John Saul - Comes the Blind Fury

Michelle tried to put Jeff’s words out of her mind as she watched Sally disappear down the street. But they lingered there, echoing in her head, mocking her, tormenting her. She was vaguely aware of Billy Evans, calling out to her to push him harder, but his words seemed distant, as if they were coming to her through a fog.

She let the swing die down, and, when Billy protested, told him she was tired, that she would push him some more another time. Then she moved painfully over to the maple tree, and lowered herself to the grass. She would wait a while, until Jeff and Sally were long gone, before she started the long walk home.

She stretched out on the grass and stared up into the leaves of the tree, which were changing colors with the coming of fall. When she was like this, by herself, with no one around her, the loneliness wasn’t so bad. It was only when she could hear them, or see them, their voices taunting her, their eyes mocking her, that Michelle really hated the children who had been her friends.

Except for Sally. Michelle still wasn’t sure about Sally. Sally seemed better than the others, kinder. Michelle decided to talk to Amanda about Sally. Maybe, if Amanda agreed, they could be friends again. Michelle hoped they could — she really liked Sally, deep down. But still, it was up to Amanda.…

From her classroom window, Corinne watched June cross the playground. She thought there was a reluctance about June, a reluctance to disturb Michelle, as if, as long as she was asleep under the tree, she was safe from whatever chaos was going on in her mind. But as Corinne watched, June knelt and gently awakened Michelle.

Michelle got to her feet stiffly, the pain in her hip visible in her face, even from across the yard. She seemed surprised to see her mother, but at the same time grateful. Taking her mother’s hand, Michelle allowed herself to be led around the corner of the building and out of Corinne’s sight.

Even after they had disappeared, Corinne remained at the window, the image of Michelle — her shoulders stooped, her hair hanging limp, her spirit defeated by her crippling accident — imprinted on her mind.

It seemed a long time ago, that first day of school, when Michelle had come bouncing into her classroom, bright-eyed, grinning, eager to begin her new life in Paradise Point.

And now, only a few weeks later, it had all changed. Paradise Point? Well, maybe for some people. But not for Michelle Pendleton.

Not now, and Corinne was suddenly sure, probably not ever again.

It was a crisp afternoon, and Corinne walked swiftly, her mind more on June Pendleton’s visit than on the direction she had taken. It wasn’t until she saw the building ahead of her, tucked in a small grove of trees, its walls covered with climbing roses, that she realized that the clinic had been her destination all along. She paused for a moment, reading the neatly lettered sign, with Josiah Carson’s faded name, and freshly lettered above it, that of Calvin Pendleton. The lettering struck Corinne as sad somehow, and it took a few moments before she realized why. It was a sign of the old order giving way to the new. Josiah Carson had been around as long as Corinne could remember. It was difficult to imagine the clinic without him.

She stepped inside the waiting room, and was relieved to see Marion Perkins sitting at the desk, working on the books. Marion, at least, was still going to be here, smoothing the transition between Dr. Carson and Dr. Pendleton. As the little bell attached to the door jangled softly, Marion looked up.

“Corinne!” Her expression as she recognized the teacher was one of welcome mixed with concern and a little surprise. “You know, I had a feeling you might be by today. It’s strange — well, maybe not so strange, really, all things considered. Nearly everybody’s been here today, wanting to talk about Susan Peterson.” The nurse clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Isn’t it terrible? Such a loss for Henry and Estelle. And of course everyone seems to think that little Michelle Pendleton had something to do with it.” She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Frankly, some of the things that people have been saying, I wouldn’t want to repeat.”

“Then don’t,” Corinne said, tempering the shortness of her words with a friendly grin. “Is Uncle Joe here?”

Suddenly abashed at her near indiscretion, Marion reached for the phone. “Let me buzz him, and see if he’s busy.” She pressed the intercom. “Dr. Joe? A surprise for you — Corinne Hatcher’s out here.”

A moment later, the inner door opened, and Josiah Carson appeared, his arms extended, a wide smile wreathing his face, though for a moment Corinne thought she saw something else in his eyes. A sadness? Whenever one of his patients died, particularly a child, Josiah Carson took it hard. Since his own daughter had died, long before Corinne was even born, Carson had lavished his paternal instincts on the children of Paradise Point. But today there was something beyond sadness in his eyes. Something she couldn’t quite identify.

He took Corinne in his arms in a massive bear hug.

“What brings you down here?” he said. “You feeling all right?”

Corinne wriggled herself loose. “I’m fine. I guess — well, I guess I was just worried about you. I know how you get when something happens to one of your children.”

Carson nodded. “It’s never easy,” he said. “Come on into the office, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Carson gestured her to a chair and closed the door. He produced the bottle of bourbon from the bottom drawer of his desk, and poured each of them a generous shot, eyeing Corinne carefully.

“All right,” he said, sipping his drink. “What’s up?”

Corinne tasted the bourbon, made a face, and set it aside. Then she met Carson’s eyes.

“Michelle Pendleton,” she said.

Carson nodded, “Doesn’t surprise me. As a matter of fact, I thought you’d be here sooner. Things getting worse?”

“I’m not sure,” Corinne said. “Today must have been horrible for her — none of the children would have anything to do with her. Until yesterday, I thought it was just her limp. But now — well, you know how this town can be. People get blamed for things, even when they aren’t to blame, and nobody ever forgets.” She picked up her drink, sipped at it, then set it aside once again. “Uncle Joe,” she said suddenly, “is Michelle all right?”

“It depends on what you mean. You’re talking about her mind, aren’t you?”

Corinne shifted in her chair. “I’m not sure,” she said. “In fact, I didn’t really know I was coming down here until I found myself out in front. But I guess my subconscious was trying to tell me something.” She paused for a moment, and suddenly drained half of her drink. “Have you heard about Michelle’s imaginary friend?” she asked as casually as she could.

Carson frowned. “Imaginary friend?” he repeated, as if the words had no meaning to him. “You mean the kind of thing very small children do?”

“Exactly,” Corinne said. “Apparently it all started with a doll. I’m not sure exactly what kind, but Mrs. Pendleton told me that it’s old — very old. Michelle found it in the bedroom closet when they moved in.”

Carson scratched his head as if puzzled, then nodded. “I know what it looks like,” he said smoothly. “It is old. Porcelain face, old-fashioned clothes, a little bonnet. She had it on the bed with her when I saw her right after the accident. You mean she’s decided it’s real?”

Corinne nodded soberly. “Apparently. And guess what she’s named it?”

“She told me she named it Amanda.”