Mary Clark - A Cry In The Night

“He killed Caroline,” Clyde moaned. “When he was ten years old, he killed his own mother.”

“What did you say?” They all spun around. Rooney was in the doorway of the loft, Rooney with wide eyes no longer calm. “Did you think I couldn’t tell something was wrong?” she asked. She was staring not at the canvas Clyde was holding, but beyond to the painting now revealed in the bin. Even with the distortions Jenny recognized Arden’s face. Arden peering in the window of the cabin. A caped figure with dark hair and Erich’s face behind her. Hands around Arden’s throat, the fingers not attached to the hands. Arden lying in a grave on top of a casket, dirt being shoveled over her bright blue skirt, the name on the tombstone behind her head: CAROLINE BONARDIKRUEGER. And in the corner the slashing signature, Erich Krueger.

“Erich killed my little girl,” Rooney moaned.

Somehow they made their way back to the house. Mark’s hand held hers tightly, a silent Mark, not attempting to offer useless words of comfort.

In the house, Sheriff Gunderson got on the phone. “There’s the chance that everything we believe he’s done is the fantasy of a sick mind. There’s one way we can be sure and we can’t waste a minute finding out.”

The cemetery was once again violated. Floodlights bathed the tombstones in unnatural night brilliance. Drills bore into the frozen ground of Caroline’s grave. Rooney watched, surprisingly calm now.

As they looked down, they saw bits of blue wool mixed with the earth.

A man’s voice spoke from the grave: “She’s here. For God’s sake, get the mother away.”

Clyde hugged Rooney, forcing her to retreat. “At least we know,” he said.

Back at the house, the daylight was filtering in. Mark made coffee. When had Mark begun to suspect that the children were in danger with Erich? She asked him.

“Jenny, after I left you home last night, I called Dad. I knew he’d been terribly upset about what Tina said about how the lady in the painting had covered the baby. He admitted to me that he’d known Erich was psychotic as a child. Caroline had confided in him about Erich’s obsession with her. She’d caught him watching her while she slept, keeping her nightgown under his pillow, wrapping himself in her cape. She took him to a doctor but John Krueger flatly refused to allow him to be treated. John said that no Krueger had emotional problems; it was just Caroline spoiling him; spending so much time with him, that was the problem.

“Caroline was on the verge of a breakdown by then. She did the only thing she could. She relinquished custody, with the understanding that John would send Erich to boarding school. She hoped a different atmosphere would help him. But after she died, John broke his promise. Erich never did get help.

“When Dad heard what Tina said about the lady in the painting, heard what Rooney said about seeing Caroline, he began to suspect what was happening. I think the realization brought on his heart attack. I only wish he’d confided in me. Of course he had absolutely no proof. But that was why he told me to urge Erich to allow you and the girls to visit him.”

“Mrs. Krueger.” Sheriff Gunderson’s voice was hesitant. Was he afraid she would keep blaming him? “Dr. Philstrom from the hospital is here. We had him look at what’s in the cabin. He has to talk to you.”

“Jenny, can you tell me exactly what Erich said the last time he phoned you?” Dr. Philstrom asked.

“He was angry because I tried to tell him that maybe he was wrong about me.”

“Did he mention the girls?”

“He said they were fine.”

“How long since he put them on to talk to you?”

“Nine days.”

“I see. Jenny, I’ll be honest. It doesn’t look good but it would seem that Erich must have painted that last canvas before he disappeared with the girls. There’s quite a lot of detail in it. Even if he’s been in the cabin-and we know he has-there’s a scissor there with bits of fur on it. Even so, it would seem that he painted that picture before he left with the children.”

A whisper of hope. “You mean they may not be dead?”

“I don’t want to encourage you unfairly. But think about it. Erich still fantasizes living with you, having you under his total power once he has that confession signed. He knows that without the children he can’t hold you. So until he perceives a reunion with you as being hopeless, there’s a chance, just a chance… ”

Jenny stood up. Tina. Beth. If you were dead I would know it. Just the way I knew Nana wouldn’t live through that last night. Just the way I knew something was going to happen to the baby.

But Rooney hadn’t known. For ten years now Rooney had waited for Arden to come home. And all the time Arden’s body was buried within sight of Rooney’s windows.

How often had she seen Rooney standing over Caroline’s grave. Was it because something had compelled her to go there? Something deep in her subconscious that had told her she was visiting Arden’s grave too?

She asked Dr. Philstrom about that, asked him gravely, heard her voice almost childlike. “Is that possible, doctor?”

“I don’t know, Jenny. I think Rooney instinctively suspected that Arden wouldn’t deliberately run away. She knew her child.”

“I want my children,” Jenny said. “I want them now. How could Erich hate me so much, that he would hurt them?”

“You’re talking about a totally irrational man,” Dr. Philstrom said. “A man who wanted you because you bear a startling resemblance to his mother, yet hated you for replacing her; who could not trust your love for him because he perceives himself as unlovable and who lived in mortal fear of losing you.”

“We’re going to make up flyers, Mrs. Krueger,” the sheriff said. “We’ll have their pictures in every hamlet in Minnesota and all the bordering states. We’ll get television coverage. Somebody’s got to have seen them. Clyde is going through all Erich’s records of property holdings. We’ll search out any property he owns. Don’t forget. We know he was here at least once, and that was only five hours after he phoned you. We’re concentrating on a radius of five hours’ drive from here.”

The ringing of the telephone made them all jump. Sheriff Gunderson reached to pick it up. Some instinct made Jenny push his hand away.

“Hello.” Her voice so unsteady. Would it be Erich? Oh, God, would it be Erich?

“Hello, Mommy.”

It was Beth.

Beth!” She closed her eyes, jammed her knuckles against her mouth. Beth was still alive. Whatever he planned to do to them hadn’t happened yet. The memory of the painting, Beth and Tina, stiff little puppets, the corduroy belts around their necks. She could not blot it out.

She felt Mark’s hands, those strong hands on her shoulders, steadying her. She held out the receiver so he could try to listen too.

“Beth, hello, darling.” She tried to sound carefree and pleased. It was so hard not to scream, Beth, where are you? “Are you having a good time with Daddy?”

“Mommy, you’re mean. You came into our room last night and you wouldn’t talk to us. And you covered Tina too tight.”

Beth’s plaintive voice was high-pitched enough for Mark to hear. She saw the agony in his eyes, knew it was reflected in her own. Covered Tina too tight. No. No. Please, God. No. The baby. Now Tina.

“Tina cried so hard.”

“Tina cried.” Jenny tried to fight the waves of dizziness. She mustn’t faint. “Let me talk to her, Bethie. I love you, Mouse.”

Now Beth began to cry. “I love you too, Mommy. Please come soon.”

“Mommy.” Tina’s helpless sobbing. “You hurt me. The blanket was in my face.”