John Saul - Perfect Nightmare

Ellen waited until she heard the water stop running into the tub before looking behind the dresser.

No photo.

Strange.

She was sure it had been on the dresser this morning. She even remembered winking at Emily’s image as she rummaged in the top drawer for a clean bra.

And she didn’t remember packing it in any of the boxes. But maybe she had — she must have, since the picture was no longer on the dresser.

Not for the first time, Ellen found herself wishing the move were already over. But that wasn’t quite right — if she was going to be completely honest with herself, what she really wished was that it had never started in the first place.

That Danny were still here, and that they were still a family.

Then, from the depths of her memory, her mother’s words came to her. Not the kind who will ever make a good father.

Thank you for sharing, Mother.

But she’d been right. It wasn’t long after Emily was born that Danny took his leather jacket and his gym bag and moved in with a girlfriend of whose existence Ellen had been utterly clueless.

Get over it, Ellen.

Hearing splashing and the squeak of Emily’s rubber ducky, which told her all was well in the bathroom, she turned her attention to dinner. Putting the missing picture out of her mind, she headed downstairs to the kitchen, where almost everything had already been packed away. But she’d left two glasses, two plates, two knives, two forks, one small pan, and her paring knife.

The barest of the bare essentials.

Taking the last two potatoes from the refrigerator, along with an onion and the carton of eggs, she decided a meal was possible. Not totally desirable, perhaps, but possible.

She clicked on the television in the living room for the news, started to peel the potatoes, and once more felt her spirits — and her energy — sag as everything in her life once more began to close in on her.

Single mom.

Moving back in with the parents.

Packing.

Leaving.

Failing.

And now cooking two potatoes, an onion, and some eggs for dinner. It was too much.

She closed her eyes for a moment, resting her wrists on the sink. One day at a time, she told herself. One hour at a time, one minute at a time. This, too, shall pass.

Suddenly, the words emanating from the television penetrated her thoughts.

“The search continues for Camden Green High School student Lindsay Marshall,” the newscaster said. Ellen turned to look at the television, where a photo of a pretty blond teenager filled the screen. “Lindsay disappeared almost two weeks ago after an open house…”

After an open house!

Now that wasn’t even safe.

And then the missing picture came back to her.

The picture of Emily!

Ellen rushed out of the kitchen, her heart in her throat. “Emily? Emily!”

No answer.

She ran through the little living room, dodging boxes, and started up the stairs. “Emily!”

And still there was no answer.

The bathroom door slammed hard against the wall as Ellen burst in, but she was oblivious not only to the noise, but to the deep gash the doorknob dug into the plasterboard.

The tub was still filled, the rubber ducky still floating.

But her daughter was gone.

A surge of panic rose in her, and for a moment she felt totally paralyzed. Then a scream began to form in her throat, a scream she formed into a word as it emerged from her lips. “Emily!”

Nothing.

As the image of the missing picture of her daughter recurred to her, Ellen wheeled away from the bathroom door and rushed to her daughter’s bedroom. “Emily, where are you?” she cried, and heard the tremble in her own voice. She’s hiding, she told herself. She’s got to be hiding! But a quick glance in Emily’s closet and under her bed only made her panic grow.

No Emily.

Now her mind was churning with all the things that could have happened to Emily, and the thought that Danny — the jerk Danny Golden — had come back to claim his daughter was the least terrifying. Instead her mind was consumed by the missing photograph of Emily and the report she’d seen only minutes ago of a girl disappearing from home after an open house.

Could some kind of maniac have been hiding in the house?

Or even that creepy agent? Once again she recalled Rick Mancuso watching Emily a few days ago.

And she hadn’t even checked the house to make sure everything was all right when she brought Emily home. Instead she’d taken a quick glance at the living room, then let Emily take a bath while she blithely went downstairs to fix supper.

Her fault! Whatever had happened to Emily was all her fault!

Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Leaving Emily’s room, Ellen dashed into her own, hurling the door open with even more force than she’d applied to the one in the bathroom. “Emily!” she yelled. “Please, God, please! Emily, where are you? ” And then the closet door opened and Emily burst out, stark naked.

Stark naked, and giggling. “Surprise!” she said, a huge grin spreading across her face.

Her terror instantly dissolving into relief, Ellen dropped to her knees and gathered the little girl into her arms. “You scared me,” she said, barely managing to muster even the tiniest edge of anger into her voice.

But then the two memories that had set off her panic came back once more. “Get dressed and put on your coat,” she said.

Emily looked confused. “What?”

“Just do it,” Ellen said, trying not to let her own fear infect her daughter.

“Why?”

“Just do what I say, all right?” Hustling Emily into her room, she grabbed the first clothes that came to hand, helped Emily into them, then stuffed her arms through the sleeves of her little pink parka. Her own raincoat was still hanging in the coat closet by the front door.

Picking Emily up, Ellen lurched down the stairs, seized by the necessity to get out of the house.

To get out right now, until someone could check the house and make sure it was secure.

She pulled on her raincoat, grabbed her bag from the hook by the door, then remembered she’d left the stove on.

With Emily heavy on her hip and her bag in the hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter, she made her way through the maze of boxes into the kitchen, fumbled a moment, then managed to turn off the stove. As she turned, her eyes scanned the room…

The knife she had used on the potatoes was no longer on the drainboard.

Fresh panic surged through her.

“Come on, ” she said, whirling and running out of the house, pulling Emily after her.

After glancing first one way, then the other, she headed toward Ralph Larson’s house next door. Too late, she noticed that his draperies were closed and remembered that he was going to visit his daughter upstate.

She rang his bell anyway, and pounded on the door.

Sensing her mother’s fear, Emily started to cry.

“Shhh,” Ellen said. “It’s all right.”

“What’s wrong?” Emily sobbed. “I was just trying to fool you, Mommy!” “It’s okay,” Ellen said. “Everything’s okay.” But her quavering voice gave the lie away.

“It’s not.” Emily began to sob, clinging heavily to Ellen’s neck. “Mommy, I’m scared!” “Shhh.” Ellen tried to smooth Emily’s hair, then jabbed at the bell one last time.

No answer.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Abandoning Ralph Larson’s porch, Ellen cut across his yard to the next house, again pulling Emily along with her. She didn’t know the couple who lived there, but they had always looked nice.