Toby didn’t speak with Dawn, old Doctor Hauser’s nurse when she gave him a cup of orange juice.
“Has he been this way the whole time?” asked Dawn.
“Yup,” said Craig. “A zombie.”
Toby didn’t react when old Doc Hauser picked him up and sat him on the exam table. He answered none of the doctor’s questions. He didn’t even wince or cry out when Dawn drew blood.
“I’ve seen this before,” said Doc Hauser.
“Yeah?”
“Hysterical catatonia is what it’s called. Comes with a trauma that the mind can’t handle—the mind switches over to autopilot, and the consciousness takes a little vacation.”
With a glance at Toby, Craig whispered, “You mean sexual trauma?”
“Could be,” said the doctor. “Where’s the boy’s mother?”
Craig shook his head. “She’d do more harm than good, if you ask me, Doc.” He mimicked drinking from a bottle.
“She’s the boy’s mother, Witherson. Go get her.”
While Witherson was gone, Doc Hauser stayed in the room with Toby. He spoke in low tones of things he thought would interest an eleven-year-old boy. Toby didn’t move, didn’t respond, didn’t even glance at the old man, not even when the doctor pulled out his ultimate kid-icebreaker and waggled his gray caterpillar-eyebrows.
2
Jim woke Karen and the boys as the sun crept over the horizon. He hadn’t slept at all, despite his best efforts; every sound had spooked him.
“Come on, sleepy heads,” he said. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
“Where are we going?” mumbled Benny.
“To Ohio.”
“All of us?” asked Karen.
“Yes, all of us.” Jim treated her to a slight shake of his head so she wouldn’t make a big deal over his change of mind.
“What about school?”
“Well, I’m the town manager, and I declare you boys exempt from school until further notice.” That got their attention.
After breakfast, everyone loaded into the Toronado, and Jim drove west. He stuck to the back roads, claiming he wanted to see the beauty of nature, but he thought it would be harder for anyone to follow them without his noticing it on the two-lane country roads.
As they passed the Thousand Acre Wood, Billy, the youngest, pointed to the left of the road. “Who’s that man, Daddy?” he asked.
Jim snapped his head to the side, sure that Fergusson would be there, pointing a hunting rifle at his family, but it wasn’t Fergusson—there was no one there at all. “Must have been a bit of mist that hasn’t burned off yet, Kiddo. Nothing to worry about.”
“No, it was a man. He had a blanket on like a cape and a shiny hat.”
“Okay, Billy,” Jim said. “Let me know if you see him again.”
“Dad! How could a man in the woods keep up with the car?”
Jim chuckled, even his youngest child was on to his tricks. Karen patted his leg and suppressed a smile. They drove west, feeling safe and content, not realizing the feeling was a lie.
3
Candy Burton reeked of gin in the tight confines of the patrol car, and she looked hung-over as hell. “Don’t you judge me, Craig Witherson,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare. Not after Prom, not after…” She waved her hand and turned toward the window.
Witherson had thought he was doing a good job hiding his contempt for her. “High school was a long time ago, Candy.” He glanced at the rearview mirror and met her gaze.
“I bet you still want me. Should come by sometime, Craigy. See if the old sparks still work.”
“I don’t think so, Candy.”
She shrugged, a sly smile flirting with her lips. “S’okay, Craigy. You shouldn’t make a snap decision about matters of the heart…keep an open mind.”
Craig scoffed. “You should focus on your boy, Candy. Not getting laid.”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Witherson. You ain’t the quarterback no more.”
“And you sure ain’t no cheerleader, hon,” he snapped.
He turned into the lot at Doc Hauser’s place and parked. He turned to look at her through the wire mesh that separated the front and the back seats. “Candace, I’m serious here. Your son’s in trouble. He’s going to need you. See if you can’t pull it together.”
She’d been staring out the window but turned her head with glacial slowness until their eyes met. Hers were dull, bloodshot, and apathetic. She sneered and spit through the metal mesh that separated the good guys from the bad guys in the police car. “Fuck off, Craigy,” she said.
Shaking his head, Craig got out and hauled her out of the backseat. “Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?”
She glanced at him, scorn burring in her eyes. “You still here? That’s kind of a record for you, ain’t it?”
Craig blushed to the roots of his hair. Without another word, he turned, took her elbow, and pulled her toward the doctor’s office.
4
The serene calm in the car shattered like candy-glass when Billy slapped his hands over his ears and screamed.
“What’s wrong, honey,” asked Karen.
“I don’t want to hear him anymore,” Billy whined. “Make him stop, Mommy.”
Karen arched an eyebrow and turned to her two other sons. “Which of you is tormenting your brother?” Johnny looked half asleep, and Benny was staring out the window at the passing trees, a little drool running down his chin—neither looked guilty. “Who is bothering you, Big Bill?” she asked.
“Mommy,” he whined.
“I’m here, baby,” she crooned.
“Is he dreaming?” asked Jim.
“No, he’s awake, staring out the window.”
Jim looked out his window, but there was nothing to see but the green blur of the trees they whizzed by. “Then what?”
“Mommy, make him stop. Please, Mommy. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Honey, what can I do?” The mild amusement that had been in her voice a moment before evaporated, replaced by a dollop of fear. “Turn on the radio, Jim.”
Jim glanced at her, but reached over and spun the volume knob until the faint sound of country music filled the car.
Billy screamed. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”
Karen reacted as if slapped. She sat there a moment, gaze glued to Billy’s scrunched up face.
“Shut up, spaz,” murmured Benny. Johnny didn’t react at all. It was as if he were in a trance.
“Shove over you two,” she said and climbed over the seat into the back. She wedged herself between Johnny and Billy and wrapped her arms around her youngest boy. “It’s okay, Billy,” she crooned. “Mommy’s here.”
“He’s scary, Mommy! I don’t like him no more! Make him leave me alone!” Billy wailed.
“Who, honey? Who?” Karen asked, shooting a desperate glance at Jim in the rearview mirror.
“The king! The king!”
Jim took his foot off the gas and pulled toward the shoulder of the road.
“No!” wailed Billy. “Don’t stop, Daddy! Don’t let him get me!”
“Spazoid,” muttered Benny.
“That’s enough, Benjamin,” snapped Jim. With a glance at his wife, he accelerated back onto the road proper. “What do we do?” he asked.
“How would I know? He’s never acted like this. Never!”
“Ah! He’s got me! He’s got me, Mommy!”
“No one has you, Billy. It’s my arm around you, see?” She rubbed his shoulder.
Billy screamed like he was on fire. “It hurts! He’s hurting me, Mommy! Daddy! Make him stop! Make him stop!”
“Who?” Jim asked, exasperation and fear warring for dominance of his tone.
“Drive faster!” Karen yelled. “Find a doctor or hospital.”
Jim floored the accelerator and drove like a madman, the Rocket 455 Oldsmobile engine roaring. The trees flashing by on the side of the road seemed to loom overhead, reaching with crooked branches toward the car. “Get a
hold of yourself,” he muttered.
5
Candy jerked her arm out of Craig’s grasp and tottered into the doctor’s office. She walked past the reception area and teetered into the hall outside the examination room, her eyes heavy, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Might get sick,” she muttered.
Doc Hauser twitched an eyebrow at Craig, who nodded as if to say, “I told you so.” Dawn handed Candy a stainless-steel specimen tray.
“Mrs. Burton,” said Doc Hauser. “Your son here has—”
“It’s Ms. Burton. I never married.”
Hauser didn’t even blink. “Ms. Burton, your son needs you.”
“You’re the doctor. What in the hell can I do?”
“You’re the mother, dear,” said Dawn. “Doc Hauser can only fix the physical injuries. He needs warmth, comfort.”
Candy glared at the nurse balefully. “You judging me too?”
“No, dear. You asked, is all.” She patted Candy on the arm. “Can I get you a seltzer or something?”
Candy shook her head.
“Fine. Let me take you in to see Toby.
Craig sidled up next to Hauser and grimaced. “She’s a wreck.”
Hauser nodded, head tilted toward the door.
6
“Drive faster, Jim! Something is wrong!”
“Be calm! Everyone stay calm!” Jim yelled over the noise of the engine.
“Mommy,” Billy muttered. “The king…the king…”
“What king, honey?” Karen asked and reached to smooth his hair. Billy’s eyes rolled up until nothing showed but the sclera. His arms and legs twitched back and forth. Another scream ripped from his lips. “Jim! Jim!”
“What is it? What?”
Billy thrashed violently in the back seat. His head whipped back and forth, flinging spit and white froth through the air. His sclera went pink as blood vessels in his eyes burst. His feet kicked the back of the driver’s seat hard enough to cause Jim pain.
“What’s he doing, Karen?”
“I…I don’t know…”
“Spazoid is having a convulsion,” said Benny in a singsong voice.
“Benny, you’re not helping,” said Jim. “Stop calling him that.”
“Tell him to stop being such a spaz and I will.”
“Benjamin James Cartwright! You cut that out, or I’ll pull this car over and tan your backside!”
“Stop the car, and he dies,” said Benny in a flat voice.
“What?” asked Karen. “What are you talking about Benny?”
Benny was still staring out the window, hands twitching in his lap. “The game,” he murmured. “I’m talking about the game the king plays.”
“What? What game?”
Benny said no more, just stared into the woods speeding by outside his window.
“Benny, answer your mother!”
“Oh, never mind him, Jim! Find a doctor!”
“What the hell do you think I’m doing, Karen?”
7
When Candy started to cry, Hauser nodded. “That’s what I was waiting for,” he said.
“For her to cry?”
“No, for her to realize her son is in danger. Let’s go in.” The old man ushered Craig into the exam room. Candy sat on the table next to her son. She had her arm around him and was crying into his hair. “Officer Witherson here brought your boy in, Ms. Burton. You owe him your thanks.”
For the second time that morning, Craig blushed to the roots of his hair.
“What the hell happened to my son?” Candy shrieked. “He’s so thin!” She stood and stepped a few feet away from Toby, hands limp at her sides, shoulders slumped.
“He’s been missing for the best part of a week, Candy,” said Craig Witherson. “You’d know that if you ever crawled up out of the bottle.” Doc Hauser put his hand on Craig’s arm and shook his head.
“He’s a little malnourished, Ms. Burton, but it’s nothing a few good meals won’t fix,” said the old doctor. “I’ve seen much worse in my day, believe you me. You can hug him, he won’t break.”
As if she’d been waiting for permission, Candy lurched across the space dividing her from her son and wrapped him in her arms. “Oh, my poor baby!” she crooned. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here now.”
“Now, now, Ms. Burton. He’ll be fine. Physically, at least.”
She turned her head to glare at Doc Hauser. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, dear,” said Hauser. “The boy’s suffered unimaginable terrors in his time in the hands of his cap…in his time away.”
“He was just lost,” Candy snapped.
“Maybe that’s the truth of it,” said the old man. “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t matter. Not really. Just look at him, Ms. Burton.”
Candy took a half-step back and looked down at her son. He was staring at her stomach with an expression that might as well have been carved from wood. “Toby,” she said. “Look at Momma.” The boy didn’t move. His eyes twitched to the side like maybe he thought the nurse was his mother. Candy slapped him. “Snap out it, Toby!”
Toby’s head twisted to the side with the force of the blow, but other than that, he didn’t react.
Candy pulled her hand back for another slap, but before she could loose the blow, Craig stepped forward and grabbed her wrist. “That’ll be enough of that, Candy,” he snarled.
8
Billy’s whole body was jerking, and, despite Karen’s best efforts, he was beating himself to a pulp on hard parts of the car. He was making a low groaning noise and frothing at the mouth.
Jim took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at the backseat in the rearview mirror. Karen was crying, and next to her in the backseat, her two other boys were sitting as still as statues. No one spoke. Neither boy looked at either parent or at Billy. Benny stared out the side window, and Johnny had his eyes closed as if he were napping.
Jim brought his eyes back to the road and panicked. A man stood in the middle of his lane, watching the brown car race toward him. Jim kicked the brake pedal hard and jerked the wheel to the left. The big car slewed into the other lane, back end jumping out, threatening to slide off the road.
The man in the road never moved, except to track the car with his eyes.
For a moment, Jim thought he had no face—that bone gleamed where skin should have been—and that his eyes were twin points of red like the light cast off by hot coals. Jim blinked and saw he was mistaken. It was a normal man. The car was still skidding, the rear end sliding closer and closer to the trees.
Jim took his foot off the brake and mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The rear tires spun, leaving smoking rubber skid marks behind as they fought for traction. Jim glanced to his left and gasped, much closer to the trunks of all those trees than he’d thought. Then the rear tires caught, and the car lurched ahead in the wrong lane.
Jim turned and looked at the man in the road, who was now facing the car. His mouth moved as if he were speaking, and Billy uttered a choking scream from the back seat. The man’s eyes locked on Jim’s and he smiled and winked. The man held out his hand and beckoned, his eyes shifting away from Jim’s.
In the backseat, Benny tried to stand up. He hit his head on the roof but never made a sound. His eyes were glued to the man in the road. Benny folded the passenger seat forward and tried to reach the door handle. “Benny! What are you doing!” yelled Jim. “Sit down!” Benny never paused in trying to get the door open. Behind him, Johnny giggled. “Grab him, Karen!”
“I’m holding on to Billy with everything I have!”
“Grab him before he gets the door open! He’ll die if he falls out at this speed!”
Karen grabbed Benny by the waistband of his jeans and jerked him sideways. The boy fell over Johnny’s legs and ended up in Karen’s lap. She clamped her elbow across his chest and went back to trying to hold Billy still.
Jim elbowed the passenger seat back into place—at least they’d have a little warn
ing if Johnny tried to get out.
“Don’t stop, Jim,” said Karen in a monotone, her eyes tracking the man in the road. “I don’t like the looks of him.”
“No shit,” muttered Jim.
9
“What in the hell is wrong with him?” she asked, half to herself. “Toby, what the hell is the matter with you?”
“Hysterical catatonia,” said Doc Hauser. “It results from trauma the mind can’t deal with.”
“He’s not crazy! Don’t make him out to be crazy!”
“It’s not crazy, Ms. Burton. It’s completely normal. You know how when you see something horrific—a traffic accident or something like that—how your mind freezes for a few beats? Well, it’s the same thing for Toby. He’s suffered a trauma that his mind can’t face so to protect itself, it’s shut itself off. The thinking part, anyway.”
Candy looked from Doc Hauser to Toby and back again. “What kind of trauma?” The muscles around her right eye twitched.
Doc Hauser spread his hands. “I’ve no idea, Ms. Burton. No one will know until Toby decides to speak to us.”
“Give him a pill or something!”
Doc Hauser smiled his benign, I’m-only-human smile he reserved for distraught mothers. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Ms. Burton. Toby will need specialized care for a while.”
“What do you mean specialized care? You’re not taking my kid away from me.”
“No, no, nothing of the sort, Ms. Burton. I’d like to admit Toby to Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester. He’d be cared for in a safe setting, by specialists.”
“Shrinks.”
“Well, yes, amongst others. He’ll have constant supervision and constant access to—”
“No,” said Candy in a flat voice. “Absolutely not.”
“Ms. Burton, if it’s a matter of cost, the hospital has a program—”
“I said no. I’m not putting Toby into a nuthatch.”
Doc Hauser looked nonplussed. He glanced at Craig.
“Candy,” said Craig in a voice just above a whisper. She looked at him and shook her head. “Listen to me, Candy. Toby needs care. If you don’t let Doc Hauser admit him, who will give him that care?”
“I will. I’m his mother.”
Craig nodded, then shrugged. “And after a few hours have elapsed and you decide it’s time for a little drink? After four hours when you’re fall-down drunk? Who cares for him then, Candy?”
Nightmare Page 16