by Kevin Wilson
“And there was this toy box right under the window,” Roland continued.
“It was white and had flowers painted on it,” Bessie said. “And we each had our own desk.”
“Where is all that stuff?” Roland asked me, and I just shrugged.
“Maybe it moved with you and your mom when y’all left the mansion,” I offered.
“We didn’t take anything with us,” Bessie replied. “Mom wouldn’t let us.”
“So where is it?” Roland asked.
“I guess we can ask Madison,” I said. “Do you want that stuff?”
“No,” Bessie admitted. “I just want to know if he kept it.”
They seemed tired now, and so we went downstairs to the kitchen and Mary let us have bread pudding, which really had a kick of whiskey to it, but I let the kids have it anyway. We sat there, the three of us eating this sweet thing, Mary watching us, tolerating us. When I finished my bowl, without thinking, I dipped my finger in the glaze that had accumulated and Roland licked it right off my finger, ravenous. “Quite a sight,” Mary finally said, and I felt like maybe she was sincere, that we were something to behold.
One morning, Carl showed up at the door. “We need to take the kids to the doctor,” he said, and I knew that he had practiced how he would say this and had decided that a direct statement, like it wasn’t up for debate, was the best way to proceed. I imagined him saying it to his reflection in the mirror.
“Why?” I asked.
And, like he had also prepared for this outcome, like he just fucking knew this was coming, he rolled his eyes. “Lillian? Why do you think the kids might need to see a doctor?”
“Because they catch on fire?” I offered.
“Yes, because they catch on fire,” he replied.
“But why now?” I asked. “That’s what I don’t get.”
“Just a precautionary measure,” he said. “Just to make sure everything’s the same. Not better. But not worse. Do you understand?”
“Because of the secretary of state thing?” I guessed.
“Yes,” he replied; he was tired. It was a little easier working with him when he was tired.
“I wish you’d told me earlier,” I said. “I have to put that gel on them, and it takes a while.”
“No,” he said. “We need them in a natural state. For the exam.”
I didn’t know if there was a way to say the word exam without it sounding creepy, but if there was, Carl had not found it. “Carl, is this a real doctor?” I asked.
“It’s complicated,” he said, which is absolutely not what you want to hear when you ask if the person you’re going to see is a licensed physician.
But I also knew it was pointless to fight him, that this came from Jasper, or Madison more likely. It was going to happen. At least the kids could have more ice cream afterward.
“I am going to be there the entire time, okay? Both of us, actually,” I told him.
“Of course,” he said.
Once we were dressed and ready, Carl pulled up in a green Honda Civic, a surprisingly ugly car, considering how nondescript it was. It looked like the kind of car that a man who sold calendars door-to-door would drive.
“Whose car is this?” I asked Carl.
“It’s mine,” he said.
“I thought you had the Miata,” I told him.
“I have two cars,” he said.
“Why do you have this car?” I asked.
“Because sometimes you don’t want to show up in a red sports car,” he told me. “Sometimes you need to show up in a Honda Civic. And tell me again what kind of car you drive?”
“That’s not important,” I said. “C’mon, kiddos.”
The interior was pristine, like it had just come off the lot. It was so impressive that I smiled at Carl, nodding my approval.
“Can we listen to music?” Roland asked.
“Absolutely not,” Carl replied, checking his rearview mirror. And we were off.
We were headed to a little town north of Nashville called Springfield. We drove past acres of tobacco on country roads until we pulled up to a two-story house with a white picket fence, the state flag of Tennessee flying from a pole set in the middle of the front yard.
“So,” I said, “just somebody’s house? Not a doctor’s office?”
“You’ll see,” Carl said, already stepping out of the car. As I collected the kids, who were bored and hot, I saw an ancient man appear on the porch, wearing a huge red bow tie, a blue oxford shirt, khakis, and red suspenders. He had on little round glasses. He looked like Orville Redenbacher, the popcorn guy. He looked insane in that way of people who put great effort into choosing ridiculous clothing. I prayed this was not the doctor.
“I’m the doctor!” he said, waving to the children.
“Oh god,” I said, and Carl surreptitiously jabbed me in the side.
“Hello, Carl,” he said.
“Dr. Cannon,” Carl replied.
“Well, come on,” Dr. Cannon said to the children, walking down the steps of the front porch. “Let’s have a look at you.” The children seemed baffled by this man, his enthusiasm. But they weren’t afraid. They walked toward him.
“Come on to my office,” he told them, and we all followed him around the house to a small white building, a single room, set in the backyard. He unlocked the door and walked in. “This belonged to my grandfather, if you can believe that,” he told us. “Eighteen ninety-six. Every town of a notable size would have a good country doctor, of course. Now, this hasn’t been in use for many, many years, but ever since I retired from practicing medicine, I like to sit in here. I like to sit in here and think.”
The wooden floors were painted gray and the walls were white. It felt so tiny in there, with all of us packed in. There were really old-looking medical instruments that I hoped would not be used today. There was a rickety wooden examining table upholstered in black leather. There were oil lamps and old bottles with labels for various quack pills. It looked like something you’d find in a living museum, a historical village. It looked like something a crazy person would have in their backyard.
“This is really wonderful, Dr. Cannon,” Carl said.
“So you’re a retired physician?” I asked him.
“Oh, yes. Practiced medicine for fifty years. Now, you know, I was the family doctor for the Roberts family when Senator Roberts, that is, Jasper’s father, was alive. I was considered the best doctor in Nashville, in the whole state of Tennessee.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure what else to say.
“I very much value my relationship with the Roberts family,” he said. “And they, of course, value my discretion.”
This all sounded creepy, like it had to be about venereal diseases, so I just kept saying “Okay” and hoping for the best.
“But these children!” he said, his voice booming. “How interesting. Now, as I’m sure Carl told you, I’m not only a doctor of medicine.”
“He did not tell me,” I replied, looking at Carl, who hadn’t even taken off his sunglasses yet.
“I am also a doctor of the paranormal, which is its own kind of science, I can assure you. And, wouldn’t you know it, I have done quite a bit of research on spontaneous human combustion.”
“Is that so?” I said, ready to scream.
“But medicine and the paranormal, while equally important, are two different things. So we keep them separate, or at least I do. Let me check these children out. Hop up, one at a time, on this table.”
Roland hopped up. The doctor took his temperature, thank god reaching into a little black bag with modern instruments, and then took his blood pressure and checked his eyes and ears and throat. He did the same for Bessie, who looked right at me the entire time, trying to keep herself calm. But the doctor was careful, mindful of the children. He wasn’t invasive. He simply observed them and made notes.
“This is all fine and good,” he said. “They’re in perfect health, of course. I could tell by looking at
them that this would be the case.”
“That’s wonderful, Dr. Cannon,” Carl said.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“Well, from what I understand, what Jasper has told me, you children catch on fire, is that right?”
The kids looked at me, and I gave them a thumbs-up sign and so they nodded in agreement.
“That is fascinating. I wish I could see that, but, no, I understand that’s not a good idea. And you are unharmed?”
The kids again nodded.
“It’s interesting because in the clear cases of spontaneous human combustion, well, the afflicted person typically dies from the flames. Or the smoke. One or the other. This is not, I believe, as straightforward as that. And also different from those cases, I understand that you can sense the arrival of the combustion? Would that be correct?”
“Yes,” Bessie admitted.
“Where, sweetie?” he asked.
“Where?” Bessie replied, confused.
“In your head? Your stomach? Your heart?”
Bessie looked at Roland, who then nodded, their little silent communication. “It kind of starts in our chest and then moves outward, like to our arms and legs and head.”
“Yes, that makes sense. A kind of radiating heat. Interesting, interesting,” the doctor said, making some more notes. “This is all very fantastical. I mean, the children combust, but are unharmed. It’s most unusual. But we can try to be scientific, to adhere to medical truths.”
“That would be perfect,” Carl assured the doctor.
“My initial thoughts have to do with ketosis. Do you know what that is?” he asked the children, who shook their heads. I was shaking my head, too, without realizing it. Carl, of course, was nodding. Of course he knew.
“It’s just a natural metabolic process that happens in your body. If you don’t have enough glucose in your body for energy, your body starts to burn fat. Like a candle, perhaps, if that helps? And so, some people say this is good and some people say that it can be bad. I’m not interested in that, because I think your case might exist outside those worries. But, if you could create a diet that avoided ketosis, then, and this is only a theory, you might prevent the body from so easily creating a kind of internal combustion. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose it does, Dr. Cannon,” Carl replied.
“Can we eat ice cream?” Roland asked.
“Well, that is high fat, but there’s sugar, so I think that would be okay,” Dr. Cannon replied. He tore off a piece of paper and handed it to Carl, who pocketed it.
“It’s simple,” Dr. Cannon said. “You might already be doing it without knowing it, which of course would mean this entire visit was useless. I’m afraid I can’t offer much more than that while maintaining such strict protocols for privacy, without much more testing.”
“This is fine,” Carl said. “It’s greatly appreciated.”
“Now, children,” he said, redirecting his focus, “if we move beyond medicine and look at the paranormal, we might think about the idea of fire, and how a fire is contained within a human vessel.”
“Huh?” Roland said.
“Well, the only fire that I know of that exists within a human body is the Holy Spirit.”
“What now?” Bessie said.
“Say what?” I said.
“The Holy Spirit? The unveiled epiphany of God?” he continued, frowning. He looked like he was on The $10,000 Pyramid and he couldn’t believe his partner hadn’t yet guessed the answer. “The Holy Trinity?”
“Oh, okay,” Bessie finally said, trying to get on with it. “Like, your soul?”
“No, dear,” he said, chuckling. “Not quite.”
“Dr. Cannon,” Carl said, “we need to get go—”
“So, the Holy Spirit,” Dr. Cannon interrupted, moving on, still staring at the children, “resides in your heart. And so, if you children are experiencing these moments where the fire manifests itself externally, well, that could mean quite a few things. Perhaps you are prophets, chosen by God—”
“We really must be going,” Carl said.
“Prophets?” Roland said, trying out the word, liking the sound of it.
“You might be envoys for the second coming of Jesus Christ, our lord and savior,” the doctor elaborated.
“Carl?” I said.
“Or—and this is quite radically different—it could be a case where the devil, in his multitudinous evil, is warring with the Holy Spirit inside you. That would make you, Bessie and Roland, demons. Or, perhaps, simply possessed by demons. Whatever the case, it is possible that there is an evil inside you, one that must be purged.”
“Okay,” I said, “no way.” I reached for the kids, pulling them off the table.
“But I want to hear more,” Roland said.
“Thank you, Dr. Cannon,” Carl quickly said, opening the door to the office, leading the children outside. “Ketosis. Very good. We have all we need.”
“Say hello to Jasper for me,” he said, waving. “He was always such a wonderful patient. I can’t remember a time when he was sick.”
We hustled the children into the car, and Carl quickly pulled back onto the road. I stared at him, but the sunglasses made it hard for me to really see him. “Who wants the radio?” he asked, turning it on without waiting for a response, which made Roland cheer.
“That was a mistake,” he admitted to me, keeping his voice down. “I don’t know that Senator Roberts has been in contact with Dr. Cannon in quite some time. I don’t think he knows the full extent of his, uh, condition.”
I didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him.
“He’s one of the most revered doctors in the entire state,” Carl continued. “All the governors and country music stars, he was their physician. All kinds of published articles.”
“Fascinating,” I replied.
“I’m just doing what the Robertses have told me to do,” Carl said, looking back to make sure the kids weren’t listening. “And, honestly, the real doctors, the specialists who saw the kids right after Jane died, they didn’t have much else to tell us. I think one of them even mentioned ketosis. So, no harm done.”
“Now the kids think they might be demons,” I told him.
“Well, I don’t know how much of that they understood.” He quickly turned back to the kids. “Double-scoop sundaes, okay?” he said.
I groaned and turned off the radio. I looked back at them. They both seemed bored, but I could see them working through something in their heads, passing it back and forth. “Look,” I finally said, “you are not demons, okay? No fucking way. That man was crazy.”
“Maybe we’re prophets, though,” Roland offered.
“No,” I said, my voice rising. “You’re just normal kids, okay? You catch on fire, but you’re normal kids.”
“Okay,” Bessie replied. “We believe you.”
“Okay,” I said. For a few miles, we drove in silence, but then Roland started to giggle. I turned back around. Bessie’s face looked both pained and relieved at the same time. She looked at me. She started to laugh a little, too. “We’re not demons,” she said, and I shook my head. And I knew that they were my kids, that I protected them, because they believed me. For right now, in this car, they trusted me. They were not demons.
That night, blanketed in children, I heard Madison whispering above me. “Lil,” she said, and I thought it was a dream because, honestly, I dreamed about Madison a lot.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I’m back,” she said, still whispering. “Timothy and I just flew home. Come with me. Let’s hang out. Let’s talk.”
I realized that she was real, and I felt myself waking up. I looked at her. I couldn’t make out her features, only her form, in the dim light from the bathroom in the hallway.
“The kids will wake up,” I said.
“No, they won’t,” she said. “Just come on.” She sounded like maybe she was drunk, her voice kind of husky.
“Bessie?” I whisp
ered, and the girl shrugged away from me before turning back over and opening her eyes.
“What is it?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“Madison is here,” I said, gesturing to Madison, who waved.
“What do you want?” Bessie asked.
“Lillian,” Madison replied. “Just for a little while.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I told her. “Just keep sleeping.”
“Okay,” Bessie said. “I guess so.”
I slipped out of the bed, Roland snoring hard, and followed Madison as she tiptoed from the room. I grabbed a pair of sweatpants on the way out, some sneakers.
“Come outside,” she told me. “I made margaritas. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” I asked, being petty, being dumb, because we were in very different circles of the blast radius of this good news.
“Jasper!” she said. “You know it’s Jasper, silly.” We sat on the steps that led to the house and there was that fucking pitcher again, that tray. There was something Stepfordish about everything being served in a pitcher, instead of, I don’t know, putting your face in a giant punch bowl and just vacuuming it up. I don’t know what I wanted. I guess I wanted Madison to be a little more like me and a little less like the kind of person you had to be to live with this sort of wealth. And yet here I was, living on their estate, my bank account filled with so much money, not having to spend a dime while I strolled the grounds. This was my life, a good part of it, hating other people and then hating myself for not being better than them.
She poured the drinks, and it was so good, cold and strong.
“It worked,” she said. “I kind of can’t fucking believe that it worked.”
“All the vetting?” I asked. “I thought, I don’t know, they’d come talk to me.”
“No,” she said, “I kept them away from everyone. I shamed them. The thing we thought would be so bad, Jane killing herself, the kids abandoned, actually gave us the chance to keep them at a distance, or else they’d look like ghouls, you know?”