Mother (54 page)

Something’s not right. What’s happening to me?
For a moment, she thought she spoke the words aloud, but the more she thought about it, the more certain she became it was only a thought.
If I can hear my own thoughts, what if other people can hear them, too?
Worried, she tried to keep from thinking, but it didn’t work. And then her thoughts began coming out of her head as fractured words and random letters, and floated in the air.
 

Panicked, she tried to gather them, frightened that they’d drift downstairs and Mother or someone else might see them. But she couldn’t catch them. The scattered thoughts floated around the room and rose to the ceiling, bobbing there. Beyond them, she was able to make out every grain of plaster, every fiber of paint, every stroke of the brush. The hovering thoughts forgotten, she gazed at the ceiling, lost in its intricate patterns. It was amazing. She’d never seen anything like it.
It’s beautiful.
 

A startling cacophony of sound blared from somewhere close. She turned and saw notes, strong and hard, bold and black, dancing and bouncing toward the ceiling.

Claire searched for the source. “What?” she asked. Listening very closely, she recognized
Magic Man
by Heart. It took her a moment to make sense of this sudden music, then she realized it was Jason’s ringtone.
He’s calling me. Where’s my phone?
She realized she was still holding it. For a moment, it was a tiny ship, sailing on the storm-tossed sea of her hand. She blinked, and it resumed its natural form.

“Magic Man?” She laughed, thinking of Ann Wilson’s mama crying that it was time to come home.
That poor woman. What those rude Wilson sisters must have put her through! Brava!
She laughed and answered.

“Claire? Is that you?”

“Jason! You’re not going to believe it! I was sitting here and all of a sudden, there were words.
Words!
All over the place! And then I looked at the ceiling and-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Claire! What are you talking about?”

From thin air, a clawed hand reached into her vision and clutched the phone. Claire looked up and gasped when she saw a lithe, wavering snake flickering like the tiny flame of a candle. And then the creature resolved, like a Polaroid, and she was looking at her mother, who began speaking into the phone. Claire watched, fascinated, as a stream of spidery black letters flowed from her mother’s mouth.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Jason. Just a bit of a fever. I’m taking care of her right now.”

Insistent noise from the other end - Jason’s voice. No letters, though, only tiny black sparks from the phone as his voice fluctuated.

“Of course.” Mother ended the call and smiled at Claire. But it wasn’t a normal smile. It stretched too wide, passing the perimeters of her face, stretching, stretching, those red lips, white, perfect teeth, stretching beyond Claire’s line of sight.
Cheshire Mother!

A fever? Mother said I have a fever.
 

The word
fever
came out of her head in pink bubble letters and circled Mother like a flock of buzzards homing in on dinner. Mother, whose smile was okay now, paid no attention to the “
fever
”
hovering right in front of her face, but Claire knew she’d seen it.
She has to see it! And surely she could also see the green fumes and stink molecules that radiated from her skin. God, I hate that perfume!
 

“Let’s get you to bed, Claire. You aren’t feeling well.”

“You give me fever, Mother. Fever.”

Jason couldn’t stop worrying about Claire. She sounded happy, but had talked nonsense and when Priscilla said she had a fever, alarm bells rang. If she was delirious - and that’s how it sounded - the fever had to be bad. He tried not to think of the things Paul had told him.
 

It was past one and he lay in bed glued to the Weather Channel. He’d already told Jake they now needed to be at the airport at four for a five a.m. takeoff, and was beginning to worry they might need to leave sooner. The storm was hurtling toward Denver and blizzard conditions were expected by dawn.

He punched in Priscilla’s number, not caring if he woke her up. She picked up on the first ring. In the background music played. He couldn’t make it out, but it wasn’t
Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.

“Hello?”

“This is Jason.”

“Why, hello, Jas-”

He cut her off. “I’m worried about Claire. You said she has a fever and she sounded delirious. If it’s that bad, she needs to go to the hospital.”

“She’s fine. I called Dr. Hopper and he came by. She’s sleeping like a baby.”

“What was wrong?”

“Dr. Hopper says there was no fever.” She paused. “He said it’s likely the symptoms are psychological. He’ll be by to check on her again in the morning.”

“Psychological? What do you mean?”

Prissy sighed. “Now I want you to be calm, Jason.”

“Just tell me what’s going on!”

“Fine. It appears she’s had a minor psychotic break. I think we’ve both seen this coming for some time. Gerald - Dr. Hopper - doesn’t think it’s too serious and-”

“Not serious? Prissy, she needs immediate medical attention!”

“Dr. Hopper’s on top of it, Jason.”

His stomach knotted. “I’d rather hear a diagnosis from Dr. Putnam.”

“Doctors don’t make house calls anymore, Jason. Dr. Hopper did it as a favor to me because we’re old friends and coworkers. I would think you’d be pleased he came.”

Jason, irritated by Prissy’s voice, silently counted to three. “I’m glad he came. But you need to get her-”

“What she
needs,
Jason, is to take it easy. Doctor’s orders. And don’t forget. I
am
a nurse. We aren’t amateurs
here. The best thing you can do is trust us to take care of her. If the symptoms worsen, we have one of the best psychiatrists in Snapdragon waiting for our call-”

“We have our
own
psychiatrist.”
 

“-but right now, she needs peace and relaxation, and that’s what she’s getting.”

Jason’s insides tightened and anxiety bloomed like a flower made of glass.
Something isn’t right about this.
“Listen Prissy, I’ll be back tomorrow and I’m coming straight home to get Claire to her own doctor and then I’m going to finish packing.”

“Packing?”

“Yes. We think it’s best to get Claire settled into the new place right away.”

“Oh, Jason, sweetheart. You don’t seem to understand. That isn’t possible.”

“Bullshit, Prissy.”

She gasped.

“We’re moving out as soon as-”

“Now you listen to me, young man. First of all, I won’t be cursed at. Second, Carlene is still on bed rest, per
your
Dr. Putnam’s orders, and finally, my daughter is experiencing a psychological disturbance that is
very
precarious, and if you think for one moment I’m going to stand here and-”

“We’re moving out. Don’t concern yourself.”
 

“I beg to differ, Jason. I’ll call the police if I have to.”

Jason’s jaw ached with tension. “Fuck you,” he said. He heard Prissy gasp just before he ended the call.
 

Within seconds, Prissy called him back. “Fuck you,” he said to the ringing phone. He had to find a way back to Snapdragon. Right away.
 

He rang Jake repeatedly, but the pilot wasn’t answering - no surprise. When he’d called to tell him they had to leave for the airport at four, he’d had a hard time rousing him. Jason checked in again with Denver International, but nothing had become available. Now he tried private flight services, but no one was picking up at one in the morning. Renting a car was out - he couldn’t drive over a thousand miles overnight.
There has to be another way!
He looked at his phone, thought of calling Paul, but decided against it - he needed him to go to Arizona. If Claire did need psychological help, he wanted Stephanie Banks there, not some douchebag in Priscilla’s pocket.
Damn you, Priscilla Martin.
He knew she was behind this somehow, some way.

On the edge of his bed, he bounced his knee as his mind raced. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Then it struck him.
I need to call Babs.
 

Babs’ phone jarred Carl from a deep sleep. He sat up and looked at the clock as Babs switched on the lamp - it was after midnight. The phone stopped ringing but began again almost immediately. She grabbed it and said, “Hello?”

Carl heard a man’s deep voice on the other end but couldn’t make out the words. Something was terribly wrong, Carl could see it on his wife’s face.

Babs gasped and clutched her bosom. “Is she-?”

The man’s voice cut her off.

“Yes,” said Babs in a frantic tone. “Of course.” She looked at Carl, her eyes wide with worry. “I’m on my way.” She ended the call and got out of bed. “We have to go, Carl, right now.”

“What’s wrong, honey? What’s happened?”

Babs was headed for the bathroom. “Get dressed. We need to go to Pleasanton.”

“Pleasanton?”

“My sister. She’s had an accident. It’s serious.”

“Blanche?”

“No, it’s Dorothy. We have to leave right now!” She shut the bathroom door.

Carl hopped out of bed and rummaged for his pants. It was at least a two-hour drive to Pleasanton. If they left now, they’d arrive just after three.

As Carl struggled into his trousers, Babs’ phone rang again.

“That’s probably Blanche. Let her know we’re coming,” called Babs.
 

It was. She’d just gotten the call, too, and was already on her way to Pleasanton. Carl sighed. Dorothy was the littlest sister, a school teacher, and a wonderful person. He hoped she’d be okay, both for her own sake and for Babs, who had always doted on her.

“Shit!” Jason chucked the phone down on the bed. Of course Babs hadn’t answered. It was after midnight. Head in hands, he tried to think, tried to clear his mind.
I need to get there.
 

He picked up his phone and tried Claire again.

It rang and rang.

In the kitchen, Priscilla Martin frowned at Carlene’s phone as
Magic Man
rang out.
Jason. Again.
After his disrespectful little tirade earlier, she wanted to answer and give him the what-for, but decided it was best to leave it be. He’d been calling all night, and Carlene needed her rest. Prissy herself wouldn’t be getting any for the time being. She sighed and finished slathering light mayo on her ham sandwich and when Carlene’s phone stopped ringing, she set it to silent mode.

She took a bite of her sandwich and sighed.
A woman’s work is never done.
 

Laugh, Clown, Laugh

Claire sat in her desk chair looking out the window. Street lamps that were more decorative than useful studded Morning Glory Circle and the sickle moon hung in the sky, surrounded by stars in the cold clear night. Nothing moved, but the houses seemed to throb in place, to breathe in and out, in and out.
That’s what a hamburger is all about.
 

A hamburger with onions, pickles, catsup, and peanut butter.
Peanut butter fries!
She wanted some right now.

Movement caught her eye. Down the street, an SUV pulled out of the Vandercooths’ driveway. She watched, fascinated, as twin streams of red light followed the car down the cul-de-sac and onto Daisy Drive.
Maybe Aunt Babs is going to In-N-Out Burger! I hope she brings back something for me!
Happy-faced burgers bounced merrily around her head, singing the In-N-Out song. Claire smiled and watched. They smelled wonderful.

Then the music came again. She’d thought she’d heard it earlier, but it had been so soft she hadn’t been sure. Now it was easy to hear. Goosebumps rose and her stomach knotted as the scratchy old record played downstairs. The singing hamburgers vanished abruptly.

“If you go…”
She recognized
Teddy Bears’ Picnic
and felt a stab of panic. Though only the words drifted up through the vent, she felt like the picnicking teddy bears were in the room with her. A vivid memory broke the surface of her awareness, like a bubble rising and popping:
Mother is telling her that if the bears catch her listening, they’ll tear her from limb to limb and eat her guts and play Ping-Pong with her eyeballs.
 

Listening to what?
Claire tried to remember, but the memory dissolved.

She shuddered as the sudden sour scent of potato salad filled her nose. Salad left in the sun, poison salad. The smell was so thick and heavy it filled her lungs like curdled sludge. And then there were ants - dozens of thousands of them, marching up the walls, onto the ceiling, clamoring over each other, dripping to the floor in erratic zigzags. She shuddered and heard the buzz of flies, hundreds, thousands of them, buzzing everywhere, and then she saw them, black and emerald, bloated and logy, circling her like drunken bumblebees. She swatted, but the flies were impervious.
 

“… Mommies and Daddies take them ..
.
”
The music continued drifting up from the vent and
one huge fly, the size of a football, hovered in front of her face. She stared into its eyes, two gleaming pools of black tar, captivated by her own reflection staring back at her. The massive fly blinked and Claire gasped, backed away. It wore a straw Panama hat and a long brown cigarette dangled from a mouth that looked like a puckered wound, its sutures prematurely removed. The raw, lipless orifice moved. “I’m not dead, Claire. I’m not dead.” Timothy’s voice tumbled from the thing’s mouth and Claire screamed.

The fly buzzed closer, inches from her face. It reeked of black licorice and Opium perfume.

Claire dropped her crutches, flopped onto the bed, and covered her eyes. “Stop!”

“I’m not dead.” The fly slurped the words like a wet strand of spaghetti. “I’m not dead and I’m coming back. I’m coming back.”

I’m losing my mind! I’m losing my goddamn mind!
 

The buzzing stopped. The room was silent except for the faint echoes of the record player downstairs.