David Handler - The shimmering blond sister

Marge knelt before him and felt for his pulse. “Returning to normal,” she whispered, lifting one of his eyelids to check his pupil. “Let’s get him back into bed.” She started to pick Phillip up off of the floor but halted with a grunt of pain. “Dang, my old back isn’t what it used to be.”

“Here, let me…” Des gathered the tall boy up in her arms and carried him into the other bedroom, which had twin beds and Celtics posters all over the walls.

“His bed’s the one over by the window,” Nan said softly.

Des set him down there. Nan wrestled him out of his sweat-soaked pajamas and into fresh ones. The boy mumbled a bit in his sleep but was docile and compliant. She tucked him in and turned out his bedside light. They backed slowly out of the room into the narrow hallway, shutting the door.

“He’ll be okay now, honey,” Mary assured Nan.

The tears were still streaming from Nan’s blue eyes. She was such a tiny little thing in her bare feet that she looked more like a girl than a full-grown single mother. “Are… are you sure?”

“Positive. We’ve seen this before.”

“I-I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea. I’ve never…” She ran a hand through her long blond hair, exhaling slowly. “Des, I’m so sorry to drag you out of bed like this.”

“Not a problem, Nan. What I’m here for. Want to fill me in?”

“Little Petey came in and woke me up about, I don’t know, a half hour ago. Told me that Philly was having a terrible nightmare and he couldn’t wake him up. That’s when I heard Philly screaming. And then he came running into my room, too. He followed Petey in there, I swear. His eyes were wide open. He-he was awake. I swear he was awake. And he was screaming and screaming and I-I couldn’t get him to stop. Or get him out from under my bed. He was panting and gasping and-and

… well, you saw him. He was possessed. So I called the girls.” Nan turned to Mary now and said, “You’ve actually seen this sort of thing before?”

Mary nodded. “They’re called night terrors. Not at all uncommon among kids Phillip’s age. The episodes can last ten, fifteen minutes. Sometimes longer. It’s basically an extreme nightmare.”

Nan shook her head. “Philly was awake. You saw him. He was awake.”

“They seem to be awake,” Marge said. “But they’re actually asleep. Generally, they return to normal sleep when the episode’s over-and they don’t remember a thing. That’s why it’s best not to shake them out of it or frighten them.”

“Night terrors,” Nan repeated, sounding unconvinced. “I was afraid he’d gotten into drugs of some kind.”

“That’s a definite no,” Mary assured her. “His heart rate slowed right back down. His pupils were normal. He didn’t ingest anything.”

“But you were smart to play it safe,” Marge said. “We had a pissed-off eleven-year-old girl on Whippoorwill just last Wednesday night who swallowed a whole bottle of her mother’s Vicodin.”

“That’s why I wanted you here, Des,” Nan explained. “You know what these kids are into. Not that Philly has ever given me the slightest reason to think he’s… I just… he was like a totally different person. I’d better let Petey know he’s okay. Will you excuse me for a moment?” She darted into the parlor to comfort her other boy.

Des and the Jewett sisters went out onto the front porch. Oly joined them.

“How did it go out there tonight?” Des asked him.

“Nice and quiet,” he replied. “Until now.”

“No Flasher sightings?”

“Not a one. I think our Flasher’s on a slab in the morgue, don’t you?”

“Oly, I don’t know what to think.”

Nan followed them outside a moment later. The boy remained on the sofa with Josie at his feet. “Petey seems just fine.”

“Sure he is.” Oly smiled at her. “He’s a rock, that one.”

“Please explain these night terrors to me,” she said to the Jewett sisters. “Because Phillip has never, ever had anything even remotely like one before. What causes them?”

Marge and Mary exchanged an uneasy glance. They were, as a rule, careful not to stray too far above their pay grade.

“They’re often caused by a psychological trauma of some kind,” Marge answered gingerly. “It’s entirely possible he won’t ever have another one, Nan. But you should phone his pediatrician in the morning. He’ll want to see Phillip.”

“Did you folks happen to have a family situation this weekend?” Mary asked her.

Nan frowned. “Such as…?”

“Did their father visit them? Not that I mean to pry, but an emotional upheaval like that might explain it.”

Nan’s face hardened. “Donald hasn’t made time for our boys for over a year. He and Heather have a baby girl now who occupies all of his attention.”

“I’m standing here wondering about something else,” Des said, shoving her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Phillip and Peter were right there in that room of theirs last night when Augie Donatelli was murdered. Something pretty awful was happening out there in the dark. Josie was barking her head off. That’s scary stuff. Major bogeyman material. Seems to me it would be perfectly natural for a boy’s imagination to get the best of him.”

Marge nodded. “I absolutely agree.”

“Then again, it’s possible there’s more to it than that.”

Nan studied Des closely. “You think the boys saw something, is that it?”

“Did they, Nan?”

“I honestly don’t know. They haven’t told me a thing.”

“Do you mind if I talk to Peter?”

“No, of course not. As long you don’t upset him.”

“Not to worry. I won’t.”

“We’re going to take off now,” Mary told Nan. “If anything changes, just call us. Don’t even hesitate. We’re here for you.”

Nan walked them to their van, thanking them profusely. Oly climbed into his cruiser and took off.

Des went back inside and joined Peter, who was sitting there petting Josie. The boy had his mother’s big blue eyes and soft blond hair, but not her delicacy. His jaw was strong and stubborn, his hands unusually large for a boy of ten.

“Hey, Peter,” she said, showing him her smile.

“Hey,” he responded sullenly.

“Listen, I need for you to man up. Can you do that for me?”

He peered at her suspiciously. “Man up… how?”

“By telling me what’s really going on.”

The boy shrugged. “Mom said Philly had a bad dream.”

“A bad dream about what, Peter?”

He didn’t answer her.

“Phillip is real scared about something,” she said. “And so are you.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I’m a professional, that’s how. That’s why I get to wear this big hat and carry this big semiautomatic weapon. Because I know things.”

He glanced at her uneasily. “What things?”

“I know that you boys saw what happened to Mr. Donatelli last night. That’s why Phillip had his bad dream. That’s why he kept screaming, ‘We’re next, Petey!’ Because he thinks the killer will come back for the two of you. That’s why Phillip’s so scared.”

“I’m not scared,” the boy insisted.

“Peter, I can’t protect you unless I know what you boys saw.”

“We didn’t see anything! Philly just had a bad dream is all.”

“Tell me the truth, Peter. Who killed Mr. Donatelli?”

“I don’t know!” he cried out. “And don’t try to make me say I do because I don’t. We didn’t see anything, okay? Not a thing!”

Peter jumped to his feet now and ran out the front door of the house to his mom-leaving Des alone in there with Josie wondering just exactly what in the hell was going on.