The Lurking Man (13 page)

“I know he did.”

“Why do you think he did that?”

“To try and protect me,” she said. “He didn't want them knowing I went over there.”

“When you took the phone from your mother at the prison, what happened?”

“She encouraged me to talk to him because she knew I was afraid.”

“What did she say?”

“I remember it like it happened yesterday. She got down on her knees, hugged me, and whispered gently that my father loved me and that he needed to hear my voice.”

“And?”

“My father told me that I didn't have to worry about anyone hurting me ever again and that he loved me more than anything in the whole world.”

“And what did you say back to him?”

“Nothing. I couldn't speak.”

“Because you didn't feel love back, did you?”

“I was inside of a prison!”

“Yes, and he was kept in a room no bigger than the area of light you occupy now. He did that for you. He sacrificed the rest of his life and you didn't say anything back to him?”

“No, I didn't.” She swallowed hard. “I just couldn't. It kills me inside to have to live with that, but what was I going to say to him?”

“What do you think you should have said?”

Perspective pushed her apprehension, regret, and denial aside.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “That's what I should have told him.”

“But you didn't because you weren't sorry either. And you're still not,” he said. “You can't fool me.”

The burden of knowing the truth she faced was absolute hell, and as Sariel had said when she first arrived, she was going to have come face to face with who she was. She couldn't help but think: What purpose did her life serve?

“You're emotionless and heartless,” he said.

“I know I am,” she said.

“By the age of fifteen you had recited your tale of the events from that day so many times that you began to believe it was actually true. Your ability to manipulate people became your first and strongest addiction. You eventually convinced your mother that you were frightened of your father and that you had suffered nightmares about his evil ever since the day of the shooting. But that wasn't true, was it?”

“No, it wasn't.”

“Then why?”

“Because every time I saw him it reminded me of what I had done and I wanted to put that behind me.”

“So you left him to rot so you could ease your guilty conscience?”

“I had to or it would have driven me crazy.”

“And you think the decisions you made were from a sound mind?”

She didn't want to answer that question.

“You should have been locked up in an institution. Instead, you dared to start a family.”

“I wanted so badly to be normal.”

“And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't be,” he said.

“Did you see my father after he died?”

“He was so lost and confused in his death state,” he said. “I remember him asking me over and over again why
his wife and child left him to wither away after he sacrificed so much for them.”
 

Although she knew it wouldn't do any good, she turned away. She tried to fight the image of her father on his knees, still begging to understand. But no matter where she turned, Sariel's voice came as if he was standing in front of her, forcing her to hear what he had to say.

“And your mother turned to alcohol to try and drown her sorrows,” he said. “That is where you got the idea. The hole that day had left in her soul could never be repaired and you knew it. She became a nuisance to you and the moment you could get away from her, you did.”

“She was always depressed and sulking in her loss of my father,” Cailean said. “I couldn't take it anymore.”

“You left her alone, knowing her final act was inevitable.”

“Yes I knew, and I didn't want to be around to see it.”

“Her death was planned and it was as a direct result of your actions. She did it to escape you and to be with your father. She suspected there was something wrong with you and feared what you had become.”

“That's just not true.”

“Yes, it is the truth. When I took her to the judgment door, I could see how your deceit had taken all of her will and pulverized it. She had become a shadow of her former self.”

The remaining half of the death mask stole Cailean's attention and she couldn't help but notice how the eye had been clamped shut and the mouth was pulled back in an image of intense pain. It had become apparent that the mask had been cast only moments after Mr. Hagen had taken the shotgun blast to the abdomen.

“You would not be here if you would have acknowledged the voice of reason that begged for your attention instead of ignoring it.”

“Stop it!” She slammed her fist on the tabletop, his words a welcomed distraction.

“Why? Because you realize you chose to embrace your ugly side and it doesn't like to be known?”

She didn't like what he said and kicked snow at the darkness. “Shut up!”

“Or what?”

Frantic, Cailean searched for something and settled her attention on the other chair that had been left undisturbed since she arrived. She took hold of it and lifted it onto the tabletop. Centering it, she swiftly jumped onto the table.

“I don't need to listen to this!” she said.

“But the thing that was the ugliest is what made you the most comfortable, isn't it? No matter how much you despised it, it was still better than having to face the truth.”

Climbing on the chair, she reached her hand up and stood on her tiptoes. Stretching higher and groaning with the strain, she tried to grab the light.

“I want this damn thing turned off,” she said.

“It's not you who wants the light off,” Sariel said.

“I won't allow you to keep me confined to this space so you can continue to dissect me.”

“All of that effort to conceal such a thing must be so tiresome.”

“I won't!”

She jumped up and grabbed for the light source. The chair slid out from underneath her feet and she crashed down on the table and fell to the floor. Pain free but dazed, she looked up at the light, panting, the rage inside her deep. Lying on her back and watching the wind tossing the snow around, she felt a sudden sense of peace within the pandemonium.

“You must desire a break from it,” Sariel said. “Fret no longer, our time to confront what has been ailing you is drawing near.”

Chapter 16

 

 

IT ISN'T EASY

 

 

The past.

 

“I'm really happy Dad let me come to your house for part of the day,” Beau said.

“I am, too. You did a great job convincing him,”Cailean said with a mischievous smile.

“I meant what I said. I've missed you, Mom, and I want to see you more,” he said with seriousness to his voice well beyond his years.

“Thank you, honey. I've missed you, too.”

Beau had his face pressed against the chilled passenger side window and looked at the two-story apartment complex they approached. Snowdrifts were pushed against the walls and were as high as the ground floor windows. Long, sparkling icicles hung off of the eaves in a spectacular display of winter beauty.

“Is this where you live, Mom?” He tapped the window, pointing at the narrow development.

“It is,” she said and laughed at his excitement. It was good to hear him acting like a kid. “This is where I live.”

“It seems so far away from us.”

“It's not that far. It has taken us a bit longer because of the weather.”

“It is really nice though, Mom. It looks like it has an upstairs.”

“You know, you're right, there is an upstairs.”

“Oh,” he said. “I wonder what it looks like up there.”

“Well, maybe we can think of a way to get you up there. What do you think?”

“That sounds great!”

“Do you see that window up there?”

“That one?” he said, and tapped the glass again. A large window on the second floor protruded from the unit and appeared twice the size of an ordinary window.

“Yes, that's the one. That's in my bedroom. I'll bet you would be able to see the entire street the same way a bird does when they're flying around.”

Beau's face brightened. “That would be so cool, Mom.”

The car pulled into a short driveway and the ice popped and crunched underneath the wheels. Cailean watched as Beau craned his neck to see as much of the house and snow covered neighborhood as possible. She looked around, too; everything was white and glistening.

“So, what do you say?” Cailean said, and put the car in park. “Do you want to get inside and have a look around?”

“Yes!” He pumped his fist.

“All right, let's do this,” she said and shut off the car. The bitter cold penetrated the interior instantly.

“Do you feel that already?” she said.

Beau nodded and gave pause to a swooping wind that shook the car. “Yeah, it is really cold out there.”

“The cold is no match for us. I think I have a plan,” she said. “I'm going to carry you inside and set you down on the couch. Then I'll run back out to the car and get your wheelchair and the bag your father packed before it can even touch us. What do you think?”

“I like it, Mom.”

“Great,” she said and opened the car door fully with a kick.

The intensity of the cold made her move fast. She hurried around the car, pulled open the passenger door and leaned into the vehicle.

“Put your arm around my neck and hold on tight.”

He did as instructed and Cailean slid an arm underneath his legs and the other arm around his back. She lifted him out of the car and she hurried up the walkway.

“How are you doing?” she said.

He flexed his hands. “It's really cold out here. I can feel it on my face and hands.”

“We'll be inside in a second.”

She struggled to open the front door.

“Come on!” she said, and twisted the handle.

“But not my legs, Mom.”

“What?” she said, and entered the house. She set him down on the couch.

“The cold. I couldn't feel it on my legs.” He smiled.

“You're being silly,” she said. “I want to get the rest of the stuff out of the car. I'll be back in a second.”

“No, Mom, wait!”

She stopped. “What is it? Is everything OK?”

“I think you should take me to the bathroom first. I don't want to have an accident.”

“I have to take you right this second? Can't it wait until after I get your chair and bag inside?”

He shook his head. “I don't think we should wait and I could already be done by the time you get back,” he said. “Dad said to make sure I go every fifteen minutes to be on the safe side and I think we were in your car for way longer than that.”

She sighed. “I wish you would have told me that when I went over the plan with you in the car. I probably would have elected to bring the wheelchair in first. That probably would have made more sense rather than my having to pick you up and carry you all around the house.”

“I'm sorry, Mom.”

“It's not a big deal,” she said and messed his hair. “I'm just happy you're here.”

She lifted him off of the couch and carried him towards the bathroom.

“So how would you and your father normally do this?”

“He would just put me down on the floor and I would do the rest myself.”

She hesitated. “I don't want to leave you on the floor. That doesn't seem right.”

Beau laughed. “It's OK, Mom. This is how we do it all the time.”

“All right,” she said and set him down on the bathmat in the center of the small bathroom. She straightened his legs. “Are you sure you don't need me to help you get onto the toilet?”

“Yes, I'm sure, Mom. I do this all the time and this is kind of private.”

“If you need me I'll be right outside the door,” she said.

“If you want to go and get the stuff out of the car, I'll be fine.”

“No, I don't think I'm going to do that. I'll wait right here.”

She stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. She closed the door halfway and leaned against the wall. The large mirror gave her the perfect vantage point to watch over him without his knowing.

Beau pulled his pants down and looked inside his diaper.

“Yes,” he said and clapped his hands.

He army crawled across the floor and his limp legs dragged the bathmat along. Resting once he reached the base of the toilet, he placed one hand on the rim of the bowl and the other on the nearby bathtub. He lifted himself and swung his legs around the toilet and sat.

He rested his elbows on his knees and looked around the room. Moments later he looked between his legs.

“All right!” he said.

He planted a hand on the tub and sink and lifted himself off the bowl. As he lowered himself, his hand slipped off the tub and he fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

“Beau?” Cailean said, and threw the door open. She hurried to his side. “Oh my God, Beau, are you all right?”

He struggled to cover himself and tried to pull up his diaper.

“Mom, I'm not dressed!”

“It's OK, I'm not looking,” she said and helped him cover up.

“My hand slipped.”

She didn't want to say she saw the entire thing. “I knew this wasn't a good idea and I'm sorry I didn't listen to myself. I need you to be more careful!”

“I was being careful! The tub was wet and my hand slid off.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Why didn't you dry it off if you knew I was coming over?”

“Did you hit your head?”

“It doesn't matter,” he said, and turned away from her.