Halfway Down the Stairs

by Gary A Braunbeck

  "I, uh...I am,” said his dad. “I’m...pretty tired."

  They stared at one another for a moment, Donald watching his father's eyes fill with something he recognized but could not name. These were the moments that tore Donald up inside; they'd never had all that much to talk about before, and now that it was just the two of them any attempted conversation was nothing short of torturous. They both tried so damn hard. And they shouldn't have had to.

  "How'd that test go?"

  "Which one?" His father ran a shaking hand through his tangled hair.

  "I, uh, don’t...you know, that one? That one you was so worried about."

  "Greek Mythology?"

  ''Yeah."

  "I did fine."

  His father gave a smile. A very small one. "That's good."

  Donald could feel his stomach tightening. His father blinked a few times, then gave a nod of his head. "That's...that's good. I hate to see you...y’know, worry."

  Donald looked away, feeling something hot behind his eyes.

  "I'd better hit the sack," said his father. The phone was ringing in the kitchen. When Donald spoke again he did it very, very slowly, not taking any chances the Craziness would come back.

  "You look pretty tired," he said. So far, so good. He took a step toward the kitchen. "Good night."

  "...‘night," whispered his father, turning on the stairs and slowly making his way up. Donald vanished into the kitchen as quickly as he could, grateful that he'd been spared the sight of his father stumbling away. He answered the phone. It was Laura.

  "Hey, sexy," she said. "You get the tickets?"

  "Yeah, no problem."

  "Good seats?"

  "The guy’s a scalper, of course they’re good seats—they ought to be, for what we paid for them.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Tenth row, main floor."

  "That's great! Main floor!" Donald found the sound of her enthusiasm unnerving. Jennifer had been excited, too.

  "Jim and Theresa'll flip!"

  "I hope not," said Donald. "Jim's d-d-driving." He bit into his lip and cursed under his breath. On the other end he heard Laura take a small breath.

  "Donny? Is everything all right?" He took several deep breaths again, trying to calm himself. It did no good to let it get the best of you, that's what the Craziness fed on. He swallowed, released his breath slowly, and spoke again.

  "Everything's fine. Really. I’m just a little...nervous."

  "Don't be," said Laura. "We'll stay together, all of us, and everything'll be fine."

  "Listen, Laura, I really gotta tell you, it's been...I, I mean...I'm not real sure that I'm up for this."

  "You are, you know it."

  "It's just that...Dad's not looking real good and—"

  "He never does," said Laura. That caught Donald off-guard. He and Laura had been dating for over a year now, and in all that time she'd never once made any remark about his father; she'd listened to him about Jennifer, about his mom and dad, but never once had she—

  "What's that supposed to m-mean?" He bit his tongue.

  "It means you have to stop blaming yourself, Donny. There's nothing you can do for him, and the sooner you let go of that the better you'll feel."

  "What about him, huh? What about the way he feels?"

  "Don't start in on me, Donny. I know you care about him, but I care about you. Can we drop this, please?”

  "Yeah. Sorry." He heard her silence see the smile of relief on her face.

  "Good," she said. "We'll pick you up at six." He thought he heard his father laughing. Maybe it was laughing.

  "See you then," he said.

  "Donny?"

  "What?"

  "You're okay. Everything's okay. You lived—that’s nothing to feel guilty about."

  He smiled, said good-bye, and hung up. She was right, she was always right, he just had to relax, had to think about what he had now, not what he'd lost, he just had to—

  He caught sight of Jennifer's picture on the hall table. Second grade, dress, black shoes, chubby cheeks, stupid-cute grin. The burning behind his eyes worsened.

  "Ah...hell," he whispered.

  He hurried up to his room, where he closed the door and sat on his bed, cursing his trembling arms.

  From across the hall he could hear his father talking, heard his mother's name mentioned once or twice.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the chill left from the neighbors' stares.

  He removed his shoe and looked at the remains of the insect he'd crushed.

  He looked across his room at the small statuette of Perseus brandishing Medusa's head.

  "Why don't you really exist?” he whispered to it. "Why couldn't you have been there, huh? Tell me that, Purse. Why couldn’t you have swept down on ole Pegasus and pulled her out of it? Once they opened the doors she never had a chance. I just couldn't...keep h-h-hold..." He looked away from the statue and down at his hands.

  They were still shaking.

  He heard his father drop something and curse.

  He remembered Mrs. Williamson's scream and wondered—as he always did whenever the memory assaulted him—if Jennifer Ann had called his name, believing that Big Bestest Brother would swoop down and save her.

  But the crowd had been too big, had waited for too long in weather that was too cold—

  —and Jennifer should've let him pick her up and hold her like he wanted, but she said no because it made her feel like a baby—

  —and he should've been paying more attention to her when the crowd started to push—

  —and that crowd should've been full of human beings instead of monsters.

  He gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger.

  The thoughts didn't change anything. He was still responsible for his sister's death, as surely as Agamemnon was responsible for the death of his daughter.

  A sacrifice of sorts.

  Donald smiled bitterly to himself then, realizing that he'd linked the story of Agamemnon to Jennifer's death so he'd remember it for the test.

  What gods did your death appease, my little sister? What victory was secured?

  He heard his father drop and shatter the beer bottle, then call out and ask Jennifer if she'd mind cleaning it up so mom wouldn't have to, he was sorry he was so clumsy....

  Donald stood at the window and saw another insect, this one crawling on the inside of the glass. It looked a lot like the other one.

  He felt the house crowding in on him as the bug reached out with its feelers.

  He didn't try to speak as he reached out, shoe in hand, and squashed the thing.

  * * *

  At twenty minutes until six he sat down on the steps of his front porch to wait for Laura, Jim, and Theresa. He'd left his father a note saying that they were going to the movies and then for pizza.

  He didn't want the man to worry.

  He looked up and saw a few neighbors peek out at him through their windows. Maybe it was just a trick of the orange-red sunlight, but all their eyes seemed to be as bloodshot as his father's. Tiny, fiery orbs with a slight pinprick of black in the middle.

  He shook his head and looked down at his hands.

  They were not shaking.

  A soft scraping sound came to him then...no, wait, not scraping, more like a crackling noise, a small, dried twig, maybe, brushing against wood.

  Behind him.

  As he turned the image of little Julie, crawling, came to his mind—

  —and left when he saw the insects.

  Ten, maybe fifteen of them, all crawling around the remains of the one he'd crushed before coming in. They piled on top of one another like children building a human pyramid, all the time scattering the mashed remains Donald had left for them.

  One insect fell from the black group and began scuttling in his direction, feelers extended, mandibles clacking.

  Donald scooted down one step.

  Another insect followed.

&
nbsp; Then another.

  Another.

  Donald got up and walked away from the porch.

  Soon all of the bugs were crawling toward the steps where he'd been sitting. As he stared at them Donald wondered if they, too, had little bits stuck to the bottoms of their...

  Their what? Their feet? Bugs don’t have feet.

  He looked at the writhing mass on the steps.

  They don’t have feet.

  Do they?

  He took another step back just a car pulled up and Laura called his name.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t get away from the house quickly enough.

  * * *

  Laura held his hand all the way to the concert, her head resting on his shoulder, her voice telling him that they were going to have fun, not to worry, things would be all right, she really loved him....

  He replied to her, but couldn't really hear himself.

  When he spoke he did it very slowly, and was pleased that he didn't hear himself stutter.

  Once he looked at the reflection of Jim and Theresa's eyes in the rear-view mirror, noting that the sun made their eyes bloodred and pinprick black, also.

  He felt awkwardly aware of the insect remains on the bottom of his shoe, but didn't say anything about it to Laura. She might think the Craziness was trying to come back. And he didn't want that.

  He closed his eyes once, saw something small crawling into his path, and opened them at once.

  “You okay?” said Laura, her breath warm against his cheek.

  "I think...yeah. Great. We're gonna have...fun, right?"

  She leaned close and kissed him. "Right. Now stop being such a wet sponge." He laughed. Wet sponge. That was a good one.

  Jim pulled into the arena parking lot and drove around until they found a spot; from the looks of it they were a good football field away from the entrance doors, but even here Donald could see the edge of the crowd.

  It was too damned big.

  He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, hoping that Laura wouldn't ask him what was wrong.

  She didn't, and he loved her for that.

  "All-fuckin'-right!" shouted Jim. "We have arrived!" Donald didn't know either Jim or Theresa very well, and didn't particularly want to; they were a ride to the concert, that's all. He looked once more at their eyes—which hadn't changed—then toward the milling crowd...

  ...did you remember to give Jennifer her gloves? You know how she hates it when her hands get cold and it's supposed to be cold tonight...

  ...make sure you call us after it's over, Donny, you know how your mother worries about you kids...

  ...ohgoddadididntmeanforittohappen...

  ...pull out drawer seven, will you, Charlie?

  He felt his mouth starting to go dry.

  They climbed out of the car, locked it, and went to grab a place in the crowd. It didn't take long for the sun to finish setting, leaving them in darkness except for the glow of the arena lights, lights that cast a cryptic sheen over everything but didn't change the fact that everyone's eyes were red and black, red and black, it just must have been a trick of the light, that had to be it, just a trick of the lights over the thousands of bodies and faces, faces in front of them, behind them, next to them, edging them forward into the immovable mass of bodies before them, beside them, a few angry shouts but nothing serious, impatient, drunken, stoned shouts, the shuffling of too many feet, the brush of too many shoulders, the clattering of too many emptied beer bottles, the smell of too many joints being passed around...

  ...Donald looked around him as he squeezed Laura's hand tighter, trying not to give into panic, a panic he felt pushing its way up from his balls into his throat, but there was at least the feel of Laura's hand, a good feeling, a safe feeling, even here, even now...pushing against them, someone was pushing against them from behind...he turned to get a look, maybe say something to them, tell them not to be so impatient, everybody paid their money and they were going to get in...but only more faces, more bodies, more red-pin-prick-black eyes that glanced around, behind, ahead, all of them meeting his own at one point, never staying for long, and he thought for a second...a fraction of a second, that he saw a small, fragile figure making its way through the crowd, trying to get somewhere in particular, trying to get to someone in particular, but in a blink and a noisy shifting of the crowd it was gone, lost in the swirling mass of voices, eyes, and flesh...

  ...he took some deep breaths and looked down at his feet, trying to stay calm, they hadn’t been here all that long, there was no reason for him to feel so panicky, so why did he...his shoe, there was something wrong with his shoe...he bent over just a little and glared down, watching as a shadow of some kind shifted under his feet...no, not a shadow, it was a...a...a leg...no, not a leg, just part of a bug that he'd scraped off, only...wait...only it seemed to be moving, seemed to be trying to pull itself out from under his weight, a small, twig-like hairy leg squirming from under his shoe...he froze as he stared, thinking for a moment that he could hear the clatter of its hard- shell body, could see its mandibles starting to jut out from under...

  ...Laura leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, whispering something about later on tonight, after the concert, Mom and Dad weren't home and she was all alone did he wanna come over, soft promises of flesh and tongues and bodies...bodies pressing, bodies sweating, groaning, pumping steadily...he looked at her and smiled, kissed her, but felt nothing, only the sour liquid in his stomach churning around, churning and bubbling as the crowd shifted once again, and Donald looked around, feeling the sourness spread into his mouth, drying his saliva, gluing his tongue down, unable to speak now, almost unable to breath, but then Laura kissed him again with her wet and wonderful tongue and he was all right, moist again, able to swallow, then he noticed that Jim and Theresa were nowhere to be seen...

  ...the figure again, he saw the figure again, so tiny, so frightened, and he almost moved to reach for it, but then Laura grabbed his arm and said, "You're not going anywhere without me, not in this crowd," so he pulled her along beside him, positive he'd seen...seen someone wandering around the crowd, a frightened gleam in their gaze, maybe tears streaming down their cheeks, but no one saw because she was so small, no one heard because her voice was too weak and they were too busy trying to push other people out of the way, trying to get as close to the doors as possible, that's what counted, getting ahead so you could get inside, get a good seat, toke it up, party down, drink and chug Big Time...

  ... “Christ, slow down, will you," said Laura, demanding that he give her a break, just wait a minute...Donald slowed and stood still, his eyes darting around...Laura moved closer to him, putting her arms around his waist...he took another deep breath and put a protective arm around her shoulder and said, "Are you all right?" and she said, "I'm fine, how about you, lover?" and he laughed, laughed and held her close because she'd never called him "lover" before and he liked it, liked it very much as he stretched his arms out to relax them and went to step closer to Laura...

  ...someone pushed from behind and he lost his balance, fell forward, rammed his foot out to try and break his fall but in the second before his foot connected with the pavement a child crawled out in front of him, a small child, a baby crawling, and he tried to cry out but someone else pushed and he felt his foot connect with the fragile skull, felt the baby's head pop like a melon below his foot, and his stomach heaved then but nothing came up as he looked down and saw the feelers worming around, saw the baby's arms flailing out as it kicked and wriggled in its death spasms, so he pulled back and lifted his foot, not wanting to see what he'd done but having to look...

  ...mandibles...the baby had mandibles and feelers and its legs were no longer the chubby flesh-folds of a baby’s but thin, hairy twigs that skittered out and brushed against the legs of his pants, but before he could say anything a woman broke through, picked up her mandibled child, and vanished into the crowd...

  ...Laura grabbed his arm again and said, "Whoa! Almost lost you
for a second there," and he wanted to tell her, wanted to ask her if she'd seen the insect baby, but he didn't dare, didn't dare because if he did he knew she'd think the Craziness was back, and he didn't want for her to think he was crazy just because everyone else did, but then he thought that, yes, it was easy for everyone else to think he was crazy because they weren't the ones out here that night, they weren't the ones who’d pushed, hit, and kicked their way through to find that little body, little crushed body lying in the long, wide, stone hallway, one tiny gloved hand reaching out as if clutching for someone they prayed would swoop down and save them, head mashed into the cement, skin, bones, brains ground to a sickening pulp, bending low, cradling her in his arms, screaming out, crying out, a howl that was lost under the massive roar of the rock 'n' roll monsters inside, rocking back and forth, feeling her innards shift around like the pennies in her piggy bank back home under her bed...I'm so sorry, Jennifer, please...please come back...please don't be...don't be like this, dead like this...

  ...he looked around, blinking away the thoughts, swallowing back the fear, blacking out the memory of the insect baby because he knew he hadn’t seen anything like that, it was just his fear taking over and he wasn't going to let that happen, forcing away the indelible image of his sister's mangled form...just to the right, the figure was just to the right, and he moved quickly, with Laura in tow, asking him if he thought the crowd was acting all right because it seemed to her, didn't he think, that they'd been out here an awfully long time...

  ...everyone was looking his way now, looking at him through the bloodshot eyes of his father...then the figure again, moving just ahead of them, and this time he heard it cry out, not very loudly, but there was just a moment of silence from the crowd...a fraction of a moment, where all seemed to freeze in the night and allow that sound to come over and find him, so he tightened his grip on Laura and began moving again...

  ...he noticed the noise of the crowd was almost deafening now, slicing into his ears like a sub-zero wind, so he shook his head and kept moving, acutely aware that his father stared out from behind every face that turned as he passed...Laura asking about the goodies they sold inside...shall we get a program, some sweatshirts with the tour emblem on them, something to drink from the stands, what?...he wasn't paying much attention to her, could only think of that tiny figure lost among all these violent bodies and now...now there was the scrabbling, clacking sounds of insects somewhere behind but he refused to turn and look because then Laura would know the Craziness was back...he felt someone push from behind, yelling, "Outta my way, fuck-face!" and he lost his balance again, nearly fell forward, nearly dropped to the ground to be trampled by thousands of feet, thousands of ignorant, uncaring monsters, but he didn't fall, he kept his balance, kept hold of Laura, but the bodies were pressed tight now, pressed too tight.. .he found his breath becoming hard, labored, painful, his head was getting light, dizzy...just a little dizzy, but that he could handle, that was no problem, but that tiny figure he thought he saw...knew he saw and heard...it needed help, needed to find someone in particular...cries, loud cries up ahead, one of the security guards was yelling into a riot horn, telling the crowd to settle down before someone got hurt...someone threw a bottle at the horn and yelled, "Open the goddamn fuckin' doors!" as the bottle shattered against the guard's helmet and scattered slivers of glass into the faces of people standing nearby...Donald remembered snatches of his father's babbling from his room across the hall sorry for bein’ so clumsy, Jenny as he pulled Laura along, trying to get to the edge of the crowd because now it looked like things were going to get ugly because another guard was shoving a gas grenade into a launcher, threatening to set it off if things didn't settle down...he looked around for some sign of the little figure but couldn’t see it, couldn't hear it, could only hear the angry shouts of the crowd and some asshole blasting AC/DC from a boombox...