Ed Gorman - Nightmare Child

"Do you know we haven't seen Jenny once since she got back?"

"I'm sorry. It's just all the shock-the doctors say that seeing people right now is just too stressful for her."

"We don't even get one peek at her in nearly three months?"

Jeff sat back, steepled his fingers, tried to exude the air of a relaxed, forthright young man. "We're planning to invite you over for dinner."

"You are?"

"Yes," Jeff said. He'd never been much of a liar, which was why he'd given up copywriting and had become an account executive.

Ray Curhane managed to look pacified and irritated at the same time. "Then why the hell doesn't Mindy call Irene and tell her that?"

"I'll see that she does it tonight," Jeff said.

But Culhane wasn't finished. "Do you have any idea how much we love you people?"

Jeff blushed. This definitely wasn't the kind of conversation he expected to have with former football great Ray Cuthane. "I appreciate your concern."

"And everything's fine?"

The snow. The brook. The curious light in the upstairs hallway.

"Fine."

"No…marital trouble?"

"No."

"No…drug problem or…psychiatric problem?"

Jeff shook his head. "Everything's fine. Everything. Honestly."

Mindy's screams, hiding in the closet. Hearing the footsteps come closer, closer…

Culhane sat back and sighed. He looked relaxed now, fingering the hard brim of his Stetson, glancing around the office. "Still haven't gotten rid of all those fruity paintings, I see."

Jeff laughed, almost grateful for the more familiar, arrogant Culhane tone. "I guess I'll have to burn them someday, won't I?"

Culhane, standing up, laughed, too. "You wouldn't get any objections from me if you did." After setting his Stetson back on his head, cocked at a jaunty angle, Culhane put out his hand. Jeff took it. "You're like my own son, Jeff. I know how corny that sounds, but you are. And Mindy's like my own daughter. When my brother and his wife died…" Culhane's eyes dropped for the moment. He had never made his peace with his brother's accident. The slightest mention of that terrible day always plunged him into what appeared to be clinical melancholy. He raised his eyes again. "When my brother died, I vowed that the one thing I could do for him was to see that his family was raised properly-and that meant not only Mindy and Jenny, but when you came along, you too."

Jeff smiled. "We know that and we appreciate it, Ray." He had never called him "Ray" before.

"I apologize for my anger a few minutes ago."

"I understand. I would have been angry, too. I'll see to it that Mindy starts returning those phone calls." Culhane met Jeff's eyes squarely. "You sure everything's all right?"

The blood over Mindy's face. Hiding in the attic. The footsteps.

"Everything's just fine, Ray. Fine."

Jeff walked him to the door, clapped him on the shoulder, and then held the door for him as he went out.

Dropping back behind his desk, picking up his Cross pen so he could get back to work, Jeff realized suddenly that for the first time in all the years he'd known the man, Jeff actually felt good about knowing Ray Culhane.

He tried not to notice his headache or the terrible vivid images that kept cutting through his consciousness every few minutes.

Everything was fine, just as he'd told Ray.

Fine.

He had to remember that.

Had to.

Unless he jogged at noon, afternoons were generally lost to Jeff. Listless, sluggish, he generally found himself trying to sustain interest and energy by ingesting generous amounts of Snickers and Diet Pepsi.

This afternoon proved no different. Stranded at his desk, the sunny day having been replaced by a gray, oppressive one, Jeff worked through his papers with a mixture of anxiety and depression. Occasionally, the violent images still rent his mind; even more occasionally, he felt drained, as if he could lie right down on the floor and take a nap.

He was catching himself dozing when his intercom buzzed. He felt like a schoolboy who'd been caught sleeping through history class.

"Yes?"

"Your wife on line three."

"Oh. Thanks."

He paused a moment, staring at the phone, trying to remember why he felt so nervous about speaking with Mindy. As if he had been drunk last night, he had spent a fourth of this day trying to reconstruct memories that seemed impossible to connect.

Snow.

Naked.

Brook

Ice.

Crash.

Diane.

Overcoat.

And for some reason even more unfathomable than the murky memories that teased at him…for some reason, Mindy was upset with him…though he had no clue as to why.

He picked up.

She said, "You didn't do it."

"Mindy?"

"You didn't do it, you bastard. You promised and you didn't do it."

"What do you mean, I didn't do it? I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Oh. Right. Don't even know what I'm talking about. Right."

"Mindy, are you…feeling okay?"

"What's going on here, Jeff? You give me your solemn word that today you'll take care of her, and then you don't do it."

"Take care of whom?"

"Of whom? Whom the hell do you think? Jenny, of course. Dear little Jenny."

"Mindy, I still don't have a clue as to what you're talking about. How was I supposed to take care of Jenny?"

"Holy shit, Jeff! She's done it again, hasn't she?"

"Done what?"

"Played with your mind. Taken away all of your memories. You don't remember anything about last night, do you?"

"Last night?"

Snow. Naked. Brook Crash. Diane.

"You know what she's doing, don't you?"

"Jenny, you mean-"

"Yes, dear heart-Jenny, I mean. She's playing with us. Pitting us against each other."

"Jenny?"

Mindy sighed. "Well, if you won't do it, I will."

He wondered if Mindy had snapped. Ever since the day they'd put Mindy in that box in the rear of the BMW-"Do what?" he said.

"Kill her."

"Kill Jenny?"

"Strangle the little bitch with my bare hands. Or at least give it the old college try."

"But she's just-"

"Just what, sweetie?"

"Just an innocent little girl."

"Right." She coughed. "God, she must have wiped your slate clean. Entirely. You don't remember anything, do you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mindy, I admit, but before we say anything else, I want you to promise me that you won't lay a finger on Jenny."

"You didn't say it."

"I didn't say what?"

"Innocent little girl. She loves when you say stuff like that. It makes her laugh. But you wouldn't remember that, would you? Boy, she really did a number on your memory, Jeff. She really did."

"You've neatly evaded the issue."

Mindy sighed again. "Oh, okay, I promise I won't lay a hand on her. Not until you're here. Maybe I can bring you back up to speed again."

"You promise you won't hurt her in any way?" He wondered whom he should call: Police? Priest? Shrink?

"I promise." Her tone grew nasty. "You don't remember about my dog Ringo, then, do you?"

"What about Ringo?"

"You never did like him."

"I like Ringo all right."

"Listen to you. 'I like Ringo all right.' Now there's enthusiasm." Pause. "You don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"What you did to Ringo?"

"I didn't do anything to Ringo."

"Of course you did. And you weren't sorry about it, either."

"Sorry about what?"

"Not only won't you remember it, but you won't believe it when I tell you."

"Tell you what?"

"What you did to Ringo."

"Which was?"

Another sigh. "You tore him apart with your bare hands and then you ate him. You sat right at the kitchen table and ate him. You had a pile of entrails in front of you and you'd scoop up a handful and just…eat them. You even made slurping sounds. I just kept sobbing, thinking of poor Ringo."