Fear Dreams

by J. A. Schneider

  “Ever read Turn of the Screw?”

  “Tried to. Found the text turgid. Started the movie and stopped it.”

  “Why?”

  “Depressing. You know the governess is doomed.”

  So she’d liked cartoons as a kid, never believed in ghosts, and avoided depressing stories. This was not a person prone to hysteria or wild, unhappy subjects. Kerri tapped her index finger thoughtfully on the drawing table, then asked, “You paint thriller book covers mostly?”

  Nod.

  “Why is that?”

  An indifferent shrug. “That’s where there’s the most demand. I started out doing romance covers and a few non-fiction covers, then did one thriller and the publisher went ape, spread the word and I found myself in demand.”

  So she’d backed into the thriller thing, hadn’t sought it out. Kerri glanced up to the window behind Liddy. The upper sash was open a little but the alarm was on.

  She asked about that.

  “Oh.” Liddy turned to look up, then with a groan climbed onto the window seat, pushed the top sash closed and locked it. “The top part isn’t connected to the alarm,” she said, scrunching back down to her pillow on the window seat. “I paint with oils, too, and turpentine fumes are toxic, so we just had the bottom sash wired to let the top open, let out the fumes.”

  She glanced at the wires and small bits of hardware stretched across the sill behind her. “But alarms can’t keep out ghosts, can they?” she grimaced, looking back with a shudder. “I’ve become afraid to fall asleep. Just looking at the bed makes me spaz and think, nooo, what’s tonight going to bring?”

  Kerri’s eyes were sympathetic. She nodded and said, very quietly, “I’ve been there.”

  Liddy raised surprised eyes to her. “You? You seem so strong.”

  “No one’s that strong.” Kerri inhaled. “I’ve gone what felt like months without sleep, seeing a shrink who didn’t help, stumbling through days. I just had to muddle through it.” She saw Liddy’s eyes open wider, so she shrugged; continued.

  “One night two years ago I found myself on a roof with a perp’s gun in my face, his finger starting to pull the trigger. I knew I was dead.” A hesitation; the words speeded up. “The SOB had to make it even more terrifying by pressing his knee on my chest, pushing his barrel to my head screaming how he couldn’t wait to see my brains splatter all over…and then” – she gestured – “bang, there was a shot and blood and brains did splatter - only not mine, my partner Alex saved me, shot the slime who fell on me, bleeding, his face all exploded, his brain squish running down my neck.”

  Liddy was gaping at her and she stopped. “Hell, I upset you. Last thing I want to do.”

  “No… My God, how did you survive? Is it crazy to say your story helps?”

  Kerri gestured; smiled. “Not at all. I’ve often thought people going through misery and seeing shrinks should just get together in the shrinks’ waiting rooms and trade stories. It would help more.”

  “Yes, because you don’t feel so alone.” Liddy thought, and her brow furrowed. “So…what happened after that? You said you went months…”

  Kerri glanced up to the mournful face begging for help; pressed her lips tight for a moment.

  “Nightmares so vivid I’d wake up screaming and scrabbling to wipe the creep’s brains off my neck, or gasping for breath because his knee was still pressing my chest. That was the first time I’d actually seen someone die. In homicide, you arrive after they’ve been killed, they’re just…bodies lying there, no threat to anyone, surrounded by other cops who got there first, they’re all neatly cordoned off by our yellow crime scene tape - but that night…he just jumped out at me.” Kerri shook her head slowly. “It didn’t help that I’d just had a miscarriage and was going through a divorce at the time, that I’d been a weeping wreck before that night. Bad things like to happen in bunches, don’t they? I still get nightmares, though way less often. Isn’t that great? A stunning improvement?”

  “I’m so sorry…” Liddy was amazed to find herself forgetting herself, coming out of herself and liking this woman - a lot. “God, what you went through, so awful…”

  “No one escapes,” Kerri said gravely. “I’ve seen every kind of person in places high and low, and I’ve come to that conclusion. Everyone at some time goes through some long nightmare. Parents broken-hearted over their kids, best friends turning out to be not friends at all, wives discovering their husbands aren’t who they thought they were – or the other way around. You just have to hang on, let the scars form.”

  Liddy was nodding, slowly, and Kerri added: “Those nightmares I had? They were really vivid, seemed totally real and in the first minutes of waking up I’d still be shaking, convinced they were real. Does it help to know that?”

  Liddy met her eyes; inhaled hugely and smiled. “Oh yes. If someone like you can go through something like that and come out in one piece…”

  “I did.” Kerri gave a little laugh. “I’m as sane as anyone now, which may not be saying a whole lot.” She got to her feet, brushed invisible lint off her black pants, then looked back at the painting.

  Her mouth opened. “Is it my imagination or has her weeping face gotten bigger?”

  Liddy rose too. “Gotten bigger. Drooping longer ‘cause the paint’s still wet.”

  Kerri noted the sane, quiet interpretation, but for a little comic relief faked a scared look. “Are hallucinations catching?”

  “Yeah, that must be it.”

  42

  They went to the kitchen, where the sharp-eyed detective moved around, looking here, there, stopping before a venerable old photo of a sailboat: into a tarnished plaque screwed into the old frame was the name Seafarer. “That your boat?” she asked.

  “Was. It looks like Carl Finn and another friend are going to buy it.”

  “Oh?”

  Kerri’s raised eyebrows prodded. Liddy pointed to a different photo: Paul, Carl and Ben Allen before the docked boat, with Finn planted boisterously in front of other two, hamming it up and hoisting beer cases. “Carl and this other guy,” she said, naming Allen.

  The same photo Kerri took in Ben Allen’s office, and had in her phone. She nodded to him. “Is he a friend too?”

  “Of mine? Hardly. Actually, not really so much of Paul’s either, as far as I can see. Ben and Carl have been pals since med school. ‘Partners in crime,’ Ben likes to say, and keeps saying, thinks that’s uproarious. He met Paul through Carl three years ago. They all love sailing, that’s their glue.”

  Liddy frowned suddenly. Stared harder at the photo, specifically at Ben Allen. “My head’s still whirling from the painting but…wasn’t Ben questioned months ago when Sasha was arrested for…” She stopped; looked confused.

  “Forging his narcotics prescription,” Kerri supplied. “Ben Allen insisted he knew nothing of what she did. It seems to have ended there.” But not really, Kerri thought, her mind as always pursuing a line leading from Allen to Carl Finn. She wanted to know more about Finn.

  Liddy still stared at Allen, looking almost pathetic with her head tilted as if trying to remember more. “I read about that recently, when the news started talking about the case again,” she said foggily. “Remembered the other night, now…can’t.”

  Kerri diverted her, moving around to other framed photos: the same three men with the sun on their faces trimming the jib, tacking and coming about, laughing it up in the stern waving their beer bottles. Lots of photos with Paul and the guys. Over the counter there was a single photo: Paul and Liddy embracing, hanging on to rigging.

  Kerri stepped closer, studying the picture. “Just one of you and Paul?” she asked.

  Liddy gave a shrug. “I have others, just haven’t hung them yet.”

  Which meant she didn’t like them.

  Kerri pointed back to the photo whose copy was in her cell phone.

  “Did you take that one?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t go out with them.” Liddy turned away, got bu
sy with the pepper shaker Beth had fiddled with. Kerri said nothing, so Liddy told the pepper shaker, “I’d been arguing with Paul. We’d planned to go out alone, a romantic day, and then the Boys Club called and invited themselves and Paul said Sure! Just like that. Like he hadn’t promised.”

  Kerri frowned to herself. Was this the first glimpse of…something new? “Boy, I’d be jealous,” she said. “Or feel understandably hurt.”

  Liddy shook her head, turned back to the photo with a troubled look. “Not that,” she said. “Paul knew I didn’t actually like the boat, not when he went out in all weather and thought freezing was macho. The problem is Carl…I just hate how he uses Paul, takes advantage. He’d gotten to where he borrowed the boat a lot, then Ben started doing it too, taking his cue from Carl. They’d go out together or alone - just call and say, ‘hey Paul, okay if I take the boat this weekend?’ And he’d say fine, he had work to catch up on. He’s always had work to catch up on, especially in the past year since he’s more of a plodder than Carl, and hated having the boat just sitting there.”

  Liddy stopped as something seemed to occur to her. “Maybe, on some level, he saw one or both of them being prospective buyers some day. We were strapped for cash, the boat was a ridiculous expense.”

  “Still, chutzpah isn’t even the word,” Kerri said…and thought: So Finn borrowed the boat a lot. Allen too. Which of them could have been out on it that May day with a needy, trusting, maybe by now demanding young coed who had started to take pictures; was maybe threatening to go public? Allen’s marriage was unraveling; Sasha would make a divorce messier, more expensive. And Carl Finn was dating that hotshot, high earning lawyer…

  “Their relationship’s more complicated,” Liddy was trying to explain. “Paul’s also repaying Carl favors from twenty years ago.”

  Kerri had her notebook back out; scribbled as Liddy told the quick version of their past: Carl the rich kid and Paul his boat boy, desperate for money, thrilled to do every damned chore, help bartend Carl’s parties, clean his messes, drive his drunk girlfriends home. Through family pull Carl helped Paul get a full scholarship. “To this day he feels…gratitude isn’t even the word.”

  Kerri was sitting on one of the barstools. “That’s a strong history, I get it.”

  “But there comes a point…” Liddy pulled out a barstool too; looked at it; turned away and paced.

  “They stayed more or less in touch for years, then resumed big time when Carl discovered they had research in common and he had an in to something exciting – again – through a rich relative. By then Carl had serious hang ups ‘cause his father lost everything in investments.” Liddy stopped pacing; turned. “Win win for Carl! Who better to have back in his life than his forever boat boy - ol’ Yessir, nossir, three bags full sir!”

  Kerri frowned at her ballpoint. “Wait - why did Carl need anyone else for the research?”

  “Because two could get it done faster. They got the grant but there’s a time limit.”

  Kerri’s phone buzzed and she answered; listened. At the other end a man’s voice, and the words Nicki and her friend says Carl something something. Oddly, Kerri didn’t move away with her phone, as if she wanted Liddy to hear.

  Disconnecting, she made quick apologies and announced she had to go. “Your grade A intel,” she said, pleased. “It’s led to a friend of a friend who definitely saw Sasha in Finn’s biochem class. She audited briefly, hated it and left, but seems to have made Finn’s acquaintance.” Kerri started for the door. “The friend of a friend’s being interviewed now. This is so good - Nicki alone being a drunk angry ex wouldn’t have been enough.”

  Liddy walked with her, looking apprehensive. “Is Carl going to come charging over here full of accusations?”

  “No, we’ll still keep you out of the loop.” Kerri checked something in her phone. “You’ve got my number, make sure you’ve got me on speed dial,” she said as she reached for the doorknob. “For anything - either call me directly, or needless to say if it’s a bigger emergency, call 9-1-1.”

  Liddy looked away, newly troubled. Kerri said, “Don’t worry, your name won’t even come up. As long as we have your statement…”

  “It’s not that.”

  Liddy’s hand went to her brow. “I’m starting to worry about the early symptoms of paranoia because, the whole time we’ve been talking I’ve been trying to figure how Beth knew about that fighting couple across the street. I could swear I never told her.”

  “Call her,” Kerri said simply. “She looked tired and pressured – so ambush her, ask how she knew. If she starts going uh, uh instead of being direct, that will tell you something.”

  Unconsciously, Liddy looked back to the telescope. “I keep hearing what you said about best friends turning out to be not friends at all…” She turned back to Kerri. “Is there anyone you ever feel you can trust totally?”

  For the first time, Kerri Blasco looked really tired. “Not a question you should ask a cop,” she said, but her expression softened. “The thing about best friends? People you trust?” She shrugged. “Even people who presumably care about you can sometimes goof up, speak out of turn, spill something inadvertently you wouldn’t want them to. Just be careful. Above all, trust your instincts.”

  She pointed to the slide bolt and keypad. “Lock up tight.” She gave Liddy’s arm a squeeze, and left.

  43

  Snap went the bolt, punch punch went the keys in the keypad. Then Liddy rested her head against the door, staring down at the door knob.

  The wheels were turning.

  Worried about the early symptoms of paranoia.

  “Did I really say that?” she whispered to herself, though the room behind her suddenly echoed with emptiness and no one was there. “I’ve been so tired…”

  She turned, glanced over for a troubled second at the telescope, and went back to the studio. It pulled her. It was her small safe place where she could at least try to think, and she wanted to see the painting again.

  The still-wet paint had drooped, elongating the crying girl’s features, making the eyes even more piteous, turning them and the silently pleading mouth down at their corners. A horizontal smear that almost looked like shoulders had started to appear. The mouth seemed almost ready to cry out.

  Are hallucinations catching?

  Slowly, Liddy sank down to the window seat.

  There was no running away from this painting. Its lurid colors had never, not for a second, stopped flashing in Liddy’s mind; they had flared and frightened under every word she’d exchanged with Kerri in the kitchen, at the door. Even now, as Liddy stared, the sagging blue eyes seemed to plead to her, above the now nearly dry pigment of Help Me.

  Too many worries churned.

  Had the police gone back to Carl yet? Questioned him given this new intel as Kerri called it? Maybe not, she was working alone – although that was her partner who called, wasn’t it? – but they’d need time to build a new case, dig deeper. Were they now interviewing Nicki’s friend of a friend – yes, that’s where Kerri had run off to. But accomplishing what? Audits did not exist as documents. Would a judge issue a warrant based on some student’s hearsay and an angry ex with a drinking habit? Liddy didn’t know much about the law, just had heard of brick walls without number called circumstantial blocking requests for judges’ warrants. Cops knew that; anyone knew that.

  What now?

  Liddy looked up to the painting. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed to it, feeling helpless tears sting. She turned and stared out at the dusk, the darker fire escape a few feet to the right. She blinked; imagined Carl lunging up and crashing through the window screaming, “Bitch - you put the cops on me after all I’ve done for you two?”

  She shuddered and turned back, hugging herself, rubbing goose bumps on her arms.

  Carl crashing through the window – great – now she was having fear dreams awake. Her heart thudded. What to do? Sitting here alone was unbearable, just making worse the other worry th
at kept building.

  How had Beth known about the fighting couple?

  Liddy got her phone from her pocket; stared stupidly at it. Ambush her, just ask how she knew, Kerri said - but she was such a direct person, she’d made it sound so easy. Liddy wasn’t direct; she feared hurting, offending, alienating…someone she loved would stop loving her, it was a childish old fear she’d never shaken. So she sat, like a scared, witless dummy as her mind fumbled for words - until finally, the tightening knot in her chest and watching the room’s shadows close in forced her finger, slowly, to hit speed dial.

  “Hey!” boomed Beth’s voice, quick and hurried answering on the first ring. “You beat me to it. I was going to call you.”

  “Oh?” Sounds of traffic at the other end, a car door slamming, probably a cab.

  “To confess. I’m an idiot and I hate myself.” Higher-voiced: “West Broadway and Broome, please.” Back to the phone: “I felt guilty the second I left you – in case there was something you noticed.”

  “The couple fighting across the street?” The words tumbled out.

  “Argh, yes, it’s been so bothering me. I knew about that because Paul called me, upset because you were upset. He told me what you saw, said it shook him more than he let on to you because he wanted you to calm, not feel so fretful about everything. He said he didn’t know where to turn.”

  “He was worried? He should have told me.”

  “That’s what I told him. Oh boy, wait a sec.” Beth’s voice rose trying to explain where she wanted to go to a driver who didn’t speak English. “No, West Broadway, not Broadway-Broadway. It’s on the corner of Broome Street. Broome Street, Broome Street!”

  Back to the phone: “I gotta confess more. Paul called me a second time, like, two days ago, I think - I forget, can’t even remember what today is.”

  “Paul called you again?” Liddy’s lips parted.

  “Yes. Oh definitely two days ago, I was in the middle of the Whitley open house. That second time…he started out funny, beating around the bush, saying how stressed he was that Carl was stressed they weren’t going fast enough. Again, he said he didn’t want to bring his worries to you, you had enough to deal with - and again, I told him no, he should share. Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be?”