somewhat. It was the first time in their years as neighbors that Edward had come calling on his own.

  “Aren’t you working today?” she asked.

  “There was very little that needed my attention, so I came home.”

  Anna nodded, although she knew very well that Edward was a driven man, who spent as much time as possible at the office. She and Tom sometimes wondered when he and Iris ever saw each other.

  “Anna,” he said, “I came by to make sure that everything here was all right. I read the ghastly news in the paper this morning about that man’s hanging himself and you finding his body.”

  So that was it, Anna thought, both surprised and touched by his concern. Even the unflappable Edward had been shocked by this latest turn of events. Perhaps he was human after all. “It has been harrowing,” she admitted. “It was so nice of you to come by.”

  “I…we had no idea you had been contacted by that monster,” Edward said. “Whatever did he want?”

  Anna rubbed her eyes with her hands. “Oh…this whole thing. He came up to me in the parking lot at the shopping center. Sunday, I guess it was.”

  “Sunday,” Edward murmured, mentally calculating, “the day of our party.”

  “He said that he had something to tell me about Paul, that Paul was in some kind of danger. And he wanted money for the information.”

  “Good Lord,” Edward said.

  “I know,” said Anna. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything? A beer or a soda or something?”

  “No, nothing,” said Edward quickly. “Was that all he told you?”

  “I begged him to tell me more, but he wouldn’t.”

  Edward felt like laughing with relief, but he kept his expression grave. “But why did you go? Why didn’t you just call the police?”

  “Well, to be honest, I had had my own suspicions that there was something wrong.”

  Edward jerked forward in his chair. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “About Paul. He hasn’t been…well, he’s been ill, as you know. That incident at your house was not the only time. He’s had these blinding headaches, nightmares. Ever since he got…home.”

  “How terrible. But then the man was dead when you got there. He wasn’t able to tell you any more.”

  “No,” Anna admitted. “It was quite a shock. But I took Paul to the doctor this morning, and Dr. Derwent did a number of tests on him. He hasn’t got all the results yet, but the doctor seemed to feel Paul is all right, that there is nothing serious to worry about.”

  “You must be relieved.”

  “I am,” said Anna. “I am. It’s a great relief.”

  “Well,” said Edward, “it’s probably best to just get life back to normal.” He stood up from his chair. Please tell the boy that I stopped by to see about him.”

  “I will,” Anna assured him. She found his interest in Paul peculiar, but rather endearing, as if she were seeing a side of him that she had never known existed. She had always assumed that the Stewarts were childless by choice. Edward’s choice. Now, for a moment, she wondered about it.

  “And remember,” he said, “if you ever need anything, you can call on us. Iris and I are always—”

  A wretched cry cut through their conversation. Anna lunged for the staircase. “It’s Paul,” she cried.

  “What’s wrong?” Edward asked.

  Anna was already taking the stairs two at a time. Edward followed her up the steps, his breathing heavy.

  Anna ran down the hall and threw open the door to her son’s room. Paul lay, fully clothed, on top of the bedspread, whimpering and letting out intermittent moans. Anna sat down on the bed beside him and took one of his clammy hands in hers. With her free hand she pushed the damp hair back off his forehead. The boy’s eyes were open but glassy and unseeing. Anna began to murmur to him.

  Edward tiptoed up behind her. “Is he awake?” he asked in a whisper. Paul’s whole head swiveled toward the sound of Edward’s voice as if he were blind.

  “What was it?” Anna murmured. “Was it a dream?”

  Paul’s vacant eyes rested on Edward’s face for a moment. Then, all at once, he began to howl like an animal in a trap. He struggled to free himself from Anna’s hands, crawling away from her over the bed. “Help me,” he cried. “Help.” The word was barely recognizable, croaked out in a frantic voice.

  “It’s all right,” Anna said soothingly. “It’s all right.”

  The boy scrambled back and grabbed the bedpost, his dazed eyes locked to Edward’s face as he cried out, “Help me, don’t leave me.”

  “Paul,” Anna cried, grabbing his wrists and shaking him, “wake up now. Stop it.” Intent on her son, Anna did not notice her visitor standing behind her. Like a man facing a rattler, Edward began to inch backward, his eyes trained on the dangerous beast in front of him.

  “Please, Paul,” Anna pleaded.

  The boy’s head rolled back, and he went limp in her grip. He seemed to awaken. He blinked at Anna and then relaxed against the headboard. “What’s going on?” he said. She released her hold on his wrists.

  “You had a dream…again.”

  “Oh,” groaned Paul. He crawled slowly off the bed. “Oh. Oh, yeah,” he said. “I remember.”

  “What do you dream of that scares you so?” Anna asked.

  Paul walked over to the bureau and loo
ked in the mirror. He began to flatten his unruly hair down with his hands, and then he pressed his palms to his forehead, his face screwed into a grimace. “It’s always the same.”

  “Can you remember it?”

  “I remember a part of it. I know I’m lying on the ground. And there’s this big black mass coming toward me, and there’s a big golden bird flying over me, swooping down on me. It’s got its claws out like it’s hunting.”

  “Is that it?” asked Anna.

  “No. There’s something else. A man coming toward me. Leaning over me. Sometimes I think this really happened!” he exclaimed, surprised at his own words.

  “What’s the man doing?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s going to hurt me. I know that. And I can almost see his face, but not quite.”

  Paul shivered and then shook his head. “Every time I get to sleep…”

  “It must be something troubling,” Anna observed, “if it keeps waking you up like that. You really gave us a scare,” said Anna.

  The boy looked at her. “Who’s us?”

  “Mr. Stewart and I…” said Anna, turning around. She stopped, seeing that Edward was no longer in the room. “I guess he left. He probably saw how upset you were and didn’t want to intrude. He seems very concerned about you, Paul.”

  “Yeah.” The boy nodded. In the hallway Edward could hear their voices perfectly, but he could not move. His arms felt stuck to his sides with sweat, and his heart was hammering within his chest, so hard that he was having trouble breathing. He felt the need to urinate and a twisting in his stomach that made him feel faint.

  He wondered, as he listened to Anna soothe the boy, why he had not realized it before. He had been so preoccupied with Rambo that he had not really considered the boy. But just because the child had not remembered him yet did not mean that he never would. And if the memory surfaced and he blurted it out…Edward felt a tightening in his chest at the thought. Anna was a fanatic on the subject of that child. Everyone in town knew it. If he were to be accused by that urchin, she would never let it rest. She would pursue it to the bitter end and see him ruined before she was satisfied.