On Thursday morning, Steve decided to fake being sick so he could stay home and not go to fen's. It would be the last thought he would remember thinking until awakening on Friday morning at the breakfast table in Sunderland, in the middle of a conversation with his mother telling him she had enrolled him in public school-no more tutors-and he started the following Monday, the day after New Year's. His reaction surprised his mother, but not nearly as much as it surprised him. He had always wanted to go to public school, but when she told him that wish was finally coming true he got angry and didn't want to go. Despite everything that had happened that week, Steve suddenly was panicstricken at the thought of not continuing to go to fen's every day.
"No!" Steve cried at the news, nearer to tears than his voice let on. "I won't go!"
Diane was shocked at his reaction.
"What about helping Jen and Jeremy?" Steve whined.
"Honey, we can still help over there on weekends. Besides, I haven't had a real job in so long I've forgotten what it's like. I need to get one, honey. I need to do this and so do you. You are going to love school, you'll make tons of friends."
"No, I won't," Steve countered vehemently. "They'll think I'm gay!"
"What?"
"Don't sound so surprised," Steve spat out, his face beet red, his lips curled into a snarl. "You think so, too. I know you do." His voice grew in volume and pace as the riot of emotions he'd been pummeled by lately found release.
"What are you talking ab-" Diane tried to question him, but his voice rolled over hers.
"You've always treated me like a girl! Even at Jen's you told the men to go watch football so the women could clean up. Then you told me to help with the cleanup!"
Diane was flabbergasted. Never before had she seen such anger from her youngest child. Her mouth opened and closed in a couple of false starts at rebuttal, followed by several senseless grunts as she groped for words.
"I never thought that!" she finally blurted out, her voice high-pitched and trembling. "I said that because I know you hate football! That's the only reason! I thought you'd be bored!"
"How do you know I hate football? I don't hate football! You hate football!" Steve screamed at her, his voice raging.
Diane had to take a step back, as if his words were a physical force, shoving her.
"You don't know anything about me!" Steve ran from the kitchen into his room, slamming the door behind him and his body onto the bed where his fury turned into hot tears.
At the kitchen table, Diane sat, breath held, mouth open, eyelids blinking over pupils glazed from shock. Tears soon came and she rested her face on her open palms, sobbing softly, her shoulders heaving.
In his room, Steve sobbed likewise, his face buried in his pillow.
Why can't I tell anyone what's wrong? he wondered fearfully.
"Why can't I just ask for help?" he mumbled into his pillow.
"Please ... somebody help me...."
No! She's ruining everything!
The sow! The bitch!
I can't leave now!
She has waited so long to return home; is so close to being strong enough to getting complete and final control-to getting back to normal.
Now this setback.
Or is it?
Calm. Think.
The daily trips home have been good for her, have strengthened her, but how much?
If I make the push to gain control now, can I keep it away from home?
That is the question and only one way to answer it.
And if she's successful .. .
It comes to her. Of course, she should have seen it-the Machine knows what she needs to return to normal.
After all, in thirteen years she's had but a few hurried meals-what better place to find more of the sweet young flesh she needs and craves than at a school?
"I thought that when Steve and I had that long talk at Thanksgiving, everything was going to be okay, but it hasn't been."
Diane Nailer sat in a plush, leather armchair facing Dr. Gibbons across a low, oval coffee table upon which sat two mugs of steaming Earl Grey tea, and a tape recorder-Dr. Gibbons's method of note-taking. Diane was glad her sessions with Dr. Gibbons were on Friday afternoons; after Steve's unexpected reaction that morning to being enrolled in public school, she really needed to talk to her.
"What did you expect to get better?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know, really, life, I guess. Just life in general. I know I wanted me and Steve to become closer, but we haven't. We've done the opposite; we've grown further apart. Was I naive to think that it would really open up the lines of communication between us?" It was a rhetorical question, and Diane went on without looking at her therapist. "We talk less than we ever did, and he's become so moody and secretive."
"But he is a teenager, after all, right?"
Diane nodded.
"Teenagers act that way. It's no reflection on you, nor is it caused by you."
Diane shrugged. She'd been giving herself the same advice, but from Dr. Gibbons it had a more convincing ring.
"How about the dreams? Still having them?"
Diane nodded again. She didn't like talking about the dreams. It was as if speaking of them could make them come true.
"Which ones?"
"Last night was a variation on the `Little Steve is missing' dream. I dreamt he got lost in my daughter Jen's new house. I could hear him calling for help, but I couldn't find him." She teared up remembering.
"And your daughter's new house is the old Grimm place, correct?" Dr. Gibbons pointedly asked.
"Yeah, I know. It's obvious even to me, but it still scares me, and I wake up and can't breathe I'm so frightened."
"Night terrors are a common symptom of PTSS," Dr. Gibbons remarked, as she had countless times before. Sometimes it sounded like a magical incantation to Diane.
"I know, I know, but to come back so long after? Why have they come back now?"
"Perhaps your visit to the Grimm place at Thanksgiving triggered it. Perhaps it was the TV show. More than likely it was a combination of things, plus the stress of knowing that Steve knows the truth about the past now."
"Didn't you tell me that would bring relief?" Diane shook her head in exasperation and leaned forward to lift her mug for a sip of tea.
"I said it was possible," Dr. Gibbons replied calmly to her finger-pointing.
"Oh, you're right," Diane said, bringing the steaming drink back to an upright position with her. "I stress over that a lot. I worry about what he thinks of it, how he's feeling, has anyone been teasing him about it? Like I told you, I've tried talking to him about it, but since Thanksgiving, he's clammed up. At Thanksgiving he couldn't talk enough about it, then pow, he does a complete turnaround and never talks about it. It's like he never saw that TV show. He's become so different in the past couple of months."
"Since turning thirteen."
Diane laughed. "Right. I get it. He's a teenager."
"So, what are your plans for New Year's Eve?" Dr. Gibbons asked, checking her watch. "Going to your daughter's?"
"Yeah," Diane said. "I wasn't going to, but I think I will now. She's having a big costume party-a fairy-tale theme in honor of their name, `the Magic Forest Bedand-Breakfast.' Everyone is supposed to dress like a character from a fairy tale. It should be fun."
Dr. Gibbons laughed. "Good! It will be good for you to socialize for a change. Maybe you'll even meet someone. You're still a young attractive woman."
It was Diane's turn to laugh, though self-deprecat ingly. "Yeah, well, you're the only one to think so. But yeah, I'm looking forward to it. It's been a long time since I've been to a party ..." she mused, her voice trailing off into the thought: And its been even longer since any man has taken interest in me, or vice versa.
"Wow! Jen! The place looks great! I barely recognize it. Nice job." Jackie stood in the lobby, long black leather trench coat half off, dazzled by the array of white Christmas lights everywhere and the lustrous shine of so m
uch beautiful woodwork. He went to the staircase and finished removing his coat. He ran his hand over the highly polished, intricately carved newel post and railing.
"How'd you get this wood to look like this? It almost glows," Jackie remarked, handing his coat to Jen's cute sister-in-law, who he noticed was not in costume, unlike Jen and Jeremy, who were dressed as a king and queen. Debbie Watson took his jacket into the office, which was functioning as the cloakroom for the party.
"Steve did that,"Jen said. "You've been so wrapped up in your research you haven't noticed how much we got done this week. I tell you, having Mom and Steve around to help out has been a godsend. I wish they could help every day, or better yet, move in and help full-time."
"Yah!" Jackie laughed sarcastically. "Fat chance of that. You were lucky to get her here in the first place."
"Oh, I think Mom's done a turnaround about this place. She told me she actually likes working here now,"Jen countered. She held out her hand, indicating his outfit: superbaggy black dungarees with so many buckles and chains adorning them he jingled when he moved; on his feet were thick-heeled, gargantuan, square-toed, black motorcycle boots adorned with side buckles to match his pants; on top, a black T-shirt sporting six red-stenciled, full-metal-jacket rifle rounds under whatJen assumed to be a band's name in white: My Chemical Romance. Over it all in green capital letters: I DON'T NEED YOUR FRIENDS, I'VE GOT MY owN! As if that weren't bad enough, he was wearing black lipstick and heavy black eyeliner and mascara. His blond hair was spiky-messy in a carefully arranged way and streaked with purple tints.
"Nice of you to come in costume, though what fairy-tale character you're supposed to be escapes me at the moment,"Jen said, frowning.
"Hey! Don't start with me,"Jackie came right back at her. "You've got some nerve having a fairy-tale theme costume party in this place!"
"Are you nuts?" Jen laughed. "This place is what makes it so great!"
"What about her?"Jackie asked, pointing at Debbie Watson as she came out of the office.
"I'm going to put my costume on now," Debbie said sweetly and went upstairs.
"Yeah, okay, but how did Diane feel about it?"Jackie countered.
"Mom's fine with it. She's coming as Raggedy Ann," Jen said.
Jackie frowned. "Well, that's not a fairy-tale character either. And who are you and Jeremy supposed to be?"
"The Red Queen and O1' King Cole. Before you say a word, I know, Alice in Wonderland is not a true fairy tale. But you're the only one who'd know that, or bother to point it out. At least we're in the ballpark and people can tellwho we're supposed to be."
"I couldn't," Jackie said, grinning.
Jen stuck her tongue out at him.
"Besides, I think it's obvious what I am. Can't you tell?"Jackie asked, turning around to display his outfit. "I'm the Big Bad Goth. Or how about Little Black Riding Goth?" He grinned.
Jen rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you are such a dueebo dork!"
By the time Steve Nailer and his mother arrived at Jen's, the party was in full swing, the place lit up like a casino. They sat in the car for several minutes, Diane appreciating the luminous display, Steve dreading going in. He wasn't wearing a costume, had refused to wear the one his mother had bought him-a Prince Charming costume that he thought was the gayest thing he had ever seen. Surprisingly, his mother hadn't argued with him and let him come in jeans, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. She was dressed as Raggedy Ann, complete with a red mop wig and large freckles dotting her face.
"Shall we go in or would you rather stay out here all night and freeze?" Diane joked.
Without a word, Steve got out of the car, slammed the door, and went up the stairs to the porch. Diane sighed and followed. Steve was just about to knock when the door opened and Jeremy Watson, dressed like Ol' King Cole, a plastic pie, with plastic blackbirds sticking out of it, in his hand, accosted them.
"Are ye my bakers three?" he cried. "Wait a minute, there be only two of ye, so ye can't be three, can ye? Enter anyway. Blackbird pie will be forthcoming." He made a sweeping gesture. Diane curtsied and went in, but Jeremy put a hand to Steve's chest, stopping him in the doorway.
"And what fairy-tale character, pray tell, might ye be?" Jeremy asked.
"I'm the little boy who doesn't give a shit," Steve said sarcastically, surprising himself as well as Jeremy. His mother was too engrossed with Jen to have heard.
"Oh ... okay! "Jeremy faltered, smiled goofily, and awkwardly stepped aside to let him pass.
Steve crossed the threshold and braced himself. He breathed through his mouth, afraid to smell cotton candy, and squeezed his eyes shut, blocking his ears against the expected assault of buzzing insects in his head that preceded each blackout.
Nothing.
He opened one eye. He was still atJen's. He was at the party; it was New Year's Eve. He was injen's house and he hadn't blacked out!
Maybe this won't be so bad after all, he thought hopefully.
Diane Nailer hugged her daughter and looked around while Jen took her coat. The party was in full swing with people in costumes milling about the lobby and coming and going through the hallway to the dining room, kitchen, and living room. Diane didn't know if it was the music, the people in costume, or her recent revitalization via working forJen, but for the first time in a long time-thirteen years at least-she felt a delicious sense of excited anticipation being at the party. It was such a youthful feeling, her adrenaline pumping with the sense that the night was filled with myriad possibilities. She used to feel this way years ago, back when she still lived with her parents in the North End, whenever she went out clubbing with her friends.
Jen came back and was about to show Diane around and introduce her to the other guests, but a large throng of partygoers arrived-some of Jeremy's friends from college-and she was drawn away to meet them with her husband. Diane coaxed her to do so and not worry about her, then made her way to the hallway, looking for Steve or Jackie. She stopped herself. If either of her sons wanted her company, he could find her. Steve had made it more than clear lately that he didn't want his mother doting on him, and Jackie had always been like that, it seemed. She determined not to be a bother to either of them tonight. She was there to have fun, and if either of her sons was too cool to hang around with his mother, then too bad, she thought, and immediately felt a pang of guilt. She did a good job ignoring it and immersed herself in the party.
The entrance hall was a hub for the party, it seemed, with a steady flow of people entering and leaving it via the hallway at the bottom of the main staircase. Diane milled about at the bottom of the stairs for a while, people-watching and checking out costumes, but eventually got caught up in the flow of revelers moving into the hallway. She saw Jackie ahead leave the dining room and go into the kitchen. She made to call to him, but at that moment, in the living room to her left, someone put new music on-Ozzie Ozborne, if Diane wasn't mistaken-and the blast of sound precluded any communication beyond a few inches, mouth to ear. There was a small jostle as people maneuvered away from the raucous music, and Diane found herself pushed into the dining room, which she didn't mind as soon as she spied the bar. She decided to catch up to Jackie later and help herself to a drink now. A nice strong drink.
"Cause I am in a pah-ah-ah-teein' mood!" She giggled, looked around, and was grateful no one heard her. She mixed a large, strong Tangueray and tonic and drank off more than half of it like a thirsty man just emerged from the desert. She belched softly, looked around again, caught herself, and said, "Fuck it."
"Right on, sister," a cute young guy, dressed like the Pied Piper, said in passing. He winked at her and she smiled and blushed. The young man went into the kitchen. After a moment's hesitation, she refilled her drink with gin and followed him, telling herself she was looking for Jackie, but truly knowing she was following the Pied Piper and one of those myriad possibilities she had felt the evening so pregnant with upon her arrival.
Jus
t as she reached the hallway, Jackie went quickly by, followed by the Pied Piper, heading for the lobby. Diane called to Jackie, hoping to catch the cute guy's attention also, but she was again defeated by the loud music from the living room.
"Damn that noise!" Diane swore and tried to push past two of the Three Little Pigs to get into the hallway.
Debbie Watson finished dressing in her costume and stood admiring herself in the dresser mirror. She compared herself to the black-and-white photo perched against the mirror. The dress, which she'd found in the back of the closet in her room, was a perfect match, if a little big on her at first. She'd managed to tuck and hem it in secret over the past few days so that it fit better. Her hair was the biggest problem. She had gone to the seasonal Halloween store that opened for the month of October every year at the Pioneer Mall and bought a prepackaged all-purpose Halloween wig of long black-and-gray-streaked hair. Only when she opened it at home, she found it wasn't made of real hair, it was thin plastic strands that couldn't be styled or teased. She ended up ruining the thing when she tried.
She was able to tease her own hair out enough so that it was similar to the photo, but her blond hair was all wrong. With some gray hair spray paint and black mascara she did her best to salt-and-pepper her frizzed golden locks to match the photo. The final touch was to run the eyelash wand up through her eyebrows, brushing them up like flames above her eyes just like in the picture. She finished and took a step back to take it all in.
Except for the blond hair, she thought she looked pretty good, but the true verdict would be in the reactions of certain people at the party...
She couldn't wait and hurried from her room to return downstairs.
What's going on?
What's happening?
These lights. The music.
The people! Little Bo Peep! Snow White! The Big Bad Wolf.' The Three Little Pigs!
She recognizes them all but can only vaguely remember their connection to her old life. She had thought her existence could not get any more surreal, but the proof of her error is all around.
Grimm Reapings Page 15