F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (45 page)

 
          
He
starts toward the corner of the house and Daddy chases after him. In an instant
they're around the corner and out of sight.

 
          
And
suddenly Mommy's got you by the hand and she's hurrying you downstairs. You
hear Daddy's voice from the front porch.

 
          
"Stay
out, Eathan," he's saying in a low voice. "You're not welcome here.
You can't come in. I don't want to see you on my property again. If you even
—
"

 
          
"It's
too late, Nathan!" Mommy says as you reach the bottom.

 
          
"Lucy!"
Daddy rushes inside. "Lucy, you can't believe him!"

 
          
Slowly,
hesitantly, Uncle Eathan comes in behind him.

 
          
Little
Julie runs in from the rear of the house and Mommy grabs her hand.

 
          
And
now you're an observer again. You see your mother standing in the center hall
by the foot of the stairs. She's flanked by her daughters and clutches one of
their hands in each of hers. The look in her eyes ...

 
          
You've
never seen your mother like this. You have pictures, and she's always smiling,
always looking so soft. But this woman ... the cold fury in her eyes is a
frightening thing. It stops you in your tracks. For she's more than Mommy now.
She's all mothers, and someone has harmed her children.

 
          
God
help whoever did it.

 
          
Suddenly
the perspective blurs and shifts again and you're little Julie now, clutching
your mommy's hand and feeling very confused. Mommy's angry with Daddy and
little Julie doesn't know why.

 
          
"I
don't have to believe him," Mommy says in a cold, scary voice. "He
didn't have to say a thing." She points to the journals clutched in
Daddy's arms. "Your own words, written in-your own hand, were more than
enough."

 
          
"But
it's all a misunderstanding." He holds the journals out' before him. This
... it's all fiction. A novel I'm writing."

 
          
But
Mommy's eyes only grow colder. "Don't insult my intelligence."

 
          
"Lucy!"
Daddy's voice sounds like he's whining. "You can't? believe I'd do
anything to harm my own daughters."

 
          
Her
eyes bore into his. "We both know the truth about that now, don't we,
Nathan. And pretty soon your brother will
 
know that truth as well." She
starts toward the door, dragging Julie and Sammi along. "I'm leaving. I'm
taking the girls with me. And, so help me, if I see you within a mile of them
I'll shoot you dead."

 
          
"No!"
Daddy's voice rises to a scream as he hurls the journals against the wall and
runs toward the rear of the house.
"No!"

 
          
Then
Julie cowers back against Mommy's leg. She sees Sammi doing the same on the
other side. It's late and she's tired, and
never
in her life has she
heard a sound like that, especially from Daddy. Where'd he go? She's confused
... and she's scared.

 
          
Uncle
Eathan stands just inside the door, a dazed look on his face.

 
          
"What
truth?" he says. "What are you talking about, Lucy?"

 
          
Mommy
tries to smile at him, but it misfires. She looks ready to shatter into a
million pieces.

 
          
"I
—
I'll tell you about it later. Right now I want to get out
of here. Eathan, will you help me?"

 
          
He
nods. "Of course."

 
          
There's
a bag at the top of the stairs...."

 
          
"I'll
get it."

 
          
As
Uncle Eathan runs up the stairs, little Julie looks up at her mother.
"M-Mommy, are we going on a trip?"

 
          
"Yes.
A long one."

 
          
"And
Daddy's not coming," Sammi says, not sounding too upset about it. "He
and Uncle Eathan don't like each other anymore. I seen them ... I seen them
fighting."

           
"Why?" Julie asks.

 
          
Before
Mommy or Sammi can answer, Uncle Eathan reappears, struggling with a huge
suitcase on the stairs,

 
          
"What's
in this? Everything you own?"

 
          
"Just
about."

 
          
As
Uncle Eathan lugs the suitcase toward the door, everyone freezes....

 
          
And
suddenly you're standing apart again as everyone fades.

 
          
You're
in an empty house now. You rush from room to room but no one is here. You
stumble back outside, into the Van Gogh night, and search the yard. You even
pry among the cornstalks in the garden.

 
          
No
one.

 
          
After
one final look at the deserted grounds, you drift away from the house, looking
for the tunnel back to the surface.

 
          
But
you're bothered. Why don't you remember any of this? You were there. Your
parents never separated. You saw yourself in chat memory
—
at least in Sam's mind you were there. So you should
remember. Or...

 
          
…is
this same memory buried in its own rocky niche within your memoryscape?

 
          
But
doesn't what you've just seen seem too innocuous to be repressed? No hard
trauma there, just loud voices and non sequiturs.

 
          
And
when did it happen? You and Sam looked about five, but you could have been four
and a half.

 
          
You
spot the wide, dark mouth of the tunnel to the surface ahead. And off to your
right, another narrower, darker opening Where does that go? From its position
it appears to lead to the heart of the volcano.

 
          
Whichever
path you choose, it's time to leave the
Starry Night
 grotto.

 
          
You
glance over your shoulder for a last look. And as you watch, a tendril of fire writhes
from one of the stars and snakes toward the house. It touches the roof, and
suddenly
—

 
          
Flames
burst from the windows, the front door.

 
          
"Oh,
no!" you cry aloud.

 
          
Not
the fire! You can't bear to watch the fire. You've relived it so many times in
your own mind, why should you have to suffer through it in Sam's memoryscape
too? You can't do it.

 
          
Wait...
Sam's
memoryscape. Maybe Sam has a different take on the tragedy. Maybe
she saw something you didn't
—
or remembers something you
don't. After all, you don't remember anything of what you just saw in the
house. And thank God you didn't see yourself with matches....

 
          
You
hurry back, and as you do, the cypresses change to oaks and maples and elms.
The sky changes too, the stars shrinking to pinpoints of light, and the moon
turning full and round and staring.

 
          
You
swing too close and the heat backs you up.

 
          
The
fire has taken command inside, shooting jets of flame from the basement
windows, running through the first floor, licking at the upstairs windows. It's
fast, alive, terrifying.

 
          
And
then there's a figure in the front doorway, silhouetted in the flames. Carrying
two bundles in his arms, he leaps from the front porch and dashes onto the lawn.
He runs directly toward you, stopping only a few feet in front of you. Nathan.
He drops to his knees and deposits little Sam and Julie on the grass.

 
          
You
know the next words.

 
          
"You
girls
stay here. I'm going back for your mom."

 
          
And
still the scene affects you. As much as you hate this man for what he did to
you, and for what he did to your mother as well
—
pretending
you were his own daughters when he knew differently, getting even with her by
using you as guinea pigs
—
you can't help but feel the
same surge of love and trust you've felt every time you've remembered this
moment.

 
          
He
saved you from the fire.

 
          
You
watch him rush back to the house, raise his arms across his face against the
heat, and charge back into the flames.

 
          
And
now the worst part. The waiting. You watch reflections of the flames dancing on
the tear-stained faces of Julie and Sammi as their fear grows. Where's Daddy ?
Why isn't he bringing Mommy? And then the terror. Daddy! Mommy! Where are you?
Don't leave us here!

 
          
Suddenly
both girls are screaming in horror. Why? Nothing has changed
—
unless they've both realized simultaneously that their
daddy and mommy aren't coming out of that fire.

           
No one responds to their screams. No
one comes to comfort them. Only the pitiless full moon witnesses their plight.
The stupid, grinning moon.

 
          
And
suddenly all is black
—
no house, no fire, no moon.
Utter darkness, utter silence.

 
          
Panic
threatens for a moment, and then you hear
—
feel
—
the crunch of leaves underfoot. Light begins to filter
from above. You look up. It's day now. Sunlight coming through the trees. You
look around and see your sister, Sammi, beside you. Neither of you is crying
—
you're both cried out by now. But you're so cold and so
hungry.

 
          
Suddenly
there's a man ahead in the trees, wearing a flannel shirt and dirty jeans. He
stands frozen, staring at you, then he starts forward.

 
          
"Don't
be afraid, girls," he says in a hoarse voice, holding his hands out as if
approaching a skittish puppy or kitten. "I'm not going to hurt you."

 
          
You
slip your arms around your sister and she twines hers around you. Mommy always
warned you about strangers and how you should stay away from them, and run and
scream if one tries to touch you, but you're both too tired and weak to run.
You stand quaking against each other, waiting for this stranger and hoping he's
not the kind Mommy told you about.

 
          
Finally
he's standing before you, towering over you. His face is all stubbly and he
smells like he needs a bath. He reaches out his hands. They're trembling. He
lays one on your shoulder and one on Sammi's.

 
          
"Are
you the Gordon girls?" he says.

 
          
You're
too frightened to speak. You can only nod.

 
          
"Thank
God," he says. He turns and shouts into the woods. "Hey! Over here! I
found them! They're over here!" A half-sob wavers in his voice. "And
they're all right!" He turns back to you and drops to his knees before
you. You see tears in his eyes. "You're safe now, girls. You're gonna be
all right."