Infestation: A Small Town Nightmare (2 page)

Marie was quiet.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing important."

Dave glanced her way again. "You
haven't as much as mentioned even one of their names in at least a
year."

"And that's just perfect," Marie
answered.

They pulled onto the drive-way in
front of the single-storey white, trimmed yellow house. Marie
stepped out first. Dave immediately noticed that the most recent
topic had agitated her a bit. Inside, Marie tossed her coat onto
the arm of the couch and proceeded into their bedroom to
undress.

"We need to talk." Dave followed
her.

"Why? What do we need to talk about?"
She sat down after pulling off her stockings.

"Your family."

"My family is here, Dave," Marie gave
him a look that spoke volumes.

"You know what I mean." He sat next to
her. "I know they caused you a lot of pain, honey and I realize
that for the sake of sanity, you had to create a distance. I know
that. You just haven't been the same since your dad died last
year."

"Do you expect me to be?" Marie's
response was rigid.

"What I'm trying to say is that you
haven't really grieved since he passed away and I'm afraid your
feelings concerning your family is what's preventing you from doing
so," Dave cautiously explored.

"That's where you're wrong." Marie's
eyes welled with tears. "All I've done since Dad's death was
grieve. You have no idea. Every day of my life, I think about him.
I reflect on how he made me feel as his daughter—like there was
nothing too good for me, nothing that I could not achieve. I think
about how he was the only one who ever cared about me in my whole
family and believed in me." She angrily wiped the tears that had
streamed down her cheeks. "He was the only one that stood up to my
mother when she treated me like I was trash, knowing that each
time, he would pay a price with mercilessly cynicism or the silent
treatment because she couldn't get him to feel and think the way
she felt and thought about me." Dave looked on, sensing the pain in
his wife's heart. "I don't know why she despised me so much—why I
was the black sheep in her books when all I ever did was loved and
helped her any way I could. Nothing I ever did was good enough for
her. Without the love of my father, I don't know where I would be
today."

"I'm really sorry you had to go
through that, honey." Dave put his arm around his wife's shoulder.
"I don't understand how a mother could ever treat her child that
way."

Marie sighed as she weakly tossed the
stocking aside. "That's why I always felt that just because a woman
or a man has a baby doesn't mean that they instantly love the child
or have motherly or fatherly instincts. Some parents have even
admitted that they hated their own children and didn't know
why."

"Do you really think that your mother
hated you?" Dave asked.

"I don't know. All I know is that I
never truly felt her love. Growing up, I saw how she interacted
with my siblings and I could easily sense her love for them, but
when it came to me, I felt quite the opposite—yet I loved her so
much. I remember when I was a little girl, sometimes I used to ask
God that whenever it was my parents' time to die, if I could die
along with them so that we would never be separated. I couldn't
imagine living without them," she said.

"Even though your Mom treated you so
coldly, you still felt that way?"

"Yes," Marie nodded. "Nothing she ever
did was enough for me to hate her, Dave. I remember how every
opportunity she got, she would embarrass me in front of my brothers
and sisters. One time, when I was fourteen years old, she and I,
and my sister Jan were lying down together watching TV one night. A
local pageant was airing live and as the thin, beautiful girls
graced the stage, my mother looked at me and said, 'Marie, if you
were in that pageant, they'd kick you right off the
stage.'"

"You're kidding," Dave was
shocked.

"I was a little heavier than most of
the girls in the pageant, but maybe by only a few pounds. I wasn't
fat at all, but after that remark, for years I literally thought
that I was. I starved myself afterwards for ten straight
days—surviving only on bubble gum and water, and the funny thing
is: My mother never even noticed that I wasn't eating."

"That's terrible, honey. I never knew
that."

"There's a lot you don't
know."

"What I don't understand is how your
mom and dad survived all those years of marriage. They were like
night and day: Your dad was a totally upfront sort of guy and she
was well…different," Dave remarked.

"Yes." Marie managed to crack a smile.
"She could fool almost anyone into thinking that she was a saint.
Everyone in town thought she was the sweetest lady. She went to
church most Sundays, participated in the woman's club; was always
kind and pleasant… but at home was where her real side always
kicked in."

"That's why when your father died, you
separated yourself from them. You didn't feel like there was anyone
there who truly cared about you."

Marie sighed heavily. "Yes." She
glanced out into the front room. "I'm glad we moved all the way out
here. They don't come by and I don't miss them. I think they've got
the message."

"Well, you've got me and Amy," Dave
said lovingly.

"I know," Marie smiled again before
burying her face in her husband's bosom.

* * *

Amy heard the doorbell ring. She
sprung up out of bed and headed out front. After peering through
the peep-hole, she opened the door.

"Mrs. Winters… " She said pleasantly,
then glanced at the teenager who was standing next to her. "Hi,
Sandy."

The girl smiled back.

"Hello, Amy," Nastacia Winters
replied. "Are your parents at home?"

"Mom's here, but Dad went out. Please
come in." She quickly stepped aside.

Nastacia and Sandy headed over to the
couch.

"I'll get Mom." Amy darted down the
hallway. Moments later, she returned with her mother.

Marie was dressed in a red, silk robe
and black bedroom slippers. "Hi there!" She said
excitedly.

Nastacia got up and they both
embraced.

"We came over to congratulate you on
your book signing event. I'm glad we got ours autographed long
before," Nastacia commented, glancing back at her
daughter.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Adams. I really
enjoyed your book," Sandy said from the chair.

"Thanks, Sandy! Be honest though… you
didn't think your neighbor was kind of strange?" She
grimaced.

"Not at all," Sandy replied. "I always
thought you were really gifted."

"It's so obvious," Nastacia said.
"Ever since you moved into the neighborhood approximately what…
nine months ago? We could tell you were something
special."

"Stop it!" Marie slapped Nastacia's
arm. "You had no idea how weird I was. Besides, we're all gifted in
some way. Let's sit down."

Amy and Sandy went outside and
retreated to the porch.

"Well, your so-called weirdness is
doing a lot of good around here. God knows, we need all the good we
can get. Don't you see how much this town has evolved in the past
two years? Crime is up—rapes, robberies. Thankfully, the murder
rate is still quite low and suicides are almost unheard
of."

"What about the woman they found in
waters last night?" Marie posed.

"You think that was
suicide?"

"According to reports, those closest
to her claimed she was depressed."

"I just find that so hard to believe,"
Nastacia remarked. "The lady had four kids; she wouldn't do
that."

"Why not?" Marie asked. "If she
couldn't find work to put food on the table for those four kids and
no one—even the ones who claim they were 'close' to her were
helping her, etc., I could see how hopelessness could set in and
she could lose all sense of logic and commit such a dreadful,
irreversible act."

"Having no money or food is no reason
to end your life," Nastacia replied. "There are a lot of people out
there doing much worse than that and they tug on and survive and
push against those dreadful thoughts."

"How can you judge like
that, Nastacia? I personally don't agree with committing suicide,
but at the same time, I feel that none of us has a right to dictate
the extent of how a person should feel when confronted with the
woes of life. Think about it: If that's the mentality we all had,
when people who are hurting cross our path, would we ever feel
compelled to help them or would we simply say,
Other people are doing much worse, so be strong and keep
moving on
? We'd certainly come across as
callous and possibly feed a stronger sense of hopelessness within
the person. I understand your point-of-view, but the element
missing there, my friend, is compassion."

Nastacia looked shocked. "You think
so?"

Marie nodded. "I know that in there is
the missing element…" she pointed at Nastacia's chest, "…but
getting that across to a person in desperate need is imperative.
The right words along with appropriate action could possibly save a
person's life."

Nastacia smiled. "See why I always
liked you? You never have a dim perspective on life."

Marie smiled and got up. "I could use
a cup of coffee. Want any?"

"Need you ask? Nastacia got up and
followed her into the kitchen.

* * *

The street was clear that
time of night. No vehicles had passed for at least forty-five
minutes to an hour. The dimly-lit lampposts near the docks revealed
nothing more than dozens of boats rocking quietly above the deep,
murky waters. Raven Flottemore got up from the rusty boulder she
was sitting on, her face drenched with tears that had flowed
literally non-stop for hours.
If only
Tommy hadn’t left
, she kept
thinking;
If only I was good
enough
. Flashbacks of her life over the
past nineteen years of her existence had accompanied her to the
docks that night. Mostly none of it had been good, to her vivid
recollection. Then came Tommy Fishburne: The handsome boy who had
swept her off her feet at the tender age of sixteen. She thought
their love would last forever. After all, it had lasted two and a
half years without as much as a serious falling out— that is, until
Jessica Thompson came along: A tall, slender seventeen-year-old
with dark, auburn hair and long, shapely legs to match. Just hours
before Raven had sauntered to the dock, Tommy had broken the news
that he and Raven's relationship had run its course. It was
over.

Sitting at the dock was where she
sometimes went to think before Tommy came into her life. Didn't
seem like she had to do much 'thinking' during their whirlwind
romance, but now she was back to basics—wetting the ground with her
tears.

Raven stood for a few moments looking
out at the water that glistened beautifully in the moonlight. The
thought that she had never learned to swim scurried through her
mind, but only for a second. Though sad, she knew that she would
pick herself up like she always did and move on with her life. She
turned around and headed for the yellow bicycle she had parked
against a nearby tree when something snapped inside. Raven felt it
hit her like a ton of bricks. Stopping suddenly, she turned her
head abruptly towards the water with widened eyes and dilated
pupils, then shifted her body in alignment. Slowly walking back
towards the dock, she kept her gaze on the body of water ahead. On
arriving at the edge of the platform, in an unbroken daze, she
calmly walked off the pavement landing feet first into the sea. She
plummeted quickly toward the bottom, making no attempt to retreat
to the safety of the dock.

III

"Oh, my goodness!" Marie exclaimed
after turning the page. "That's the young lady from the
bookstore!"

Amy leaned over the kitchen table to
have a look. "Who?" She asked.

"She was at the book signing the other
day. I could never forget her purple hair—not a sight we see around
here every day."

"This says she was found drowned at
the docks yesterday," Amy noted, squinting her eyes in order to
read the fine print. "She was fully clad; autopsy to be performed,
but they speculate that it might be another suicide."

Sadly, Marie said: "She looked so
happy when I saw… her." At that instant, a vision flashed before
her.

"Mom?" Amy perceived that something
had happened. "What's the matter?"

Marie's eyes darted across the
room.

"What is it?"

"She was in a daze when she walked
overboard—just like I saw those people in my dream. This girl
didn't kill herself." She eyed the photograph again.

"Are you sure, Mom?"

Marie nodded. "They've got it all
wrong. Her family mustn't believe for a moment that she committed
suicide because it's not true—with or without the autopsy, it
doesn't matter. Finish your breakfast honey. I have to go out for a
while; I'll be back soon." She got up to leave.