“Maybe that’s something we can talk about today,” Oscar told her. “I get bad dreams sometimes too.”
At that moment, Beth locked on to Oscar’s eyes. Something forced its way through the dreaminess and her face suddenly came to horrified life. “I know you do,” she told Oscar.
The Bardos acted as though they intended to stay throughout Beth’s session. They had their coats folded over their laps. Eva Bardo and her husband had a distinct way of holding eye contact too long. Oscar found it unnerving.
“You know,” he told them, “I think it might be helpful for Beth to talk to me alone for a while.”
They both just stared at him for several uncomfortable seconds before Eva Bardo spoke. “Of course,” she said with a big smile. “You’re her doctor.” She and her husband got up and walked to the door. Before they left, Eva told Beth, “We’re going to be right outside, my darling.”
“So tell me about this dream, Beth,” said Oscar. “Tell me what’s been keeping you up.”
Beth shrugged her shoulders, saying, “I don’t get it. It’s weird.”
“Are there people in your dream?”
She shifted her head slowly left to right.
“Are there animals?”
“Um umm,” she said. “There are lights. I go places.”
“Where do you go, Beth?”
“It isn’t a regular place.”
“Not like this room?”
“Um umm. It’s black and there are lights. They whisper things to me. That’s where I met Mister Smiler. In my dreams. After my mommy put me to bed. Last night I went very far away.”
“Have you met anyone else besides Mister Smiler in your dreams.”
“Um hmm. They try to talk to me but Mr. Smiler scares them away now.”
“Beth is it OK if I ask you some more questions about Mister Smiler?”
“Um hmm,” she answered. “He says it’s OK.”
“In the picture you drew,” said Oscar, “Mister Smiler doesn’t have a nose, mouth or ears. If he doesn’t have a mouth, then how does he talk to you?”
“He says it straight into my ears from his thoughts. He doesn’t need a mouth.”
“How does Mister Smiler eat then?”
Beth shrugged her shoulders as though the question made no sense. “I dunno,” she said. “I don’t think he needs to.”
“Where’s Mister Smiler from?”
“He’s from Morgaza.”
“I don’t know that place, Beth. Is Morgaza a country?”
Beth smiled and tossed her head side to side. “No, silly,” she said. “It’s not a country.”
“So it’s a city then? Or a US state that I somehow missed learning about in school?”
“You’re silly,” said Beth. “Morgaza isn’t a regular place. It’s a fold.”
“A fold, Beth? What does that mean?”
She looked to Mister Smiler for an explanation. “He says you’re too dumb to understand.”
“That’s nice. Tell Mister Smiler that I might surprise him.”
“He says it isn’t your fault you can’t understand. He says it’s too much for your human pea brain.”
“Beth, can you tell me, yourself, where Morgaza is?”
“It’s here,” she said, “but it’s tucked behind this place. All you can see most of the time from Morgaza is the shadows. You can see shadows of Morgaza here. I see them all the time now.”
“Can you ask Mister Smiler how he got to Morgaza? Was he born there?”
“No,” she said plainly, “he’s from the desert, from a long time ago. Something was wrong and he was born looking funny. His head didn’t grow right but it made him real smart and able to travel far. They took Mister Smiler away when he was a baby.” Beth leaned over a few inches closer to Oscar and she hushed her voice like she was trying to keep a secret. “They did things to him,” she whispered. “He died and went to Morgaza.”
“So Mister Smiler is a baby?”
“He’s really smart though,” said Beth. “He can travel better than anyone.”
“What do you mean by travel?”
“Mister Smiler can go through the folds and see really good. Better than anyone.”
...
While Beth waited outside in the car, Oscar spoke to her parents about the session. Eva and Lorne Bardo seemed more interested in how many more sessions Oscar was going to recommend for Beth’s court-ordered requirement.
Oscar told them, “I need to clearly understand her condition before I can even guess how to help her. Beth stabbed you, Misses, I mean Doctor Bardo and we still have no idea why. I’ve worked with more than a few children with imaginary friends but Beth’s case is standing out.”
“What do you mean by standing out? Asked Lorne.
“Mister Smiler’s story is very strange. As is Beth’s description of him.”
“Don’t kids imagine all sorts of blue dragons and pink fairies?” Chimed in Eva Bardo. “Isn’t this fairly normal?”
“Imaginary friends aren’t abnormal but what I don’t see in my practice are children who invent friends with genetic abnormalities. Where would Beth, a six year old, even get such an idea?”
The Bardos looked at each other before Eva spoke. “Perhaps she looked in one of our old books,” she said. “We have a collection of what some might think are strange books on subjects like anthropology, medicine and things like that.”
“Maybe these things should be kept away from a disturbed child.”
“I see your point,” said Lorne. “I will make sure Beth is kept out of our study.”
“The elaborate nature of Mister Smiler’s story seems odd to me as well,” Oscar went on. “Children aren’t usually given to inventing such a complex picture and backstory. Does Beth have a lot of contact with any other adults? Is there any place where she could have picked this stuff up, other than from your books, Mr. Bardo?”
“I don’t believe so,” he said.
“What other adults does Beth have contact with?”
They looked at each other again. “Well,” said Lorne, “I don’t believe she’s had much contact with anyone besides us.”
“We’re rather careful,” said Eva Bardo, “of who influences our Beth.”
“Can you tell me about the other children Beth spends time with?”
The Bardos silently checked with one another before Lorne spoke. “Beth doesn’t spend much time around other children. Even before what happened with my wife,” he said, glancing at her abdomen, at the spot where Beth had sunk the knife. “She’s never expressed much of an interest in other children.”
“Wouldn’t you say that in itself is odd?” Oscar asked them.
“Beth isn’t like other children,” Eva said. “And she knows it. I never saw the sense in forcing her to pretend to be something she isn’t.”
“If you both wouldn’t mind,” Oscar said, “I’d like to see Beth’s home environment. After all, she doesn’t go to school and all her time is spent there. I think it would be a mistake not to see her surroundings.”
“You mean come to the house?” Asked Lorne Bardo as though the request was strange.
“Those are the surroundings I’m referring to,” said Oscar. “Would it be a problem to see your home?”
“Of course it wouldn’t,” said Eva Bardo with a big smile.
The Bardos looked to one another in a split second of what seemed like telepathic communication. To Oscar, the looked seemed to speak volumes. The language of the look, however, was foreign to him.
...
In the middle of the night, a scratching noise climbed the entire length of Oscar’s front door. The horrible sound, like several sharp knives running across the steel door, sent Oscar’s eyes open and his heart racing. From across his apartment, he could see a vague shadow of someone standing outside.
The scratching got louder and more intense. It sounded as though someone was removing the paint from the metal. Late-night commotion wasn’t unheard of
in the building but this was beyond peculiar.
When Oscar got to the door, the sound stopped. He looked through the peephole and saw the back of a man’s head. He noticed short, well-groomed blonde hair and a black business suit. The figure took a few steps away from the door. Then he turned back to the door and showed the owl mask.
Oscar made sure the deadbolt was locked and slid the chain across the latch. He studied the Owlman through the peephole. The man seemed to be strolling in circles, walking the perimeter of the floor and taking time to pause in front of Oscar’s apartment.
From inside, he dialed the phone for the building superintendent. He could have called the police but their response time was hours in that part of the city. Besides, Oscar lived in one of the penthouses and was one of the few people in the building that paid their rent with any regularity.
“Is this a fire or other emergency?” The superintendent mumbled like he had just been sleeping. “Everything else, call back at nine AM.”
Just before the man could hang up, Oscar started whispering into the phone, saying, “This is Oscar Loste in apartment forty-six-twelve. I think I have an emergency. There appears to be some weirdo walking around my floor, scratching at my door.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s wearing a mask.”
“What kind of mask?”
“Please just come up. I need help,” Oscar said before hanging up.
Oscar waited for the superintendent, watching through the peephole. The man in the owl mask continued to circle the perimeter of the floor, stopping every time he got to Oscar’s door. His polished black dress shoes shined back some of the courtyard light. He was tall, athletically built and walked in a smooth, assured manner.
Oscar had no idea who the man could be.
His phone rang just as the superintendent got out of the elevator with a flashlight in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. “Mister Loste,” said the superintendent. “I’m up here on your floor.”
From the peephole in his apartment, Oscar saw the beam of the super’s flashlight scan the floor.
“I see your flashlight,” Oscar told him through the phone. “Be careful. The guy could be dangerous.”
With the baseball bat primed and quivering in his hand, the superintendent walked the diameter of the floor, shining his flashlight into windows of the empty apartments. The man had obviously seen a few unpleasant things in the building and seemed ready for the worst.
He swept the spot of the flashlight right over the Owlman’s face. The masked man stood a few feet directly in the superintendent’s path. It seemed as though he was ready for attack. The superintendent continued forward as though he didn’t see him.
“Be careful,” Oscar told him through the phone.
“I don’t see him.”
“What do you mean? He’s right there! He’s standing right in front of you!”
“Sir, are you fucking with me?” His flashlight was pointed right at the Owlman, who just stood there, directly in the superintendent’s path.
“You’re standing right in front of him!” Oscar shouted into the phone. “He’s the one in the fucking mask! Don’t tell me you can’t see him.”
The superintendent stopped in the middle of his step, his flashlight drooping to the ground. He seemed to have reached his limit.
“You’re a shrink, right?” He asked Oscar.
“Yes, but I don’t know why that matters.”
“Fucking figures,” the superintendent said before he turned and walked away. “Don’t call me again, Loste.”
When Oscar looked outside, the Owlman was gone. He rubbed at his eyes, wondering if he had somehow hallucinated or dreamed up the figure.
...
Chapter 5
The Owlman
The Bardo Family Estate sprawled over twelve acres of Southeastern Pennsylvania countryside but was nearly invisible to the neighboring road. The trees and shrubbery around the house had reached such a lush density that it rendered the home nearly camouflaged. The vines and ivy hid an intimidating electric fence that looked like something out of the tiger exhibit at the Philadelphia Zoo.
When Oscar pulled up to the gate, he noticed the red light from a surveillance camera pointing right at him. He waved to the camera and a gap in the electric fence opened in front of him.
When he got inside, the first thing he noticed was a small herd of deer taking an evening drink of water from the estate pond. They seemed to be serving the estate in an ornamental capacity. Lily pads the size of hopscotch courts drifted across the surface of the pond. All around him, the grounds were bubbling with life.
The house itself was perhaps twice the size of the Pennsylvania Governor’s mansion and appeared far more secure. The seven floors of brick and bone-white paint were draped in ivy and shade from the massive oaks.
Eva and Lorne Bardo were waiting outside when Oscar’s car reached the bottom of the half-circle driveway.
“I’m sorry for turning up a little late,” Oscar told them when he got out of the car. “I had trouble spotting the house from the road, which,” he went on as he admired the massive house, “is kinda surprising given how big it is. It’s almost invisible.”
“That’s the idea,” said Eva Bardo. “With all the financial trouble in the city, we would prefer not to stand out, not to appear,” she started to search for the right word. “Ostentatious,” she said finally.
Oscar became disoriented while he followed the Bardos through the various hallways and corridors of the house on their way to the main study. After all the turns, climbs and descents, he had trouble knowing even which floor of the house he was walking.
“How did you two meet?” He asked them while they walked.
“Well, it’s rather interesting,” Eva answered, surprised. “As a matter of fact,” she went on, “Lorne was one of my pupils when we met.”
“That’s right,” Lorne Bardo added, “Professor Bardo was my PhD thesis advisor.”
“So then you took your wife’s last name?” Oscar asked him.
“Is that so odd?” Asked Eva with a flat expression.
“A bit uncommon maybe,” said Oscar.
“My wife is my spiritual and philosophical guide,” said Lorne. “I have no compunction over this. My wife is simply, a genius. It’s just a matter of time before the world recognizes that Eva Bardo is its top intellectual.”
Lorne’s near worship of the woman made Oscar uncomfortable. “It’s nice that you two have such a connection,” Oscar said with some of the discomfort evident in his face. “We’ve talked a little about Beth’s family of origin,” he said, changing the subject. “How much do you know exactly?”
The Bardos looked as though the stink of death had blown into the room. After an uncomfortable moment, Eva said, “She doesn’t remember any of it, thank goodness.”
“Whether she remembers something or not,” Oscar said, “it still leaves a mark. It’s still part of her. The body holds onto memories and emotions, whether we know it or not. Nothing ever goes away.”
“They were absolute monsters,” said Lorne. “Look into it for yourself.”
“I will,” said Oscar. “It’s important.”
“The past is dead,” said Eva.
“That’s a strange for an anthropologist to say,” Oscar told her.
The Bardo study was the size of a small gymnasium, with three floors of books and a round skylight in the center of the room. It reminded Oscar of one of his college history classes where he learned about the Library of Alexandretta. It seemed that every anthropology text published throughout human history had to be contained in the Bardo family library. Dozens of artifacts from their expeditions were kept in glass cases throughout the room. The room seemed to Oscar to be the fanciest museum he had ever seen.
While he followed the Bardos across the study, Oscar spotted something in one of the glass cases that alarmed him. A black ivory owl mask, the same carved face and black opal eyes that h
ad been haunting him, stood under a light in the museum case.
He froze in the midst of a step and his face went limp. The sight of the thing nearly paralyzed him. He wondered how could it be sitting in that glass box and whether he should ask the Bardos about it. Then he considered calling a psychiatrist.
Eva Bardo noticed that Oscar’s eyes were frozen on the mask. She told him, “It’s a death mask from ancient Sumer. Lorne and I collected it several years ago, outside of Baghdad. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The eyes on the thing were so dark, they seemed like they could have been bottomless holes. It was almost as though the mask’s eyes glowed emptiness. Oscar answered, “Sure. Beautiful. I guess.”
Oscar followed the Bardos past rows of photographs on the walls. Every one of the photos on the walls appeared to be from their expeditions. He began to realize that there was a commonality to all the pictures. Even though the Bardos had crossed the world several times over during their research, every one of their photographs seemed to be taken in the same location, the deserts of the former Mesopotamia. The collection spanned the decades but was confined to the Middle East.
Just as the three of them sat down, Oscar remarked, “Seems as though you two have a favorite destination.”
“What do you mean?” Asked Eva.
“It’s a bit odd,” said Oscar. You two have been all over the world but all the photos on the walls are taken in the same place. Big fans of the Middle East?”
The Bardos glanced at one another. Oscar had caught them off guard. “Our specialties are ancient Sumer and Babylon. I’m afraid the research takes us to some unforgiving places.”
“I’ll say,” said Oscar, looking around at the glass cases of artifacts strewn throughout the room. “Seems you’re taking all of Babylon with you. This is quite a collection.”
The Bardos seemed eager to start the discussion about Beth. Eva Bardo leaned across the parlor table, asking, “Doctor Loste, how much longer do you imagine you’ll have to see Beth?”
“As long as it takes, I suppose.”
“It’s just that,” Eva said, paying a momentary look to her husband, “we feel that what happened was a big mistake. Beth surely didn’t mean to hurt me. It was just an unfortunate incident. I don’t think state-run therapy is going to be any help. In fact, I don’t believe Beth needs any help at all from anyone but her parents.”
Enter the Uncreated Night Page 5