Elias's Fence

by Steinberg, Anne

It was by accident that in the kitchen by the recipe box she saw the small note in Anderson’s handwriting. Looking closer she noticed it was the recipe for Nirvana. She felt a feeling of elation. If she followed the recipe, used all the prescriptions listed, she would feel total relief.

  The nights where she stifled her sobs in the pillow, because it hurt so much, would be over. She could control it. And Luke and Mark, because of their discomfort, could be self-medicated again.

  She went to bed, hiding the scrap of paper in her robe. As she twisted and turned in distress, she comforted telling herself – I can make it, I have the recipe. I can make it anytime I want. My eyes will stop itching, my muscles will stop twitching, my stomach will settle. And as she tossed and turned in pain, visions came to her. Her mother telling stories, the forgotten grandmother baking cookies, a bright church pew where she and her brothers sang Yes, Jesus Loves Me.

  She bit her nails, and when they bled she bit the skin welcoming the pain. I am in control of this. I can stop it. I can go to the kitchen now, right now, and mix the ingredients and the pain will be over. But the memories and visions that were now possible flooded her mind, and it was different, to be able to feel. She felt sadness and realized the other side of that coin was happiness – did she or had she ever felt this? She wasn’t sure.

  The paper in the pocket of her robe had a mind of its own – it rustled and seemed to move. She took it out of her pocket and stared at the precise tiny letters of her father’s careful handwriting, and in surprise at the knock on the door, as a reflex she put the paper in her mouth. It was her father with some orders of what she should pack in the morning. As she nodded to him, in a reflex she found herself chewing. And later she didn’t know whether to credit herself with having the willpower to destroy that harmful recipe – or was it the pure accident of the unexpected knock on the door that led her to pop the note in her mouth which allowed the ink to run and make the words indistinguishable? She would never know the truth.

  When the new passports arrived, a passport had been altered to show her as Christine Thorpe, the wife.

  The children knew that their father was not a sentimental man and so they were surprised, as he finished packing his business papers, when he carefully wrapped a small gold photo frame in a silk scarf and put it and an old yellowed newspaper clipping in his briefcase.

  They were almost ready. Australia waited.

  Chapter 26

  Rosa only had one more day. Yesterday she had stolen the things from Anderson's desk and stayed up half the night working carefully on them. Today she had to put them where they needed to be - and she knew that would be difficult.

  Before she accomplished this Rachael found her. Rachael shut the door behind her and looked down at the desk where Rosa had assembled papers and pen. She picked up a small scrap of paper – it was a love not – written in Christine’s careful hand.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, searching Rosa’s face for an answer.

  “You know,” Rosa said softly.

  “Know what?”

  “He had her killed, you know that, you must have been there,” Rosa accused.

  Rachael sank down to a chair, shut her eyes and she seemed to hear the roar of an angry crowd.

  “How did he arrange it?” Rosa asked softly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do,” Rosa persisted.

  Rachael lay her head down on the table and shut her eyes tightly trying to erase the picture of a bandaged hand climbing up the lethal spikes of the fence. Pictures swirled in her head, the face of the amigo, the sound of the ax crashing down on the concrete. “It was me, and Luke and Matthew, we did it.”

  “No, my child, it was not you or your brothers, it was three children robbed of their humanity, who were not aware of what they were doing.”

  Rachael closed her eyes tightly trying to close out the various vignettes of terror.

  Rosa felt afraid for she knew he was taking them away to some foreign place.

  “You must fight him?”

  “How?” Rachael pleaded

  Holding up the half written note – Rosa said simply, “She must hunt him, wherever he goes, whatever he does.

  Rosa had brought her sons with her and had cautioned them to play quietly. As usual, they went into the largest room to hide among what furniture was left.

  At lunch, Rosa noticed how carefully Anderson watched her pour the Nirvana, she smiled to herself. Tea and chocolate won't hurt them, she thought.

  After lunch, she worked mostly upstairs, packing for the children. Already they looked better to her, healthier. The first few days she had seen how badly their hands shook, but now the greyness of their skin had softened. But mostly it was their eyes that had changed so much - the flat blankness that had been there for so long had lifted.

  Downstairs, Anderson was searching for his favorite pipe. Going from table to table in the living room without turning on the lights, he brushed against a chair and the dust cover slipped off - and he saw the child huddled there.

  From another corner, he heard the shuffle of small feet running.

  He crouched down and in the gloom he could see the child's eyes gleaming with excitement.

  "He's left you," Anderson teased. "Your brother, he's left you. Didn’t you hear him running away?"

  This tiny boy trembling before him created a strange, savage, blood lust within Anderson. "Last time you bit my hand," he whispered. "I want to hear you say you're sorry; I want to hear you cry. You must cry because you're so sorry," he continued.

  Within seconds he began to hear soft sobs. "Good - that's very good." The room was quiet except for the harsh sound of Anderson's ragged breath.

  "Come here now," he coaxed the child. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that if you hurt somebody you must kiss it and make it well?" He pushed his large hand toward the child, who shrank back in fear, only to be stopped by the unyielding wall.

  Suddenly the room was flooded with light. "Dad, are you in here? I've got some questions about the packing."

  Disappointed, Anderson rose and left the room with Luke. They had turned out the lights and left the small boy trembling in the dark.

  Back in his own room, Anderson lay down and covered his eyes. The child had made him terribly uneasy. He had planned his life as straight as an arrow and the plan had worked beautifully. But now this child had awakened something in him; he felt a hunger for something tangible.

  He had been sent to the world by the fallen angel who selected him from the wheel of time. His many successes had been experienced through virtual reality, but suddenly he yearned to know what it would be like to see, to smell, to touch, to experience his evil first hand. The desire for a tactile sensation, for actually touching, was becoming an obsession with him. He felt a craving which was so powerful it was painful, a hunger so strong that he was sure it could only be satiated by devouring that child's heart.

  For the first time in his life, Anderson was afraid of himself. He didn’t want to lose his purpose, of what he was sent here to accomplish.

  At dinner he asked Rosa to stay the night. "There are plenty of bedrooms and we might need you in the morning - as we will be leaving very early. Of course I'll pay you double time."

  Rosa agreed, but a queasy feeling of fear filled her stomach. She tried to tell herself that she wouldn't be in danger - that he couldn't possible know that she knew what he had done - but she knew she would bolt the door in her bedroom and stay awake all night. She didn't want to stay, but there was no way out; no way past the fence, the electric fence.

  She tried to hide her uneasiness by bustling about the kitchen. Her sons were already seated at the table, but Juan only played with his food; Rosa knew he had not eaten even one bite.

  She poured the bogus Nirvana and Anderson watched as his children emptied their glasses.

  After dinner, Rachael said, "Come on, guys, let's play Monopoly. I remember when I was sick you guys beat me every game, but
now that I'm well, watch out."

  She took their small hands and started out of the room, but paused in the doorway. "Matt - Luke - come on. It's fun."

  "That's the dumb game we played as kids, isn't it," Matt said sarcastically.

  "It's not so dumb," Rachael said. "It's fun - come on."

  Noisily, they left the room and headed upstairs.

  Anderson turned down Rosa's offer of another cup of coffee. "It keeps me awake and I must be up early - the plane leaves at seven." He paused at the sideboard to take another cookie and left the room.

  If it keeps you awake, I'd better drink the whole pot, Rosa thought. It had been wasteful to make the full eight cups and feeling guilty, she managed to drink three of them.

  Upstairs, the Monopoly game raged in full force, Matt and Luke were surprised to find they were having fun and it distracted them from how unwell they were feeling.

  "You're cheating, Matt," Rachael accused.

  "No, I'm not."

  "Yes, you are. I saw you move your piece."

  "Maybe you rocked the board."

  "Nuts! I've going down and get some cokes - who wants one?" Rachael asked.

  Me - Me - Me - apparently everybody.

  When she reached the kitchen, she paused for a moment outside the door as a strange drip-drip sound caught her attention. When she entered the room, she jumped with fright at the sight of Rosa who was slumped across the table, the coffee from her overturned cup leaking across her face, into her hair, and then slowly dripping, dripping onto the waxed floor. In the bottom of the cup Rachael saw an orange residue.

  She looked at Rosa closely and let out a sigh of relief when she saw that she was breathing evenly and that her face looked peaceful. She wasn't sick, Rachael knew, she had been drugged. But why?

  She put a towel on the floor and the staccato sound of the dripping coffee stopped.

  Why? Why was she drugged and by whom? It wasn't Matt or Luke - they were different now - they weren't into that cruel shit anymore.

  No, it was her father. But why would he drug her?

  As she stood there puzzling, she smelled the distinct scent of candles and realized it was coming from the dining room. For a moment she stood in front of the sliding doors, afraid to open them; she couldn't imagine what the room contained, but she had to know.

  "Father," she called and with one swift motion slid one side of the door open.

  The sight took her breath away, for Anderson was dressed all in black, the dark turtleneck tight around his slender throat. He stood resting his long fingers on the table that was now draped in black velvet; at either end thick black candles flickered. Shadows danced upon his face, hiding his eyes, but his lips - his lips were red, so very red.

  Behind him on the wall where a portrait had always hung, was a grotesque wooden cross made of twigs, and hanging on the cross, upside down, was a tattered naked Ken from her old Barbie doll set.

  "Come in, Rachael," he said, his voice quivering with excitement.

  She moved one step closer, then noticed the other black candles burning brightly around the room and on the table, carefully placed on a scarlet cloth was the large butcher knife and roasting fork.

  "What is it, Dad?" she asked, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking.

  "I’m not quite ready, but we’re going to hold a black mass."

  "What's that?" she asked, pretending that everything was normal.

  "It's an experience, it's okay. Remember, honey, anything and everything you want to do in this life is okay. I taught you that."

  She nodded. "But what exactly do you do at a black mass?"

  "Well," he played with a cone of incense and inhaled, "you shed the prison of your clothes, you dance, you dream, you do whatever you desire - and then the climax is a sacrifice."

  "A sacrifice," she repeated dumbly.

  "Yes, a sacrifice," he repeated.

  "Oh - well I better get Matt and Luke."

  "In a minute - not quite ready," he said in that breathless voice so unlike him.

  Rachael slid the door shut silently and ran frantically up the steps. As she leaned against the door, gasping for breath, Matt looked up and saw her blanched, white face.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Dad...it's totally bizarre...he's talking about holding a black mass."

  "A black mass - what's that?" Luke asked as, unnoticed, he moved his piece up two spaces on the board.

  "He keeps saying it ends with a sacrifice," and with that Rachael began to cry.

  "Don't cry," Juan pleaded.

  "I can't help it, I'm scared," she answered. Holding her mouth, she began to sob into her hands.

  "Please don't cry," Jose said, repeating his brother's words.

  But Rachael continued sobbing uncontrollably.

  Juan left the room, went down to the kitchen, and retrieved it from his mother's shopping bag. He was very quiet so as not to wake her. He knew she worked so hard that she sometimes fell asleep at the table.

  Running back upstairs, he went up to Rachael, patted her hair for a moment, and then held it out to her. "Here, you can have him if you're scared."

  Through her tears, she saw the ragged Teddy he offered her and in that moment she knew. "Run, run and hide!" she screamed. "Both of you boys - do it now. Run and hide and don't come out no matter who calls you."

  The brothers were terrified by her outburst. "Is it the boogie man?" Juan asked.

  "Yes - it's him. Now run and hide! And don't come out no matter who calls you," she repeated.

  With that, the boys ran, stumbling into each other in their panic to get away from the unknown danger, down the steps, through the darkened rooms, hearing the eerie sound of the discordant music coming from the dining room.

  They stumbled into the kitchen, running around their sleeping mother to hide among the brooms and mops in the closet.

  "No, it's not good enough," Jose said and they burst out of the closet, running wildly down the hall to the only safe place to hide – the basement.

  Jose opened the door and closed it silently behind them. Slowly, feeling their way one step at a time in the dark, they went down the steps and through the rooms until they found the right one, knowing it by the feel of broken clay around their feet.

  Sliding across the floor, the older boy searched for the panel. It slid open easily and both boys got in, wedging their small bodies into the tight hiding place, pulling the panel shut behind them.

  There was not enough room to turn or even to scratch - not even when each boy imagined a hairy spider walking across his face.

  "Mama said there's lots of spiders down here," Juan announced.

  "No," the older boy comforted his baby brother with a lie, "Mama said there were, before she sprayed and got rid of 'em."

  It was then that they heard it – a loud hoarse voice screaming in the night somewhere above them.

  "Come out - come out - wherever you are," it called.

  There was the sound of running feet and then other voices rang out.

  "Come out - come out - wherever you are - time's out."

  Juan began to move. "It's Rachael."

  "No. Remember what she said. Don't come out no matter who calls you."

  "I want my Teddy," Juan began to sob.

  "Ssh - you gave it to Rachael. You can't make noise or the boogie man will find us."

  "Who is the boogie man?" Juan asked. "Is it Mr. Thorpe?"

  "I guess so. Now be quiet. And remember, Mama said our special friend, God, is always with us."

  "I'm scared of him, too, cause I can't see him," Juan said, his voice quivering as he imagined maybe he was in there with them. If you can't see him, maybe he was.

  The madness went on all through the night - running steps and different voices calling from different places - and once they heard Mr. Thorpe very near, cursing and stumbling over the broken pottery, his flashlight moving randomly over the empty rooms. They heard the clink of the door as he looked into the em
pty kiln, but he didn't know that two feet from him, right next to his left leg, they huddled together, holding their breath until they heard his heavy tread upon the steps, going back upstairs.

  In the unchanging dark they slept, they woke, their small bodies grew numb, and still they heard Anderson calling - "Come out - Come out - wherever you are".

  It was a night of horror and unreality as Anderson made his children participate in his perverted game; made them play hide and seek with the lights out, using only flashlights as they went from room to room; made each child call out the words - over and over again.

  When the sun finally rose, Anderson's madness fled. He gathered the candles, the cloth, the obscene cross, and piled them into trash bags; he moved the suitcases down to the door and waited for the Secure Cars van to pick them up.

  Matthew, Rachael, and Luke were subdued, each trying to imagine what Anderson had planned to do if he found Rosa's boys; each wondering if it had really happened - that night of strange games.

  In the kitchen, Rosa stirred slightly. Rachael began to write a note. "They're safe," she began.

  "Rachael, the car's here," she heard them calling to her. She left the note unfinished, kissed Rosa's cheek, and joined them for the trip to the airport.

  It was another hour before Rosa shook off the effects of the pills. Dazed, she looked around the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the window and the hands of the clock pointed to 9:30.

  "They're gone," she murmured to herself as she stood unsteadily, her legs still asleep. She stomped her feet until the feeling returned and then went from room to room calling, "Juan - Jose", but there was no answer. She ran upstairs, still calling, her voice frantic with fear, but they were nowhere to be found - her search of each room was fruitless.

  She looked out at the beautiful June morning. Could they have gone out in the yard? My God, she had warned them often enough about the fence, but... Her fears sent her flying down the steps and out the door into the new morning.

  No, they were not out there. Then she saw the bulging trash bags. With her hands trembling so badly she could barely twist the plastic ties that held them shut, she tore through the bags.