Jonathan Kellerman - Self-Defence

"Him," said Lucy. "Me. That's some parental report card."

"Is that what Siggie Fraud, here, told you? That you can blame your shit-life on me ? That you have some right to happiness?"

Shouting and spraying spit, his words pushing him forward.

"You're not meant to be happy ! There's no grand plan. Your happiness doesn't mean two buckets of sour pus !"

"Not to you, that's for sure."

"Not to anyone ! God- whatever He is- looks down on you, sees your misery, scratches His balls, cackles, and pisses steaming buckets on your head! His condo-mate Satan stops buggering tiny animals just long enough to add to the torrent! The raison d'être isn't happiness, you styoopid nin. It's being. Existence. Inherence. It doesn't matter what happens, or doesn't, or who else is ! Fuck the consequences; you occur !"

I remembered Nova's little speech. Someone had paid attention during class.

He glared at Lucy, breathing hard. Seized by sudden wet, rumbling coughs, he sucked in air, started to tilt back on the bed, and forced himself upright again.

"Didn't know you were religious," said Lucy, nearly breathless herself.

"Get to know me," said Lowell. "You'll learn lots of things."

She looked at him, then sat on the bed, hard enough to make him bounce.

Pinching sheet between thumb and forefinger, she rubbed the fabric.

"What kinds of things will I learn, Daddy?" she said in a small voice.

After a second's hesitation, he said, "How to create. How to be a cathedral. How to piss from the heavens."

Lucy smiled and played with the sheets some more. "Be God in six easy lessons?"

"No, it won't be easy. You'll change my diapers, wipe my armpits, and powder my thighs. Fetch my papers in your mouth. Get down on your knees and acquire an attention span. Learn what a good book is and how to tell it from crap. Learn how to whore for your own good. How to rid yourself of redbugs like that curly-haired leech over there, how to finally stop binge-purging on self-pity."

He shook a finger at her. "I'll teach you more in one day than all the marrow-suck schools full of eighth-wit arsenods taught you in- what are you?- twenty-six years."

He leaned forward and touched her arm. His fingers looked like crab legs on her plaid sleeve. She didn't move.

"You have no choice," said Lowell softly. "As is, you're nothing."

She studied his pale, twisted hand.

Then her eyes moved back to the rear door.

She gazed into his eyes for a long time.

"Nothing?" she said sadly.

"The quintessense of it, Angel-pie."

She hung her head.

"Nothing," she repeated.

He patted her hand.

She sighed and seemed to grow small.

My fear for her rose like floodwater.

Lowell giggled and traced a line from her wrist to her knuckles.

She shuddered but remained still.

Lowell clucked his tongue, cheerfully.

She was breathing deeply.

Eyes closed.

I got ready to pull her away from this place.

Lowell said, "Welcome to reality. We'll do everything to make your stay as interesting as possible."

Lucy looked in his eyes again.

"Nothing," she said.

Lowell nodded, smiled, and stroked her hand.

Lucy smiled back. Peeled his fingers off and stood.

Walking to the rear door, she tried to slide the bolt. It was rusted and stuck, but she freed it.

Lowell's head craned, his body warping as he strained to watch her.

"Fresh air?" he said. "Don't bother. Sweetness is a lie, your senses are despots. Get used to stale."

"I'm going out for a stroll," she said in a flat voice. "Daddy."

"To think? No need to. It's not your strong suit. You finish your homework and then you can play- pay close attention and I'll turn you into something interesting. You'll endure."

"Sounds pretty Faustian. Daddy."

Something new in her voice- punch-line satisfaction.

Lowell heard it right away. His face lost tone, the bones softening, the skin giving way.

"Sit down!"

Lucy stared.

"Sit down!"

Lucy smiled. And waved. " 'Bye, Daddy. It's been educational."

She threw the door open.

Green filled the doorway and sunlight shocked the room.

Lowell squinted as Lucy looked out at the green tide; then he sprang forward, groping for a hold on nothingness. His lower body was leaden, and it anchored him to the bed.

He cursed Lucy, God, the Devil.

"Nice property you've got, Daddy. There's someone I need to look for out there."

A terrible comprehension took hold of Lowell, a preliminary death. He pitched harder, fell forward, flopping face down on the mattress.

Lying there, face pressed against the sheets, he labored to breathe as he watched Lucy disappear.

His eyes met mine.

His were bottomless and terrified.

I glanced at the black phone and considered ripping it out of the wall. But there had to be other extensions in the house- why remind him of the instrument?

As I left, I heard him howling, like a child, for Nova.

At first I thought Lucy had slipped into the forest. Then I heard footsteps along the side of the house.

Returning to her car. Good.

When I caught up with her, she didn't acknowledge me. How many sessions would it take to unravel what she'd just been through?

We reached the Colt. But instead of opening the driver's door, she went to the back and opened the trunk.

Personal justice.

Finally pushed too far?

I ran over just as she pulled a shovel out of the trunk and put it over her shoulder.

Brand new, the price tag still looped to the handle. Bearing it like a rifle, she headed back toward the house.

I blocked her.

She passed around me. I blocked her again.

"Come on, Lucy."

She walked away. Once more, I caught up.

I felt like screaming, This is nuts!

What I said was, "Don't let him get to you, Lucy."

" Nothing. Maybe so, we'll see."

We were hurrying alongside the house now.

"He'll call his friends. They'll come after you."

She ignored me. I took hold of her arm. She shook me off.

"Listen to me, Lucy-"

"He won't do anything. He doesn't do anything, he just talks- that's his game, talk, talk, talk."

"He's still dangerous."

"He's nothing. " Furious smile. "Nothing."

We came to the dirt patch behind the building. Women's lingerie flapping on the line. The back door was closed. Nova had heeded Lowell's cries.

Nodding as if in response to a suggestion, Lucy forged forward, into the green.

Low shrubs and tender shoots, shadowed by the tree canopy, gave way quickly to dense ferns, creeping vines, brambles, and broad-leafed things that looked to be some kind of giant lily.

Lucy used her hands to clear the way, and when that didn't work she began hacking with the shovel. The tool proved a poor machete, and soon she was breathing hard and grunting with anger.

"Why don't you give me that?"

"This isn't your problem," she said, chopping. "If you really think there's danger, don't put yourself in it."

"I don't want you in it either."

"I understand what I'm getting into."

She touched my hand briefly, then resumed poking through the brush.

My choices were: Drive back to PCH and try to reach Milo, carry her out bodily, or stick with her and try to get her out as quickly as possible.

Physical coercion would probably destroy our therapeutic relationship, but I could stand that if it meant saving her life. But if she resisted it might prove difficult, even ugly.