“How’s it been going?”
“All right, I guess.”
“From what I hear she’s very good.”
“Want me to make you an appointment?”
She dismissed his attempt at a joke without even acknowledging it. “My friend Sherry’s cousin goes to her. She says Dr. Farrow helped her a lot. Her reputation is impeccable.”
“She’s OK.”
“Just OK?”
“What do you want me to say? I like her all right.”
Peggy seemed to weigh the accuracy of his statement. “Maybe she can help you find that peace more consistently.”
“No one can do that but you.”
“Don’t you mean us?”
He shrugged. She went blurry.
Peggy saw the tears in his eyes and looked for a moment like she might reach out to him, but instead she cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “You’ll find fresh towels in the closet. Be sure to let the shower run a while before you get in. Old pipes, old system, takes a while to heat up.”
Seth watched her walk away down the narrow hall with her usual relaxed stride and easygoing pace. She moved like some slightly aging stoned hippy girl, fluid and tranquil, as if all was right with the world and nothing warranted serious concern. And yet beneath that surface he knew how intelligent, soulful and deep Peggy truly was. Was it all a trick to fool the outside world into believing nothing bothered her—the way a child whistles while walking past a graveyard—or was it merely an instinctual act of survival?
As she slipped away into the darkness at the end of the hallway, another face flashed before his eyes.
Christy—eyes wide with horror and her shirt drenched in blood.
And screams, always the goddamn screams tearing through his head.
A low growl turned his attention to the bed. Petey lay watching the window with an unusual intensity, an apprehensive snarl emanating from deep in his throat.
Seth followed his gaze to the window and found only the same tree branches wildly blowing about against a dull sky. But as he stood watching, listening to the dog’s barely audible growl, he felt a disturbing sense of kinship to its primal timbre, as if whatever had joined them just beyond that thin pane of glass was more than a trick of the mind. It was something with weight, substance, and a diabolical familiarity that both his and Petey’s species recognized intuitively.
Like danger, he thought. And the instinctual fear that accompanies it.
CHAPTER 16
The shower in Peggy’s bathroom consisted of a portable showerhead strung up over an old-fashioned freestanding porcelain bathtub. A plastic curtain hung in circular formation around it, reminding Seth of those that often separate beds or gurneys in hospitals. The water pressure was less than he was accustomed to but it was hot and felt relaxing against his sore, tense muscles. He soaped up and rinsed, then washed his hair with shampoo he’d found on the counter, a glowing cherry colored concoction that smelled like wild berries. He bowed his head, closed his eyes and let the water pulse against the back of his neck.
For a few moments, it was as if everything had returned to normal. The world was peaceful, safe, warm and calm. He listened to the sound of the water as it dripped from various points on his body to the tub below; heard it swirling down the drain, spattering the plastic curtain.
But even in quiet and relaxing times—perhaps especially so—it was Raymond’s face Seth saw in the darkness of his mind. Always one version or another, it was his brother who came to him in those moments, bringing with him the same guilt that had haunted Seth for decades. This time it was memories of Raymond sitting in that locker room in high school, alone with only a small white towel wrapped about his thin waist. His hair, still wet from the shower, dangled in his face like seaweed, barely masking the embarrassment and quiet rage in his otherwise soulful eyes.
As Seth watched him from just inside the locker room doorway, he saw Raymond’s clothes laid out on the bench in front of his locker, just as he’d left them. Only now his shirt and pants were covered and smeared with shaving cream and his shoes had been filled with toothpaste. His small nylon gym bag had been emptied onto the floor and his shorts, t-shirt, underwear and socks had received the same treatment. The bag itself was covered with a dark stain. Seth could smell the urine from across the room.
Raymond saw his brother there, looked at him but said nothing. It was a look Seth had never been able to erase from his mind. Raymond had looked so fragile just then, so impossibly young, his body thin and wiry.
The office door opened and Mr. McKenzie, the gym teacher, appeared in his usual polyester coaching shorts and a shirt with the school name and logo emblazoned on the chest. From his brush cut to his wannabe Marine-like demeanor, he was as annoying as he was ridiculous, but on this day he had put aside his usual gruff machismo in favor of a more sullen manner. He looked at Raymond and then at Seth, addressing the latter when he spoke. “Just got off the phone with your mother, Roman. She’s running some fresh clothes over to the office, should be here any time now. Soon as they land I’ll go down and get them for you. In the meantime you sit tight.”
Neither boy acknowledged him.
“We find out who did this, rest assured they’ll be punished.” He turned and left them alone in the locker room.
Seth walked to the bench and sat down a few feet from Raymond.
“I could’ve stopped them, but I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Ray.”
Each time Seth remembered that day he spoke those exact words, but in reality none of them had ever left his mouth.
“You all right?” he finally managed to ask. When Raymond didn’t answer, he asked a second time. Again, there was no response. “Do you know who did it?”
“No one’s ever going to do anything like this to me again.” His voice was cold and detached, a listless monotone. “Not ever.”
It should’ve been me, Ray. I wish to God it had been.
Seth opened his eyes.
The drain was slow in emptying and the water had risen in the tub past his ankles. He reached up, turned the nozzle off and stood dripping a moment, the memories fading in favor of darkness more current.
After he’d dried off and dressed he returned to the bedroom, but it was empty, so he moved back through the small house to the kitchen. Beyond it was a modest area where Peggy had been working, a pantry-like room off which was a door that led to the backyard. An easel with a large canvas balanced on it stood in the center of the room but the painting was faced away from him. Shelves along the wall were filled with various art supplies and a few small sculptures.
The room reminded him of their place in Boston. How he missed the smell of her clays and paints and brushes. How he missed watching Peggy work, and those times when she’d finish a project and come to him so he could see and share in it with her.
He remembered how they’d always make love afterward, her clothes and body and hands still stained with the materials she’d used, and how when it was over they’d lay for hours together listening to each other’s bodies and the sounds of the city around them. They were so alive then, so utterly, passionately alive. And he’d let it slip through his fingers. All of it gone, stolen by a night he still couldn’t completely remember or understand.
This was his salvation. She was his salvation.
“I want it back,” he whispered. “Goddamn you, I want it all back.”
“What?”
Seth spun toward the sound of her voice to find Peggy in the kitchen with Petey at her side. “Nothing, I—I didn’t know you were there.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you use my shampoo?”
“It’s all there was.”
“You smell devastatingly pretty.”
“I do what I can.”
She smiled, held up Petey’s leash. “I’m going to take Petey out for his morning walk. Wanna come?”
The thumping of his tail against the floor let Seth know Petey’s
feeling on the subject.
“I wish I could,” he said. “But I have to go.”
Peggy fastened the leash to Petey’s collar. “Let me know how Louis is doing, OK?”
“Of course.” He watched her a moment, certain he had never seen anyone so lovely. “I’ll call you.”
As he moved through the room toward the backdoor, he glanced at the painting on the easel. At first all he saw was some subtle splashes of dark red and green on a charcoal-colored background. But something made him stop and consider the piece more intensely, and the longer he gazed at the painting the clearer other aspects became. She had shaded the piece, hidden other things deeper within the coats of paint. Two things in particular, upon closer inspection, became eyes. Black, otherworldly eyes just barely detectable through the dark gray and swirling patterns of red and green stared out at him as if from behind deep shadow. And attached to those eyes was the vague outline of a head and shoulders not quite human, a being purposely concealed and yet, still there, watching, waiting.
He’d seen it before—that thing—in his nightmares, in his memories, and looking into its eyes triggered a relentless fear that came to him in a single violent rush of uncontrollable terror.
“What the fuck is that?” He staggered back, away from the easel. “What the fuck is that?”
Peggy froze, the color drained from her face. “A painting I’m working on. Why, what’s the matter?”
“What is it, where—where did you see that? How do you know about that?”
“About what? I don’t understand.”
“Goddamn it, how do you know?”
“I told you I—I dreamed of colors and patterns.”
The terror remained, but it was slowly transforming into something closer to blind rage. He felt cold suddenly. His hands clenched into fists. “Answer me.”
“I did answer you. Stop it, Seth, you’re frightening me.”
He grabbed the canvas and turned it toward her. The easel tipped and fell to the floor with a crash. “This fucking thing, how do you know about this?”
“I saw color and patterns in a dream against a night sky like that,” she said, her voice shaking. “For God’s sake, it was just a dream, just—”
“Bullshit! You’re fucking lying to me!” Seth dropped the canvas like it was diseased then stepped back. “You dreamed about this? About those eyes and that—”
“What’s happening? Please just calm down and tell me what’s happening.”
At that moment he wanted nothing more than to grab her by the throat with one hand and pummel her with the other. He wanted to hurt her, to beat her face to a pulpy mess, to hear the bones in her face crack and split against his fists.
But some small part of him struggled against it, fought the terror and the rage long enough for him to see that it was only Peggy standing before him, his wife, the only person he could truly trust. It also allowed him to see how truly frightened she was. She was as terrified as he was, but her fear wasn’t of the unknown. She was afraid of him.
And it broke his heart.
He ran his hands through his hair, fighting away the anger. It collapsed into him, became raw emotion, tears and sorrow, releasing him. He looked at the painting, which now lay at his feet, but from that angle he could no longer make out the being. Maybe it had never been there in the first place. “Christ, I’m sorry, Peggy, I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I’d never hurt you, I love you.”
“It was only a dream,” she said again, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You know my dreams inspire me, I—why are you so angry? What have I done?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t know what to do,” she said. Petey sat quietly next to her, head bowed. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”
“I can’t be here, it’s not safe.”
With a heartbroken expression of her own she said, “Sweetie, of course you’re safe here. It’s only me. It’s only me and Petey and you.”
“It’s not safe for you to be around me, Peg.” The headache returned, bringing with it spikes of pain that shot up from his jaw to the top of his head. “There’s something wrong with me, something’s happened to me, something’s...”
In me.
“Then let me help you, Seth.”
“I have to go.”
He stumbled through the backdoor and into the yard. He could hear the ocean as he moved around the side of the house to the driveway and the safety of his car, his breath forming clouds around him in the cold air. But it was the vision of Peggy’s terrified face that refused to leave him, and from somewhere behind her, the horrific eyes that now watched them both.
CHAPTER 17
Edward Brock. Eddie, as his friends called him. He’d been the ringleader, the senior football star who had led the raid in the locker room where Raymond’s clothes and gym bag had been defiled. Of average height, he had blond hair he wore in a crew-cut, striking blue eyes and the solid physique of a linebacker. Until that day Seth had considered him a fairly nice kid, the kind of guy who ran with the “in” crowd but who had never given him any problems. He had wondered many times in the years since that day what had made those three young men do what they did to Raymond. Had it been some twisted way of elevating themselves? But they were already the powerful in school, the social elite, why would they bother with him at all—maybe just because they could? Or was there something about Raymond that led them to believe in some twisted sense that he was deserving of such treatment? And regardless, what made them think they had the right to administer it? They didn’t even know Raymond, knew nothing about him. How could otherwise everyday young people suddenly become so casually cruel, so thoughtless? How did that happen? Did they just not think about it in any relevant way? Did it occur to them that Raymond was a human being, or to them did he exist as something of less importance, a toy created solely for their personal amusement?
Heartlessness often came so easily, so effortlessly to so many, it seemed.
Seth left Plymouth, pulled onto Route 3 and headed for his apartment, the memories replaying in his mind.
Three days after the incident he’d found Raymond sitting on a stone wall near their home. He often sat there, alone, watching the cars go by. It was an area a few blocks from the main drag in town, but off the beaten path enough so he could hang out there undisturbed. Seth had gone looking for him, concerned over the way his brother had been behaving since that day in the locker room. Raymond hadn’t been the same since, something had changed, something inside him. Quiet victim had transformed from prey to smoldering predator.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Seth said. “You OK?”
“Fine,” Raymond said evenly.
“You wanna go do something?”
Raymond slowly shook his head. “Can’t, waiting on somebody.”
“Who?”
“Eddie Brock.”
Seth felt his heart drop. “Why, what’s—”
“His girlfriend Nina lives over on Rutherford.” He motioned to a side street a few blocks away. “He walks right by here on his way home.”
“So what?”
“So he was one of them. I saw him in the locker room that morning from the showers. He didn’t know I saw him, but I did. He did most of it.”
“Did you tell—”
“I didn’t tell anybody.”
“Why?”
Raymond slid down off the wall, landed next to Seth. He was wearing a waist-length jacket and had both hands stuffed in the side pockets. “Because I’m handling it. You told me I needed to start fighting my own battles, right? Well, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
Seth forced a swallow. His mouth had gone horribly dry. “Ray, listen to me, Eddie’s a tough kid. He’s not the kind of guy you want to get into a fight with, OK?”
An odd smile creased Raymond’s lips. “It’s not gonna be a fight.”
“This isn’t the wa
y to deal with it, you’re gonna get hurt. He’s older than you, bigger than you and stronger than you, Ray.”
“But he’s not smarter.”
“What’s any of this going to prove?”
“I told you,” Raymond said. “No one’s ever going to do something like that to me again. I’ve been putting up with this shit for years. You’re right; I have to handle it myself. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I didn’t mean for you to go getting into fights with—”
“I told you, it’s not going to be a fight.” Raymond’s expression turned cold, mean.
Seth had never seen his brother look that way before. “Then what’s it gonna be?”
“A beating.”
The car radio interrupted the memories, dissolved Raymond’s troubled face.
He’d forgotten the damn thing was on. Some political pundit just to the right of Genghis Khan was droning on about world affairs and how important it was for everyday citizens to relinquish certain civil rights of their own while also denying rights to other groups of “undesirable” citizens in order for the country to remain free and safe and to be governed with “moral values.” “We must govern with moral clarity in this country,” the man said in an officious tone. “Moral order must be maintained for the greater good of all peoples.”
Seth glanced down at the digital tuner. Odd, he thought. It was set to an all-talk, ultra-right-wing station he never listened to and couldn’t recall tuning in.
He switched to a station near Cape Cod that played classical music, but the phantoms still chased him, jockeying for position in the forefront of his mind: Raymond’s face all those years ago, Peggy’s face only moments ago, those black eyes in the painting, Christy covered in blood.
The highway rolled past. A bit of sunlight struggled through the gray sky with a dull glint, cascaded along the treetops lining either side of the road. As he drove on, he did his best to keep an eye on the roadside, the trees and the other cars around him. Everything seemed infuriatingly ordinary, yet the strong sense of being watched had returned. If they—whoever they were—were truly watching him, then where were they? Where exactly were they watching him from? He wondered. Could they be right next to him, leaned in and only inches from his face, staring at him with those hideous black eyes? That concept sent a shiver-induced tremor through his body.
Deep Night Page 20