Balance - Book 2

by Marc Dickason

CHAPTER 12

  Little Judy, age eight, was standing at the foot of a double bed. Asleep in the bed was the shape of a body, made visible by soft sunlight floating in via closed curtains.

  ‘A smell of sickness,’ my mind told me as I looked around, recognising an overwhelming sensation of fragility and tenuous balance. As if potential disaster lurked in every detail of the world.

  I turned my focus on little Judy and crouched, ready to tell her to lie down and imitate a dead tree. But hesitated.

  “…standing at the foot of the bed. And who is that in the bed…?” a voice crooned. It seemed to ring in the walls and vibrate in the ceiling. The same from the forest, but louder and more recognisable. “…who is that sleeping in the bed, Judy?”

  In response Judy looked over to the bed.

  “…who is that in the bed? Is it mommy? It is…”

  Little Judy frowned, building up courage. Several times her mouth opened to speak but closed again immediately.

  “…been missing mommy…She’s been spending so much time in bed. In the cold, empty room, the one at the top of the stairs. That room that smells of medicine and sickness…”

  “Oh no,” I whispered to myself.

  The more I listened the more I knew it to be true. It was the voice of my grandmother, Fran Clarence.

  “Mommy,” Judy finally managed.

  No response.

  “Mommy.”

  “…call out for mommy. Call out for her in that cold room. And mommy…”

  The shape floundered and a face lifted from the pillow, revealing dark ringed eyes and gaunt cheeks.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here, Judy,” a voice grated, “what do you want?”

  “I was just thinking…” Judy mumbled, trembling, “Dad and I are going riding. Maybe…come with us this time?”

  “…and mommy replied…”

  “I told you, Judy. I can’t!” The words were sharp and the girl jumped.

  “It’s not the same without you, mom.”

  “…and mommy called for…”

  “Charles, the girl is in here! Charles!”

  Footsteps approached up the wooden stairs and the Cowboy entered.

  “…but mommy got angry, so angry…”

  “Get her out! Why is she in here,” the bed-ghoul shrieked, “Why is she in here, Charles?!”

  The Cowboy took a now tearful Judy by the arm and gently led her out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

  “Oh, God. I’m so tired,” the bed-ghoul screeched through the door, “Keep her out so I can sleep!”

  “…and daddy…”

  The Cowboy ushered little Judy down the stairs and I followed. They passed through the dining room and into the kitchen. Upstairs the shrieking finally stopped. Only the wet sobs of the little girl remained, echoing through the enormous wooden house.

  “You said she would get better,” Judy mewled, “you said she would get better, dad.”

  He picked her up and sat her on a countertop.

  “How about I go get Charcoal ready and we take a ride,” he said, smiling, but there was something unnatural about the man’s tone; a weary detachment. He had chosen to disconnect from the situation, ignoring both the condition of his wife and confused torment of his daughter. What remained was less than human; a husk.

  “…daddy was so tired. Mommy’s screams had made him tired. And all he wanted…”

  “Why isn’t she getting better,” Judy repeated, her tears deepening into sobs.

  “I’ll go get Charcoal,” he replied.

  “But dad…”

  “…all he wanted…”

  The Cowboy ignored her and exited through the kitchen door into the enormous backyard. After a moment, visible through the window, I saw him heading towards the barn. Judy watched. Her tears began to subside.

  My head spun, attempting to make some kind of sense of the new puzzle piece. A real thread, something I could grab hold of and pull, see what it unravelled, while, simultaneously, terror pierced icicles into my heart. It could all slip through my fingers and be lost forever...

  I stepped forward. My heart pounded in my ears.

  “Judy,” I whispered.

  She blinked and glanced around. “Mom?”

  “No, it’s not your mom. It’s Jet. We’ve met before.”

  “Jet?” Her eyes focused on me.

  “Yes. We spoke before. You were going to tell me something.”

  “I was?” She blinked away the last of the tears and wiped her nose on a sleeve.

  “Yes. Do you remember?”

  “No.”

  “You were. You were going to tell me where the white wall is.”

  At this her eyes lit up and mouth popped open.

  “The white wall,” she whispered dreamily.

  “Yes! Where is it?”

  “I need to get there!” She was suddenly alert. Her face flushed with determination. “I should be going there! She’s waiting for me!”

  “Tell me where it is, Judy. Please tell me.”

  “I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Please, Judy. We’re friends, aren’t we? And friends can tell friends secrets.”

  She thought about this, biting a lip. “No. I can’t.”

  “Please. I promise I won’t tell her you told me.”

  “Well…”

  “I promise.”

  “Cross your heart?”

  “And hope to die.”

  “Okay. But you promised.”

  The kitchen melted and a new world blossomed. We were standing outside a building located near the outskirts of the city, this made apparent by the low widely spaced structures.

  My head swivelled towards the nearest building; a school, single story and well maintained. Beside us and running the length of the property’s border was a white wall, and in its centre a metal sign that read; ‘Little Dreamers Day Care’.

  I glanced around desperately, trying to find some indication of a street address.

  “It’s the white wall,” Little Judy said.

  “Yes. Good girl,” I replied, smiling and ruffling her hair, “You’re a good girl, Judy.”

  She beamed.

  I took in as many details as possible; red brick exterior, pillars flanking the door, red seesaw in the playground, cement entrance path.

  I turned back to her.

  “Okay Judy, now I need you to do something for me, okay? And it’s very important.”

  “What?”

  “I need you to lie down.”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “I just need you to. Okay? You have to lie down and not move. It’s very important that you don’t move.”

  She opened her mouth to reply but her eyes were fixing on a place beyond my shoulder. Her cheeks drained. I spun, but knew what I would see before I saw it. The horse; its head framed by the kitchen window.

  “…but all daddy wanted was for mommy to go away. He wanted her to go away so she would stop screaming. So she would stop messing. So he could rest again… all he wanted…”

  “You have to lie down, Judy! Lie down!”

  But she was already shrieking, head thrashing from side to side and hands flying to cover her ears.

  “… was for mommy to leave him alone forever…”

  “Judy! Listen to me! Listen to me! You’re a dead tree!”

  I was in the in the street. Ahead a skeletal Judy was swaying unsteadily between abandoned cars, her eyes staring into mine. Here she was not yet screaming.

  “Judy, listen to me, honey,” I whispered, “You need to lie down. Please…”

  But her eyes were fixing on a place beyond my shoulder. From behind came a single ‘clop.’

  “Judy, oh God…”

  Blue sparks began to pop in the air around her body.

  Clop. Clop. Clop.

  Without thinking I reached out and placed my hand over her eyes, blocking the horse from sight. She began to relax.

  Then a red
circle appeared square on the muscle that connected my thumb to the rest of my hand. Simultaneously Judy’s head snapped to the side and a jet of pink particles erupted from beside her ear. A moment later came the crack of an assault rifle.

  I watched, dumbfounded, as she toppled backwards and hit the asphalt. It was three more seconds before I realised my face was covered in blood.

  Above a helicopter was circling.