Ed Gorman - Nightmare Child

A robin sat plump and sassy on the window. Cool May air glided into the kitchen. Outside, you could see blue and red and yellow flowers blooming on the new grass of the hill.

Diane said, "Better hurry, honey. Only five minutes for the school bus."

Jenny, dressed in a white blouse, blue-denim miniskirt, and black flats, turned away from the counter and said, "I heard you arguing last night, Aunt Diane. You don't have to stick up for me that way."

Diane felt her cheeks go warm and red. "Honey, we weren't arguing. We were just having a discussion. And I'm sorry if you woke up."

It seemed such a waste, discussing all this on a morning when birds were singing their fool heads off, when green things were sprouting up so quickly you could practically hear them, and when the air itself was as soft and sweet as a child's kiss.

"He wants to tell, doesn't he? Chief Clark, I mean."

Diane sighed. There was no sense in being evasive any longer. "He…just thinks…we should talk to some people at the state university. Some…parapsychologists who used to work with Dr. Rhine at Duke University. He was a very famous-"

"You know what they'd do to me."

Diane could not meet Jenny's gaze.

"I heard you say it yourself last night, Aunt Diane. They'll start examining me and studying me and questioning me and they'll make me tell what happened that night when-"

Diane put her hand up. Knowing the kind of traumatic response talking about that night still imposed on Jenny, Diane avoided the subject whenever possible. "You're right."

"Then you won't let him take me to the university?" Diane held out her hands. Jenny came into her embrace. "No, honey, I won't let him."

Nuzzled against Diane's neck, Jenny said, "You promise?"

"I promise."

Jenny put herself at arm's length from Diane. "We can be a family, can't we, Aunt Diane, you and I?"

"We are a family, honey."

"And we don't need…him."

"Honey, he's a-"

"I know, I know. 'Honey, he's a good friend of mine.' But I heard the way you cried when you went to bed last night. I was so worried I started saying prayers for you. That doesn't sound like he's a very good friend of yours, Aunt Diane."

Taking the frail girl back in her arms, Diane held her so tightly she was almost afraid she was hurting her. There had never been time for children in her first marriage, and then her husband had died and the prospect of having a child had grown even dimmer. Perhaps that was why she felt this incredible need to nurture and protect Jenny…

Holding the girl, Diane felt tears well up in her eyes. "Thank you, honey," she said, her voice shaky.

"For what, Aunt Diane?"

"For caring about me enough to say prayers for me."

"But I say prayers for you all the time, Aunt Diane."

"You do?"

"Yes. I say prayers for both of us-that we'll always be together."

A big horn blared outside.

"Oh, my gosh!" Diane said. "The school bus."

The next thirty seconds was a mad rush around the kitchen grabbing sweater, lunchbox, milk money, and books.

Then Diane was hurrying her down the walk to the bus.

"Look, Aunt Diane," Jenny said, and pointed to a beautiful orange-and-black admiral butterfly. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It sure is." Diane laughed. "But the school bus is beautiful, too."

Jenny, squeezing her hand, said, "Someday when I'm all grown up, I can stay here all day with you. We'll be like sisters. We'll have a great time."

Then she skipped the rest of the way to the bus, a few kids behind windows waving to her.

Feeling like a real mother-feeling that Jenny was in fact her real daughter-Diane watched until the bus pulled out of sight around the bend and then walked back to the house, the admiral butterfly still perched on the mailbox.

She was trying very hard not to think about what was to take place three hours from now. Lunch with Robert…

Amy's was a holdover from the seventies, when restaurants tried to disguise themselves as terrariums. Diane and Robert sat near the back of the crowded place, placing their orders with a young waitress who looked overwhelmed by the sheer number of diners.

Diane decided on a roast-beef sandwich on rye with a small salad and a glass of iced tea. Robert chose the same sandwich but asked that it be served with French fries and coffee.

The waitress gone, Robert said, "You look great." She smiled. "A quick man with the compliment."

"A quick, sincere man."

"Well, thanks, I guess I kind of needed that." Obviously sensing the troubled quality of her tone, he said, "Still angry with me?"

"Angry isn't the right word."

"What is the right word, then?"

"More like…confused"

Sitting back in his chair, he said, "Maybe it's just the cop in me, Diane, but I can't help thinking we did the wrong thing."

"Even if it means sparing a little girl's sanity-maybe even her life?"

He stared somberly at her and said, "Are you sure she's a little girl, Diane? There's a very real possibility she's something very different. That's why I'd like the people at the university to-"

Diane reached across the table and touched Robert's hand. "Do we have to have the same argument we did last night?"

Robert sighed. "The fact is, Diane, that two people were murdered. Neither of us saw Jenny do it-but we have a strong suspicion that she did."

"We were downstairs when it was going on."

"Downstairs, right. And Jenny was upstairs with Mindy and Jeff. Who else could have killed them? And we're not even talking about…about her…condition…or whatever you want to call it." He glanced around the restaurant, as if watching for eavesdroppers. "She may not even be human, Diane."

"Of course she's human. She's a sweet little girl who nearly died when her own sister tried to kill her. Don't you think that's enough turmoil in her life?"

"So you're willing to let her walk away? Even if she's a killer?"

Diane knew this was not the answer Robert wanted. "Yes."

Robert shook his head and dropped his gaze.

"Living with me, she's going to get the love and guidance she's never had," Diane said. She hated the slightly defensive tone that had crept into her voice.

"How do you know that she won't turn on you?" Robert said. "Even if there isn't anything…supernaturally wrong with her, there's every possibility that she's deeply disturbed, maybe even sociopathic." He kept thinking about the official police version-that Jeff had savagely murdered Mindy, and then killed himself. Even now, Clark wondered what had really gone on there that night.

"Oh, God, Robert. Saying something like that-" She locked her jaw, and then surprised herself by standing up. "I'm just afraid we shouldn't see each other anymore."

He grabbed her hand. "Diane, please don't say that. You're upset, but-"

She saw the grief in his eyes. It was the same kind of grief she felt at this moment. First she'd felt she could never love anyone with the same passion she'd felt for her first husband, and then she'd met Robert and…

She took her hand away. "I'm sorry, Robert. What you're asking is for me to choose between you and Jenny. And I guess I've given you my answer."

She saw anger fill his gaze. "What happens if I report what really happened that night? Demand an investigation?"

Softly, knowing that many diners had started watching them, Diane said, "If you do that, Robert, you'll be thrown off the force for covering up the evidence in the first place. I don't think you'd be that foolish. You like your job too much."

She left the restaurant.

The police officers-one in uniform, one in a brown suit his wife had bought him at Sears for his last birthday-stood in the doorway of the Chief's office, nudging each other and shaking their heads in operatic disapproval.