The Edge of Sleep jb-3

by David Wiltse

  Dee selected a large McDonald’s that featured a lighted outdoor playground. Despite the lateness of the hour there were a few young children running around the slides and seesaws. Harried mothers, taking a break from a long ride, stood nearby, watching their kids and hoping that this burst of energy would tire them sufficiently that they would sleep the rest of the way to their destinations.

  Bobby and Ash ate in the car, consuming the food that Dee had brought them while she joined the mothers by the playground. Bobby devoured his dinner ravenously, deciding on the first scent of fried hamburger to postpone his plans until his hunger was assuaged.

  “She’s talking about you,” Ash said.

  Bobby looked up from his paper cup of french fries to see Dee chatting with two women. Her manner was very animated and she gesticulated frequently. He recognized the mood: it was the one that he feared most, the one in which she was the most unpredictable.

  “How do you know?”

  “She’s bragging about you,” Ash said. There was ketchup on Ash’s chin and Bobby involuntarily wiped his own face. “She’s very proud of you.”

  Bobby saw Dee pointing toward the car. Her face was beaming. She seemed so happy. He had never understood what there was about him that made her so happy.

  Dee waved at them and Ash waved back.

  “Wave,” he said under his breath. “Wave happy.”

  Bobby waggled his hand and smiled. Dee waved more energetically and said something to the women with her. They, too, waved at the car as if impelled to do so by Dee’s energy alone.

  Then Dee’s wave turned into a sign of beckoning and Bobby heard Ash suck in his breath.

  “She wants us,” Bobby said.

  He felt Ash’s huge hand grip his leg.

  “Be careful,” Ash said.

  “Sure.”

  “No, no. Be careful.”

  Bobby started to open the door, but Ash held him back. ‘Tommy,” he said. “Don’t run.”

  Bobby feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”

  Ash looked into his eyes, pleading. “Don’t run.”

  “She wants us,” Bobby said. “Better let me go. Ash, or Dee’ll get mad at you.”

  “Please,” Ash said.

  “I’m not going to run,” Bobby said. “Why would I run?”

  “Don’t disappoint her,” Ash said, his tone imploring.

  Ash kept a hand on the boy and slid across the seat to exit through the same door. They were out of the car and Dee was gesturing frantically.

  “Come here. Tommy! Come here!”

  Bobby started toward her and felt Ash’s grip tighten again. The big man leaned down, his face close to Bobby’s. Bobby could see the whiskers already sprouting from Ash’s cheeks even though he had shaved earlier. Several longer hairs, black and wiry, rode the crest of his cheekbones, permanently untrimmed.

  “Please, Bobby.” Ash whispered. It was the first time Bobby had heard his real name used since he had been taken. “Please don’t run away.”

  Bobby stared at Ash for a moment as the depth and sincerity of the big man’s plea finally sunk in. At last he nodded and Ash released him. Bobby walked toward the women, where Dee continued to beckon and urge him on like a puppy.

  “Here he is, here’s my darling boy,” Dee exclaimed. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

  The women leaned over and clucked approvingly, regarding him as Dee did, as if he were much younger, as young as their own children playing behind them.

  “I’m so proud of him,” Dee said, embracing him. She pulled him against her bosom, kissed the top of his head again and again. “Why don’t you go play with the other children now, darling?” she said. Bobby knew it was not a request.

  He walked into the sand-covered enclosure and looked at it contemptuously. It was all too young for him. She thought he was a baby. He could barely fit on the slide, his weight on one end of the seesaw would keep any of the other children suspended in the air all night.

  Dee had turned her attention back to the other mothers. They spoke of something and Dee burst into laughter, dragging them with her, puzzled by her energy, intimidated by her enthusiasm.

  Ash hovered in the middle distance, watching, his attention roving back and forth between Dee and Bobby. Dee had not introduced him, had made no mention of him whatsoever to the women, and they glanced at him now with misgivings, a hulking man, shabbily dressed. There was something not quite right about him, they could see that, a certain slowness of movement, the look of lagging comprehension on his face. Since he, too, came with a child, they were not prepared to declare him dangerous, but both women instinctively shifted their bodies, keeping themselves between Ash and their children.

  Bobby found himself in a cage. The playground was fenced in, a safe place for two- and three- and four-year-olds to be contained while their parents consumed McDonald’s fare. There was nowhere to go but back through the gate by which he had entered. He could try to scale the fence, which came only to eye level, but he was certain Ash would get to him before he reached the top. Whom could he yell to? The women with Dee?

  He sat disconsolately on the swing, nudging himself back and forth with his toes.

  “Is that your daddy?” One of the children stood next to Bobby, a girl with a runny nose. Bobby guessed her to be five years old. Hopelessly young, a generation away from understanding.

  “No,” Bobby said, following the girl’s finger as it pointed at Ash. “I’m being kidnapped.”

  “My daddy’s in the bathroom.”

  “That’s not my mother, either,” Bobby said. “See that woman?” He was careful to indicate Dee only by looking at her. He did not point. “She stole me from my real mommy and daddy.”

  “Oh.” Bobby studied the little girl for comprehension. “Will you push me?”

  Dee was not looking at him at the moment. Her head was tipped skyward in laughter, she was touching the arm of one of the women.

  “I’ll push you if you’ll do something for me, all right?” The girl nodded her head.

  “You have to promise,” Bobby said.

  The girl wiped her nose with her finger.

  “Do you promise?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When we leave, tell your mommy that my name is Bobby Reynolds and I’ve been kidnapped.”

  The girl sniffed, then ran her entire forearm under her nose.

  “If you promise to do that. I’ll push you as high as you want,” Bobby said. He glanced at Ash, who was watching him curiously. The girl turned and started to trot toward her mother.

  “Not now!” Bobby cried. He grabbed at the girl and caught her arm, but the women had already seen the motion and turned to watch. “Not now,” Bobby whispered, but the girl was still straining toward her mother, pulling against him.

  “What is it?” said the girl’s mother, moving toward the fence.

  Bobby released the girl’s arm, but too late. For a moment the child stood midway between Bobby and her mother, her arm still in the air behind her as if suspended by a wire. She sensed the air of tension both in front of and behind her, everyone waiting to see what she would do. The girl did not know what to do, or what was expected, or why the air was suddenly filled with stress. In doubt, she did what always worked. She began to whimper.

  “He hurt my arm,” the girl said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Bobby said quickly, but it was already too late.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” the mother said, but she was through the gate, reaching for her daughter.

  “He did,” the girl insisted.

  Then Dee was upon him, wrenching him out of the canvas bucket of the swing seat, jerking him onto his feet.

  “What are you thinking?” she demanded.

  “He didn’t mean to,” said the mother, trying to placate Dee when she saw the fury in her face.

  Dee clamped her hand on the back of Bobby’s neck, squeezing and propelling him forward so fast he stumbled.

  “How dare you
do this,” she said. “How dare you do this to me.”

  They were across the parking lot in a flash, Bobby being pushed headfirst by the stony grip on his neck.

  Ash had the rear door open and slid in instantly next to Bobby, one arm around the boy’s shoulder to keep him from bolting out the other side.

  “It’s all right, really.” The other mother had pursued them half to the car, but Dee did not even glance at her. “Please don’t hurt him,” the mother said. The doors were slammed and the car was in motion before she could speak again.

  Dee drove without seeming to look at the road, her eyes were so fixedly boring at Bobby in the mirror.

  “This is the thanks I get,” she said. Bobby could see her nostril in the glass. It was flared in anger. “This is my reward for all I’ve done for you.”

  “He didn’t run,” Ash said, but was ignored.

  “Imagine how I felt,” Dee was saying. “Did you ever once consider how your behavior makes me feel? I was talking to my friends, I was telling them what a good boy I have, how proud I am of you, and then you do this…”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Bobby said.

  “But you never once considered my feelings, did you? Not for a second.”

  They raced through the night. Bobby could hear the wind screaming through a crack where the window glass met the door frame.

  “I’m sorry. Dee,” he said.

  “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’m very disappointed in you,” Dee said.

  Bobby felt Ash sigh deeply as if he were shuddering.

  Dee said nothing more all the way home, but every time Bobby looked her eyes were glaring at him in the mirror.

  Reggie turned toward the door as it swung in sharply. “What the hell are you doing in here?” George demanded.

  “I have a right to be here,” she said, furious with herself for having reacted with fear.

  “I promised her we’d stay out,” George said.

  “How’d you even know I was here, anyway?” she demanded. There was no place for her to direct her anger other than at George.

  “I saw you leave,” George said. He was talking to her, but his eyes were scanning the room. He had promised not to come, in, but it was still his property, too, after all.

  “Are you spying on me?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I told her we wouldn’t come in here. What if her husband had been in here?”

  “I saw them leave,” Reggie said. “She stole the bedspread.”

  “Who?”

  “What do you mean, ‘who’? Your girlfriend, that’s who.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And what makes you think she stole it, anyway?”

  George had come all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. He touched the bed as if to confirm the evidence of his eyes.

  “It’s not here, that’s what.”

  “Doesn’t mean she stole it.”

  “Why don’t you see if you can find it then?” George gave her a look from under his brows. He hated her tone of voice. He had told her a few thousand times not to speak to him like that, but he might as well have saved his breath. The only way she was going to realize he meant it was when he went out to get the mail and didn’t come back. Which might be at any time now, if she kept this up.

  “Just because I can’t find it doesn’t mean she stole it,” he said. He snapped off the television set.

  “I’d like to know what it does mean.” Reggie said.

  “I’m sure she’s got a perfectly good explanation.”

  “That’s right. Defend her.”

  “She hasn’t done anything wrong. The only one’s done anything wrong is you by breaking your word and coming in here.”

  “I never gave her my word. That was your bright idea. The only thing I’d give her is a piece of my mind.”

  “Careful, you don’t have much to spare.”

  George had maneuvered behind Reggie and was now herding her toward the door. He held his arms out to the side as if shooing chickens. Reggie resisted the urge to hit him.

  “If she stole it, out she goes,” Reggie said. “I won’t tolerate theft. Out she goes.”

  “Out you go,” he said, still driving her toward the door.

  “It’s the one thing I won’t put up with,” Reggie said. “I won’t put up with a thief.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it,” George said. “It’s a misunderstanding. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her.”

  “I’ll bet you will.” She stood in the doorway, just to make a point. He wasn’t pushing her out; she had chosen to leave and would make her exit when she wanted to. He stopped just short of her, careful not to put a hand on her. “Of course. I’ll have to explain how I know the bed spread’s gone,” he said. “Then I’ll have to apologize for you.”

  “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare apologize for me to that woman!” Reggie cried.

  “Guess I’ll have to,” George said.

  “I forbid it!”

  “Fair is fair, and right is right.” George rose up on his toes slightly as he made his pronouncement. He had been taller than Reggie earlier in their lives together, but it seemed to him that she had somehow outgrown him lately.

  “If you apologize to her, that is the last straw,” Reggie declared. “I am not joking with you, George. So much as a hint of apology and I have had it.”

  He rocked up on his toes again and then he smiled. It was the smile that convinced Reggie, the smugness of it that made her want to paste him right on the nose. That woman was gone, Reggie vowed silently. She was out of here as of now, no matter how long it took to actually arrange the eviction.

  Reggie intended to stay up until they came home, no matter how long it took. She wanted to be there to intercept them between the car and cabin. She would face down Dee and her so-called husband this very night, let them understand she knew about the theft, and that they were to be gone as soon as they could pack. Never mind that they still had a week’s rent paid in advance, the theft negated all that.

  Her intention was to stay awake-but her body had its own plans. After a time even the anger she felt was insufficient to keep her eyes open. She drifted off, woke, and drifted again and woke once more. She tried to focus her eyes on a hairline crack in the ceiling plaster. If a car pulled into the drive she would see the lights sweep across the ceiling and be out of bed and to the door before the car came to a halt. Reggie fell asleep and dreamed she was watching the ceiling.

  Dee killed the headlights as soon as they turned into the motel drive. She unlocked the door to the cabin and held it open as Ash struggled out of the backseat, holding his bundle, then rushed into the sanctuary of the room.

  Dee spoke for the first time since leaving McDonald’s as she strode to the closet and removed the garment from the laundry from the rack.

  “We’ll see,” Dee said. “Now we’ll see who misbehaves.”

  By the time Dee had the wire hanger in her hand. Ash had uncovered Bobby and handed him a pillow.

  “Bite on it,” he whispered. He began hurriedly to unbutton Bobby’s shirt.

  “What? What’s she going to do?” Bobby asked. His eyes were wide with fear. He was afraid to turn and look at Dee, who stood behind him, still muttering, and instead kept his eyes glued to Ash’s face for a clue as to what was to befall him. There was nothing in Ash’s face to give him hope.

  “Don’t yell,” Ash whispered. His voice had the same imploring intensity as when he had urged Bobby not to run. “Don’t make any noise at all.”

  He unbuttoned Bobby’s pants and pulled them down, then lifted the pillow to Bobby’s mouth.

  “Bite,” he said and Bobby clamped his mouth onto the pillow.

  The first blow fell almost immediately across his back. The boy gasped as much from surprise as from the pain. Ash immediately positioned the pillow in front of Bobby’s mouth again.

  “No noise,”
he hissed. The wire struck again and Bobby’s cry was muffled by the pillow.

  There was a brief pause as Dee snapped on the television, then the blows came steadily.

  Bobby squirmed and tried to pull away, but Ash gripped him by the arms and held him in place.

  “Don’t make her mad,” he whispered.

  “Now we’ll see,” Dee said. “Now we’ll see. Now we’ll see.”

  She beat him in rhythm with her voice, but Bobby soon ceased to make sense of her words. Her only real message was pain.

  Chapter 13

  Karen awoke to music and it took her a moment to figure out where it was coming from. The sound was muted and faint and the strumming of an acoustical guitar gave her a fleeting sense of being serenaded from outside her window. Then she realized it was coming from Jack’s room. He was up and playing his favorite tape of children’s songs. She glanced at the red numerals on the clock radio, the two dots separating the hours and the minutes blinking methodically. It was too early for her to be up; but not too early for Jack. She could never understand how he functioned so well on so little sleep, or how he seemed to awake fully refreshed and smiling while she had to claw her way into consciousness.

  Remembering that she was not alone in the bed, she rolled her head to look at Becker, but his side of the bed was empty. His clothes, which he had tossed on the chair the night before, were gone. The son of a bitch has slipped out on me, she thought. Not so much as a goodbye, no farewell kiss. Just grab his socks and go. How typical, how sneakily, self-centeredly, inconsiderately typical. They were all sons of bitches, so it wasn’t her fault that she kept picking bad ones. There were no good ones.

  Karen washed her face and brushed her teeth and when she was certain she could muster a cheerful smile for her son, she went in to see him. Becker was sitting on the floor making another newspaper tree and Jack, still dressed in his airplane pajamas, was dancing around the room in a bounding gavotte that included frequent leaps onto and off of his bed.