What Hides Within (27 page)

"Hi, Uncle Clive."

"Hi, Victoria. Is your daddy around?"
A silly question
, Clive thought. At least, he certainly hoped it was.

"He's in his room. Come in."

"Thank you."

Clive entered the former homestead of his sister-in-law. He couldn't help but think how much bigger it must be compared to her new residing place. His niece stood by him, barely reaching his waistline. Clive rested his hand on her shoulder, his awkward way of showing her affection. She seemed unfazed by it, for better or for worse.

"It's over here," Victoria said, lifting a dead tired arm like a zombie in a cheesy, old horror movie. A wasted effort; Clive knew his way around.

His heart sank as he headed toward Kyle's bedroom. It seemed morbid to him, his brother lying on the bed of a dead person. He shook off his stupidity, wondering if anyone else thought like he did.

What's Kyle supposed to do?
he thought.
Remove everything in the house that reminds him of Rachel? There'd be nothing left, the house an empty shell. Like Kyle. Maybe he'd be better off someplace else.

Clive sighed. He hesitated at the bedroom door. The door hung partially open. The crack was too small for Clive to see inside, save for a narrow, vertical sliver of the world therein. He knocked on the door.

"Kyle?" he called. When no response came, he called again.

"Kyle? Are you in there?"

Clive waited another eight seconds before pushing the door open. Once he did, he found Kyle sunken into his bed as though he'd been lying there for days. Maybe he had.

Kyle appeared even more disheveled than his daughter. His eyes were open, yet he didn't seem aware of his brother's presence. His tattered, white tee-shirt was wrinkled and stained. His boxers were dangerously close to revealing parts of him neither Clive nor Victoria needed to see. One sullied sock clung to his foot in its desperate hope to remain on. Its pair was missing in action. Beside Kyle, a bottle of Wild Turkey sat nearly full atop a bureau, a half-glass of the alcohol sitting next to it.

Well, at least he's using a glass
, Clive thought, searching for the silver lining.
He hasn't drank that much, either.
He walked toward his brother and frowned, realizing his initial assessment was faulty when he stumbled over an empty bottle of Hennessy carelessly tossed near the doorway.

"Kyle? Are you okay?"

Clive sat at the end of the bed, pausing as thoughts of dead people cooties stimulated his imagination. Kyle didn't so much as stir.

"Kyle?" Clive tapped his brother's leg. "I came by to check on you. By the look of things, it was probably a good idea that I did."

Kyle didn't respond. Clive sagged, disappointed with his disinterested audience. He demanded a response, some acknowledgment that they were still brothers, some sign of life from the grieving.

"Man, look at you! You're a goddamn mess!"

"Leave me alone," Kyle mumbled. He remained motionless, refusing to avert his stare from the ceiling.

"You've been out of it for days. How long do you plan to keep this shit up? I know it's hard, but you have a daughter to think about, too, you know."

A deep sigh exited Kyle's lungs, the calm before the storm. "What do you know about it? 'I know it's hard,'" Kyle mimicked, his tone furious. "You don't know shit, Clive. Get the fuck out of my house."

"Kyle, I'm here to help."

Finally, Kyle moved. Unfortunately for Clive, his movement came in the form of a kinetically charged heel thrust into Clive's temple. He fell off the bed, Kyle's remaining sock falling on top of him.

Clive lingered on the carpet, stunned. He took a moment to collect his wits.

You want me to take care of him, too?
Chester laughed when she asked the question, but Clive knew she was serious.

"No. Please, let me handle this."

Clive was angry, but he cut his brother some slack in light of his recent loss. He brushed himself off. As he did, his hand came into contact with a fresh wet stain on his khakis. He prayed it was Hennessy and not Kyle forgetting to use a toilet. The slack he gave his brother was all but used up.

"Alright, asshole. I'll go. Give me a call when you're ready to stop being a jerk."

Clive hustled out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Victoria waited outside. She had seen everything, yet she remained expressionless.

"Is Daddy going to be okay?"

Clive smirked nervously, made uncomfortable by the innocent question and the lie he was required to tell in answer. Her overburdened soul soothed Clive's anger. It wasn't meant for her. Instead, he played the concerned uncle.

"He'll be fine. He just needs rest."

Clive glanced around the home. Dirty dishes were strewn all over the kitchen. A few errant glasses somehow found the sink. Empty beer cans were everywhere else.

"Have you eaten?" Clive asked, realizing that things were far worse than Kyle's drinking.

"I have Cocoa Puffs, but I ran out of milk."

"Grab your jacket. We'll go get something to eat."

"Where?"

"Is there anywhere you want to go?"

"Friendly's?"

"You want ice cream even in this cold weather?"

"I like ice cream."

"Then Friendly's it is. We can pick up some milk for you on the way home."

"Do I have to change out of my pajamas?"

"I'll make a deal with you. Go change your shirt, and you can keep on the bottoms."

Victoria stared at Clive as though she were sizing him up. Clive was puzzled by her inspection. Her silence troubled him, not understanding what it meant. After considerable thought, Victoria apparently found him acceptable.

"Okay."

She started toward her room with renewed spirit. But she halted before taking more than a few steps. Turning back to Clive, Victoria looked lost, her eyes shimmering as they hid unknown emotion.

"Are you going to take care of me now?"

"Yes, Victoria. I'll help your daddy out whenever either of you need me to. He'll be fine soon, though. I'm sure of it."

The response didn't seem to convince Victoria, but it did seem to satisfy her. She hurried off to change her shirt.

You do know she's your burden now. You sure you can handle that responsibility?

"I'm a new man, Chester. I've got Morgan, potential for job growth and my health. It's time I grew up. Family needs me."

I'm touched
, Chester mocked.
You think you're all grown up, Clive? You can't even take care of yourself, never mind a little girl. Take me, for example. I wouldn't currently be in your head if not for your own stupidity.

"Well, you
are
in my head, so maybe you should be more supportive. Victoria's
our
burden now. If you aren't going to help out, why don't you just get out?"

Still insisting you want me gone? If that's true, why don't you do something about it?

"I had brain surgery!"

True, but that was before you knew what I am. You like me, Clive. You need the company. You lack self-reliance. Without me, you'd be nothing, inconsequential. I make you special. You're going to need my help, both in taking care of her and in stopping you from destroying yourself.

"More gloom and doom from the talking spider."

Clive was unfazed, his spirits high. After all, just because everyone else's lives around him were falling apart didn't mean his wasn't just fine. So he lost a pseudo-friend and a sister-in-law? He preferred to forget the dead and focus on the living. So he had unsuccessful surgery to remove a murderous bug from his brain? So what? Clive felt great. Now, he was living his life his way. Work and chores were something he did when he felt like it. He was getting laid on a regular basis. As far as Clive was concerned, he had his shit together.

"I have a homicidal arachnid living in my head, my best friend and brother's wife are dead and, yet, I've never been happier. Give me your worst, Chester. I can take it."

Derek got my worst. You don't want that.

"Is that a threat?" Clive asked without a hint of concern. "I don't know your game, Chester. But if you wanted me dead, you could have done that weeks ago. I think you stick around because deep inside that vile exoskeleton of yours is a little heart with a place in it just for me."

You've found me out, Clive. You're my best friend. And now that Derek's out of the way, I'm yours.

"Ha!" Clive's laughter was genuine. He always got a kick out of irony. "That may be, but it's only because you lack competition. My relationship with Morgan has been reclassified."

Whatever you say, big guy.

"Alright, enough. She's coming."

"I'm ready," Victoria raced in. Some color had returned to her face. "Who were you talking to?"

"My imaginary friend, Mr. Wigglesworth."

The joke evoked no reaction. Victoria evidently waited for a more serious answer. It never came.

"You shouldn't talk to yourself."

"Kyle," Clive called, dismissing his niece's criticism. "I'm taking Victoria out to eat. You want anything?"

As expected, Kyle didn't respond.
Saves me money
. Clive smirked. He sized up his niece, her turn to be scrutinized. Jacket hung open over a mismatched shirt and bottoms, Victoria looked like some homeless orphan out of
Oliver Twist
. Clive worried someone might call child services on him. Still, a promise was a promise. He'd take Victoria for dinner, then get her some milk. Someone had to take care of her. Who better than Clive and his invisible talking spider?

And so it went over the course of the next week. Clive, either alone or with Morgan, would take out Victoria every free moment he had. Sometimes she slept at Morgan's house without her father's consent or knowledge, Kyle being too preoccupied with drinking himself into oblivion. The three went shopping together, went to the aquarium together and even shared a makeshift Thanksgiving dinner together--Chinese food.

Victoria seemed content. At times, she even seemed jovial, though the signs of youthful vigor were few and fleeting. Nevertheless, Clive filled in as her surrogate parent well enough. It had been a few weeks since anyone had shown her any attention. At the funeral, Clive watched her interact with strangers who only felt pity without real empathy or understanding. To them, she was like a pet, a plaything, good for ten or fifteen minutes, then disposable. Victoria didn't seem grateful for their consideration. It was different with Clive.

Victoria rushed to the door when Uncle Clive came knocking. Clive and Morgan showed Victoria what Clive assumed she'd been missing: companionship. He'd help her understand what her father could not. The living must go on living.

For his part, Clive was happier, too. His feelings for Victoria weren't fatherly, but he liked her all the same. In some ways, he connected with his niece. He could feel her loneliness, relate to it. He'd been there before. But he had somehow managed to shed his own solitude, gaining friends in Chester and Victoria and something more substantial with Morgan. They seemed constant and real, not like the shallow relationships he'd lost.

His whole life seemed to be experiencing an upgrade. Taking a sort of bereavement leave from Harcourt, Clive was getting paid to do nothing for an indefinite period. Thanks to Chester, he was getting paid at a slightly higher rate to do nothing. He wondered how long he could drag it out. After all, he had experienced two deaths recently. Shouldn't that warrant double the time off?

Everything was falling into its rightful place. Though not yet apprehended, Kevin was gone and, as far as Clive was concerned, forgotten. He had lost a little weight from all the calories he burned in Morgan's bedroom. Heck, he even got to wear his stylish new suit to not one but two funerals.

Yet, somewhere in the back of it all, Clive's conscience lingered. It warned him that something wasn't quite right, that his happiness was somehow manufactured, a mirage. It told him that if he poked his head around a few corners, examined a few holes in his life, he'd see the truth hidden therein.

But Clive already listened to one voice in his head. Two would just add confusion. So his conscience went largely unheeded, out-voiced by a devilish influence urging hedonistic desires. The voice Clive listened to was much more concrete, belonging to what purported to be a spider named Chester, his new best friend.

So, Clive, what do you want to do today?

"I don't know, Chester. Do you have any suggestions?"

As he sat in the nearly full waiting room of the Sears Automotive Center at the Swansea Mall, Clive spoke loud enough to be heard by anyone who cared to listen. Indeed, a number of inquisitive ears leaned in to hear the eccentric individual having a one-sided conversation in public. They, all the negative, miserable people of the world, pried where they had no right to pry. Clive fazed them out of his reality. They weren't important. They were inconsequential. They wouldn't impair his happiness. And if they were wiped clean from the world, Clive would shed no tears for them.

He sat patiently, his knee bouncing uncontrollably as he waited for his car to be serviced. He slouched in an uncomfortable chair, resting his head against the plastered wall. On the floor beside him sat the remains of his forgettable lunch in a paper grocery bag. In fact, he'd already forgotten what he ate and how much he had left. But the bag weighed heavy like its other half did in Clive's stomach.

How about we take Victoria to see a movie?

"I was thinking more like sex with the woman."

An overweight man beside Clive looked over at him. When Clive leered back, he buried his face in his newspaper, but Clive could tell he was listening.

You're always thinking about sex, even when you're with Victoria! It's sick. You've got to get that thing of yours on a leash. But fine
, Chester said, apparently ready to compromise.
We'll do both. Morgan better be off the rag this time. Last time, I couldn't get that dried blood-copper taste out of my mouth for the rest of the night. It messed me up psychologically. See, I can even taste it now. And please, stick to the front.