David Wiltse - The Edge of Sleep

“I have a right to be here,” she said, furious with herself for having reacted with fear.

“I promised her we’d stay out,” George said.

“How’d you even know I was here, anyway?” she demanded. There was no place for her to direct her anger other than at George.

“I saw you leave,” George said. He was talking to her, but his eyes were scanning the room. He had promised not to come, in, but it was still his property, too, after all.

“Are you spying on me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I told her we wouldn’t come in here. What if her husband had been in here?”

“I saw them leave,” Reggie said. “She stole the bedspread.”

“Who?”

“What do you mean, ‘who’? Your girlfriend, that’s who.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And what makes you think she stole it, anyway?”

George had come all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. He touched the bed as if to confirm the evidence of his eyes.

“It’s not here, that’s what.”

“Doesn’t mean she stole it.”

“Why don’t you see if you can find it then?” George gave her a look from under his brows. He hated her tone of voice. He had told her a few thousand times not to speak to him like that, but he might as well have saved his breath. The only way she was going to realize he meant it was when he went out to get the mail and didn’t come back. Which might be at any time now, if she kept this up.

“Just because I can’t find it doesn’t mean she stole it,” he said. He snapped off the television set.

“I’d like to know what it does mean.” Reggie said.

“I’m sure she’s got a perfectly good explanation.”

“That’s right. Defend her.”

“She hasn’t done anything wrong. The only one’s done anything wrong is you by breaking your word and coming in here.”

“I never gave her my word. That was your bright idea. The only thing I’d give her is a piece of my mind.”

“Careful, you don’t have much to spare.”

George had maneuvered behind Reggie and was now herding her toward the door. He held his arms out to the side as if shooing chickens. Reggie resisted the urge to hit him.

“If she stole it, out she goes,” Reggie said. “I won’t tolerate theft. Out she goes.”

“Out you go,” he said, still driving her toward the door.

“It’s the one thing I won’t put up with,” Reggie said. “I won’t put up with a thief.”

“I’ll talk to her about it,” George said. “It’s a misunderstanding. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’ll bet you will.” She stood in the doorway, just to make a point. He wasn’t pushing her out; she had chosen to leave and would make her exit when she wanted to. He stopped just short of her, careful not to put a hand on her. “Of course. I’ll have to explain how I know the bed spread’s gone,” he said. “Then I’ll have to apologize for you.”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare apologize for me to that woman!” Reggie cried.

“Guess I’ll have to,” George said.

“I forbid it!”

“Fair is fair, and right is right.” George rose up on his toes slightly as he made his pronouncement. He had been taller than Reggie earlier in their lives together, but it seemed to him that she had somehow outgrown him lately.

“If you apologize to her, that is the last straw,” Reggie declared. “I am not joking with you, George. So much as a hint of apology and I have had it.”

He rocked up on his toes again and then he smiled. It was the smile that convinced Reggie, the smugness of it that made her want to paste him right on the nose. That woman was gone, Reggie vowed silently. She was out of here as of now, no matter how long it took to actually arrange the eviction.

Reggie intended to stay up until they came home, no matter how long it took. She wanted to be there to intercept them between the car and cabin. She would face down Dee and her so-called husband this very night, let them understand she knew about the theft, and that they were to be gone as soon as they could pack. Never mind that they still had a week’s rent paid in advance, the theft negated all that.

Her intention was to stay awake-but her body had its own plans. After a time even the anger she felt was insufficient to keep her eyes open. She drifted off, woke, and drifted again and woke once more. She tried to focus her eyes on a hairline crack in the ceiling plaster. If a car pulled into the drive she would see the lights sweep across the ceiling and be out of bed and to the door before the car came to a halt. Reggie fell asleep and dreamed she was watching the ceiling.

Dee killed the headlights as soon as they turned into the motel drive. She unlocked the door to the cabin and held it open as Ash struggled out of the backseat, holding his bundle, then rushed into the sanctuary of the room.

Dee spoke for the first time since leaving McDonald’s as she strode to the closet and removed the garment from the laundry from the rack.

“We’ll see,” Dee said. “Now we’ll see who misbehaves.”

By the time Dee had the wire hanger in her hand. Ash had uncovered Bobby and handed him a pillow.

“Bite on it,” he whispered. He began hurriedly to unbutton Bobby’s shirt.

“What? What’s she going to do?” Bobby asked. His eyes were wide with fear. He was afraid to turn and look at Dee, who stood behind him, still muttering, and instead kept his eyes glued to Ash’s face for a clue as to what was to befall him. There was nothing in Ash’s face to give him hope.

“Don’t yell,” Ash whispered. His voice had the same imploring intensity as when he had urged Bobby not to run. “Don’t make any noise at all.”

He unbuttoned Bobby’s pants and pulled them down, then lifted the pillow to Bobby’s mouth.

“Bite,” he said and Bobby clamped his mouth onto the pillow.

The first blow fell almost immediately across his back. The boy gasped as much from surprise as from the pain. Ash immediately positioned the pillow in front of Bobby’s mouth again.

“No noise,” he hissed. The wire struck again and Bobby’s cry was muffled by the pillow.

There was a brief pause as Dee snapped on the television, then the blows came steadily.

Bobby squirmed and tried to pull away, but Ash gripped him by the arms and held him in place.

“Don’t make her mad,” he whispered.

“Now we’ll see,” Dee said. “Now we’ll see. Now we’ll see.”

She beat him in rhythm with her voice, but Bobby soon ceased to make sense of her words. Her only real message was pain.

Karen awoke to music and it took her a moment to figure out where it was coming from. The sound was muted and faint and the strumming of an acoustical guitar gave her a fleeting sense of being serenaded from outside her window. Then she realized it was coming from Jack’s room. He was up and playing his favorite tape of children’s songs. She glanced at the red numerals on the clock radio, the two dots separating the hours and the minutes blinking methodically. It was too early for her to be up; but not too early for Jack. She could never understand how he functioned so well on so little sleep, or how he seemed to awake fully refreshed and smiling while she had to claw her way into consciousness.

Remembering that she was not alone in the bed, she rolled her head to look at Becker, but his side of the bed was empty. His clothes, which he had tossed on the chair the night before, were gone. The son of a bitch has slipped out on me, she thought. Not so much as a goodbye, no farewell kiss. Just grab his socks and go. How typical, how sneakily, self-centeredly, inconsiderately typical. They were all sons of bitches, so it wasn’t her fault that she kept picking bad ones. There were no good ones.