Frank De Felitta - Audrey Rose

As Janice quietly entered the room behind Bill, the bizarre, incredible memory of that distant time, sapped of reality for seven long years, sprang back to sudden and pulsating life.

Totally oblivious to their presence, Ivy’s eyes shone wildly; her feverish face was swept with a thousand nighttime terrors as she fled about the small, cluttered room this way and that in random disorder, knocking into furniture, chairs, sewing machine, desk, climbing over the larger pieces in order to gain some unknown, desperately sought objective. As before, the tiny, babylike, fretting sounds, “mommydaddy mommydaddy hothothot mommydaddy…,” underscored her tortured necessity to succeed.

Each time she’d get by an obstacle and seem to approach the door or window—her flailing, groping, reaching toward the glass—she would draw back suddenly in pain and plunge back into the helter-skelter circle of confusion, weeping, crying, mewling her plaintive lament, “Mommydaddy mommydaddy hothothothot mommydaddy mommydaddy.…”

Janice’s hand grasped Bill’s tightly as they stood rooted, just inside the room, helplessly watching the macabre spectacle, knowing, from past experience, how ineffective they both were during these crises.

“Ivy, it’s Daddy,” Bill pleaded, stretching out his arms to embrace her as she passed him, her eyes blazing lights projecting out of a feverish face, as she drew away from him and fled to a far corner of the room.

“Call Dr. Kaplan, Janice,” he whispered huskily.

WAIT!”

The voice was Elliot Hoover’s, speaking from the doorway directly behind them. Janice turned and saw him looking intently at Ivy, rushing about the room at a quickened pace, totally driven by the acute urgency of her nightmare. Hoover’s eyes were fixed on the tormented child, critically observing every movement and gesture she made, listening tot eh rasping, thoroughly exhausted voice repeating, “Mommydaddy mommydaddy hothothot mommydaddy mommydaddy.…”

Janice felt Bill’s hand stiffen in hers as he, too, turned and planted a stern, warning look on the interloper.

But Hoover ignored them both, his eyes and mind wholly devoted to their daughter, trying to define the meaning of the terrible hallucination in which she was caught. And then a look of inexpressible sadness swept across his face; his eyes grew large and haunted as he uttered, “My God,” in a barely audible breath.

He quickly stepped past them into the room and worked his way closer to Ivy, who was reeling about dizzily, near the window, her hands seeking the glass, reaching for it, gropingly, each time pulling back in pain and fear, as if it were molten lava.

“Audrey!” The word burst out of Hoover like a shot: “Audrey Rose! It’s Daddy.” And he took another step toward the agonized child fretting at the window, waving her thin arms at the glass despairingly, pleading with the demons without in the high-pitched, sorrowing voice of a child half her age, “Mommydaddy mommydaddy hothothothot mommydaddy mommydaddy.…”

“Audrey Rose! I’m here, Audrey! Here!”

Janice’s knuckles turned white in Bill’s hand as she watched Hoover take still another step toward Ivy, who gave no indication that she heard him or was aware of his presence.

“Over here, Audrey! It’s Daddy! I’ve come!”

Bill’s hand sought release from Janice’s grip, and she knew he was about to move, about to seize Hoover and throw him out of the room. She saw the murderous intent in Bill’s eyes and flashed him a look entreating patience.

“Audrey! This way, darling! Audrey Rose! It’s Daddy!”

Suddenly, Ivy swung about from the window and turned her flushed, fear-ravaged face to Hoover, gazing up at him like a suppliant asking for mercy, the beseeching babble of words shifting to “Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy.…”

“ Yes, Audrey! It’s Daddy! It’s Daddy! This way, Darling !” he desperately urged in a breathless voice. “ This way, Audrey Rose! This Way! Come !” And taking a step backwards, he extended his hands to the startled child, offering direction, inviting trust. “ This way, darling! This way !”

Slowly, the anguish and panic seemed to drain from their daughter’s face; the rapid, feverish intensity of the words seemed to relax, to space out and become more defined, “Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy.…”

“Yes darling, this way,” Hoover coaxed, bending down and extending his two arms fully to her. “Come, Audrey, come!”

“Daddy … daddy?” Her eyes remained fastened on a point just beyond the image of Hoover, squinting hard to penetrate the opaque veil of the all-engulfing nightmare.

“ This way, Audrey Rose! COME !” His voice rose to a command. “ COME AUDREY !”

A prickle of fear coursed up Janice’s spine as she saw the face of her own child begin to soften with recognition, begin to lose the ravaged and brutalized look of terror. Teardrops hanging on her eyelids—the great blue eyes which now shone so large and brilliant out of her white and worn face—she slowly extended her hands to Hoover, in a tentative, testing manner. “Daddy?”

“Yes, Audrey Rose! It’s Daddy!” Hoover encouraged, in a subdued voice charged with emotion. “ Come, darling.…”

“Daddy?” And with a smile that seemed to answer him, she scampered forward into his arms, clutching him in a deep embrace. And thus they remained, clinging to each other, like a pair of lovers finally meeting after a long and wearying journey.

Bill stood like a man in a trance, his shadow thrown vague and large upon the two of them by the hall light behind him. His face was pale; his eyes were wet and glistening; his mouth quivered with parted lips. His whole being seemed absorbed in the anxiety and tenderness at his feet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he sputtered hoarsely, in a Janice hardly recognized. He stood, waiting for an answer, the lines in his face continuing to move, to speak, though his voice had stopped.

Elliot Hoover rose slowly, lifting Ivy up with him in his arms. When he turned to Bill and Janice, they saw that she was asleep, breathing normally, her lovely face now calm and composed in restful slumber. The man who had released her from her bondage took a step closer to Bill and gently conveyed the precious burden into its rightful arms.

“It was the accident,” Hoover said starkly. “There was a fire … the windows were closed … she couldn’t get them open, and there was no way of getting her out of the car … I was told that it lasted for some minutes.…”

A strange stillness seemed to close all around them. The very air seemed hushed and solemnized.

A cough behind Janice made her aware that Carole had been witness to the entire drama. She had forgotten about Carole, had forgotten about Russ, still upstairs in their bedroom.

“I’ll be leaving now,” Hoover said, a look of profound concern in his eyes. “There’s a great deal I must think about. You were both very kind to see me. Good night.”

With a token smile, he excused his way past them and left the room. Janice could hear his footsteps fade away through the lower regions of the apartment and finally disappear. Bill heard nothing. His entire attention was caught up in the subdued and peaceful cadence of Ivy’s even breathing, as she slept, satisfied and calm, in his arms.

Russ was still in their bedroom, breaking down the sound equipment and packing it, when Bill carried Ivy past their door to their door to her room.

“Everything okay?” Russ asked Janice, who had paused at the open door.