Forest of Shadows (2 page)

“Your turn,” she purred.

“With pleasure,” he said, dropping to his knees.

The phone started ringing just as he was kissing her inner thighs. He felt her body stiffen. 

“Just ignore it,” he said. 

She considered answering for brief a moment then pulled his head to her. 

On the fourth ring, the voice of Anne’s mother stopped them in their tracks. She screeched into the answering machine with her grating Long Island twang that she knew full well they were home and to pick up the phone. 

“You might as well get it because I’m done for the moment,” John said, slightly exasperated but still filled with optimism. 

Anne left the room to pick up the phone in the living room. John rolled onto the bed cursing both Alexander Graham Bell and his mother-in-law. Five minutes later, Anne was back.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“For starters, she wanted our lottery numbers because she knows we never check them ourselves.”

“I don’t even know why I still play the damn thing.”

Anne plopped down next to him and smacked his ass. “Because you love me and want to buy me that mansion on the water in Spain.”

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot.”

He pulled her close and kissed her neck. She wrapped a leg around his hips. He was midway down her navel when the baby started to cry. They both rolled their eyes in frustration.

“My turn?” John asked. 

“You were up with her last night,” she said as she donned her robe. “I’ll take this shift.”

“Hurry back.” John yelled into his pillow as she left the room. Experience had taught him that she would not be back in a flash. At nine months old, Jessica could fight sleep with the best of them. He listened to Anne’s soothing voice as she lifted Jessica from the crib. Her cries were instantly muffled as Anne held their baby to her shoulder and gently rocked her tiny body.

John settled onto his side of the bed and grabbed a book from his night table. It was a lengthy volume on the rash of aerial phenomena in New York’s Hudson Valley region during the late 1980s. As far back as he could remember, he was fascinated with the unexplained. He’d read everything he could get his hands on when it came to UFOs, ghosts, Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster and anything else that came on his favorite TV show,
In Search Of
. He was even lucky enough to have a father who would give him permission to stay up to watch
The Night Stalker
, a weekly program about a beat reporter on the trail of the monsters and vampires that lurked in the big city. When all the other boys his age wanted to be cops or firemen, John dreamed of being a reporter for a paranormal newspaper. 

As John grew into adulthood, it became abundantly clear that there was little call for monster reporters, so he majored in sociology and ended up with a job working behind a computer at the phone company. No matter what his nine to five life was, he continued his pursuit of all things strange and unexplained. He had amassed hundreds of books on different topics and kept them specifically ordered in the spare bedroom. There were even a hundred or so video tapes of favorite documentaries and special exposes with titles like “The Ghosts of Gettysburg: Does The War Rage On?”. 

Anne could not for the life of her figure out why a grown man would be interested in such things, but let him have his hobby so long as he didn’t start preaching to the world about the coming alien invasion or ghosts in the attic. She was ever the pragmatist to his fantastical theorist. It was a combination that had worked for more than five years now, despite her mother’s predictions. 

A half an hour into a case study on cemetery hauntings in Orange County and how they related to UFOs, Anne returned. He could tell by the look on her face that the heat of the moment had passed. 

“She give you a tough time?”

Anne started to put on a pair of John’s pajamas. Apparently, she wasn’t even going to give him a chance to pick up where they left off. “As usual. Lord knows how long this silence will last. She’s really gassy tonight.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “How about a rain check? I’m beat and odds are I’ll just have to get up while we’re in the middle of everything.”

Before he could answer, she pulled the covers back, slid underneath them, blew out the candle on her night table and lay down to sleep. He was still sitting naked with a book on his lap, his mouth halfway open in stunned silence. He knew having a baby would crimp their love life but knocking it down to once or twice a month was more than he had bargained for. They had always had a healthy sex life before the baby. In fact, it was far better than average. He had been the envy of all his married friends. Now there were times, especially tonight, when he was beginning to feel that maybe she wasn’t interested anymore. Maybe she was using the baby as an excuse. 

But then why the hell start everything so hot and heavy? How could she just turn it off like that? Sure, he wasn’t expecting her to return all jazzed up and ready to roll. He was perfectly willing to take the time to stoke the fires again. 

Except she wasn’t. And it was becoming a problem.

“I guess that ends that,” he said, not bothering to hide the rising anger in his voice. Slamming the book down, he jerked up from the bed and stormed to the dresser to find his pajamas. Anne rolled over and sat up. 

“You have a problem with my being tired?”

“I have a problem with you not wanting to even try to have sex.” 

“I didn’t know I was supposed to do it just because you waited up for me with no clothes on.” 

“Forgive me for thinking that when you suck my cock, that means we’re going to fuck.”

He intentionally said fuck to irritate her. For one, she hated profanity. Secondly, she despised anyone describing making love as fucking. Dogs fucked in the street. Married people made love. 

“You’re an idiot,” she hissed and turned her back to him. 

“And you pull the ‘I’m tired’ card one too many times. Jesus, I’m tired every damn day. That doesn’t stop me from wanting you and at least willing to try.”

Anne lay still. It was her classic silent treatment. It was futile to try to argue any further with her. Instead, he grabbed his book and pillows.

As he marched out of the room, he looked back and sneered, “Maybe I’m not getting any from my wife because she’s giving it to someone else. That would explain a lot.”

Deep down, he didn’t believe a single word. This was war and if she was going to give him the cold shoulder, he could at least lob a grenade in her direction. 

“Why don’t you just do yourself?” she shouted at his retreating figure.

“It’ll be more satisfying than waiting for you!” 

He threw his pillows onto the couch and sat down hard. What a stupid argument. All because he was still horny and she was a full-time lawyer and mother who was tired after a long day. He considered going in to apologize but knew that in his current state, it would come out all wrong and he’d only make things worse.

Things would be better in the morning. Maybe he’d wake up early and make her breakfast in bed. They really needed to have a talk and it was best to start on the right foot. Until then, he’d have to be satisfied with reading more about ghostly graveyards and if he was lucky, taking care of Jessica should she wake up again. 

Chapter Two

Sleep did its best to elude him most of the night and at five in the morning, John got in the car and drove out to the Mornin’ Time Bagel Shop for coffee and the hottest, freshest bagels in Long Island. He also grabbed a couple pastries, some fresh strawberries and a quart of fresh squeezed orange juice, the store’s specialty. When Anne was pregnant, her only craving was for Mornin’ Time Bagels. Over the course of nine months, he came to know all of the people who worked there like they were his own family. After a round of hellos, he headed back for home. 

The early morning weather was as cold and still as an empty meat locker. It sure felt like it was going to snow, even though spring was just around the corner. It had been a hell of a winter with three major snowstorms and about ten minor snowfalls that did their best to dislodge every disk in John’s back as he shoveled day after day.

With any luck, he’d have time to finish his coffee and read the paper before Jessica woke up howling for her morning changing and bottle. Then they’d watch
Sesame Street
and he’d fix up a delicious breakfast in bed for Anne, complete with a side order of apologies for being an insensitive jerk. 

He started a fresh pot of coffee and picked up
The Daily News
to read the coverage of last night’s Islanders game. 

A cup of coffee and the entire sports section later, he glanced up at the kitchen clock. Seven thirty. Jessica was usually wailing by now. It figured. The one morning he’s already up and about is the one she chooses to sleep in. He poured another cup and settled back into his chair. 

Silence. He had been so absorbed by the paper that he hadn’t appreciated the blissful sound of silence in the house. Since Jessica had been born, he and Anne’s once quiet mornings had turned into barely controlled mayhem. Jessica had been colicky for the first four months and that proved a major struggle. Then, almost overnight, it stopped. 

Even after the colic, Jessica was not a morning person and spent the better part crying to be changed, crying for her bottle then crying because she needed to be burped. John usually had the radio on and Anne started her pre-work day on the phone with her admin assistant, Karen, a bright kid just out of college who arrived at the office an hour earlier than Anne to organize the day’s calendar. 

Sitting in the kitchen wrapped up in the absence of noise was just this side of nirvana. Setting the paper aside, he rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. 

He awoke with a start and nearly spilled his coffee on his lap. His back was a tad stiff from dozing in the hard kitchen chair but a quick stretch would cure that. He glanced at the clock again. 

Eight o’clock. 

The house was still as silent as before he’d fallen asleep. Jessica had never slept this late before.

Good for her. Maybe she’s finally discovering the joy of sleep. 

Dumping his cold coffee into the sink, another thought insidiously crept into his mind. 

What if she wasn’t sleeping?

As preposterous as he’d like it to be, the phrase,
sudden infant death
syndrome
, grabbed hold of him. He’d gone with Anne to several parent training classes and had dutifully read anything she’d told him to read as they’d prepared for Jessica’s arrival. Through the joy of it all, there was one aspect that scared the hell out of him. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. 

Before the baby was born, he ran out and bought a special foam wedge that was said to dramatically reduce the risk of SIDS. He’d panicked the first night they had realized she’d outgrown the wedge, refusing to sleep and checking on her every hour on the hour. As the nights went on, he started to relax and in fact, he hadn’t even thought of it again until now. 

He dropped his coffee mug into the sink with a loud clank and dashed into Jessica’s room. 

She lay curled up in her crib, almost in the same position he’d last seen her in the night before. John felt a cold sweat break out all over his body as he studied her tiny back for any signs of movement. The room was still pretty dark and it was hard to tell because her pajamas were a little big on her and had puffed out like a soft, downy turtle shell. 

Bordering on dizzy, he strode over to the crib and reached out to her. She didn’t flinch. Gently at first, he rubbed her back. 

“Jessica,” he cooed softly. 

Her pajamas were soft as a cloud under his hand. He rested it for a moment to see if he could feel her tiny body expand with air. 

Was she still or was that a breath? Or was it just his hand? Or his mind playing tricks on him?

“Jessica,” he repeated, alarm creeping into his voice. 

She remained motionless and silent, like a marble cherub. 

Please wake up. Come on, baby, please wake up for Daddy!

With jittery hands, he scooped her up into his arms and turned her over so he could see her face. An image of Jessica flashed uninvited into his mind, her blue face, tongue swollen and sticking out of the side of her mouth, eyes bulging open. 

Just as quickly, the horrid nightmare was replaced by her soft, pink face that started to grow red as she finally erupted in tears, angry that she had been startled awake. 

“Oh, Jesus, thank you,” he said, tilting his head to the ceiling. John hadn’t been to church in ten years but he had found religion today. 

Her upset cries were music to his ears. He rocked her and kissed her all over her face.

“Good morning, little angel. I’m sorry Daddy woke you. Come with me, I’ll make it up to you.”

He took her out to the living room, sat her in her playpen for a moment while he put a bottle on to warm, changed her diaper with much practiced skill, and fed her while she rested in the crook of his arm. After a good burping, she was a happy baby and he put her back in the playpen so he could prepare breakfast for Anne.