SHUDDERVILLE (3 page)

She stood, frozen and shaking. Catatonic with fright.

The tears were spilling freely from his eyes now, dripping off his nose and chin. He lowered his voice. “But it wasn’t your fault, Sophie. You did everything you could. You have to stop punishing yourself for something you had no control over. How about a cup of coffee?”

She couldn’t catch her breath.

“Easy kid. I know. I know.” He took out an embroidered linen handkerchief and mopped the sweat off his brow. He wiped the tears from his eyes. “You want a cup of coffee? A glass of milk? Warm milk? We could heat it up and put cocoa in it.”

“How do you know what happened that day?” she gasped. “You can’t possibly know all those details! They weren’t in the newspaper.”

“Even if I explained, you wouldn’t understand.” He grabbed her sleeve. “I’ll grant you one wish. Don’t be hasty. Think about it.”

A shiver shot across her heart.

“One wish,” he repeated.

“One wish? A
wish
? What the hell is this, some kind of a joke? What’s going on?” she said furiously. “How do you know all these things about me? Who’s been talking to you?”

“Nobody,” he said firmly. “I know because I know.”

“How?” she shouted. “How do you know?”

He gazed at her as if he were trying to memorize her face. “Is it a deal? Do we have a deal, young lady?”

Sophie gave a frightened shriek and tore out of the apartment as if her hair was on fire.

*

That evening, she bolted her front door and fell asleep on the sofa. She woke up around midnight in terrible pain. This phantom pain, this imitation labor, slowly faded, and a murky image of Jayla appeared.
Mommy?
After a moment, Jayla’s blurry face imploded on itself. The more she tried to visualize her, the hazier she became. Her beautiful little girl was disappearing from her memory.

Sophie’s pulse points throbbed as she struggled to conjure up Jayla’s face again, to force a clearer image, but nothing happened. Nothing. How could she forget what her dead daughter looked like? How could she?

She stared miserably at the radiator hissing in a corner of the room and reached for her pills, but the prescription bottle was empty. She would have to schedule another doctor’s appointment. She needed something stronger to help her sleep. Oh God, when would this grief ever end? She got up and tore through the entire kitchen, looking for something to drink, but the last of the wine bottles was empty.

In a panic, she got dressed, grabbed her keys and headed next door. She pounded on Ryan’s door until it swung open.

“Sophie? What’s wrong?”

“Does there have to be anything wrong?”

“No. Are you all right? Come on in.”

She went inside and looked around. Cassie appeared to be gone. “I need a drink. Or some of that pot you were smoking. Anything.”

“Cool. Have a seat.” He fetched her a beer and handed her a joint.

Sophie wanted to get wasted. She wanted to obliterate this gnawing fear, to wipe the slate clean. Blank slate. She would get a lobotomy. A 1950s frontal-lobe lobotomy.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

He stood with a practiced, insolent slouch, as if he’d memorized all of Clint Eastwood’s earlier pictures. “Sure.” He sat next to her on the sofa. He took the joint and inhaled deeply. He squinted and nodded understandingly. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

She shifted around uncomfortably, feeling dumpy in her gray T-shirt that used to be white and her outdated pre-washed jeans. Her hair needed trimming. She hadn’t put any makeup on, no earrings. “Look,” she told him, chickening out. “I just want to get wasted.”

“Me too,” he said with a grin. “But that’s not entirely true. Is it?”

She shook her head reluctantly.

“You wanted to ask me about Mandelbaum, didn’t you?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “So what happened?”

“He knew things. About me. Things he couldn’t possibly have known.” It dawned on her. “Holy fucking shit. How did he know every single thing about that day, down to the last detail? He knew about Jayla’s Nikes. And what Peter said. He claimed he could grant me one wish.
A wish
. What’s that about?”

“Okay, look.” He tamped out the joint in the ashtray. “Sophie, understand something. He may seem like a harmless old man, but he’s not. Far from it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said before—you’re vulnerable. Don’t give into temptation.”

“I thought you meant, like, sexual temptation.”

“No. Mandelbaum’s a dangerous dude.”

“Dangerous?”

Ryan nodded solemnly. “Very dangerous. Stay away from him. Just forget about his bullshit sales pitch. Okay? That’s my advice.”

“Sales pitch?”

“One wish. Ignore it. The dude is evil. Okay? Do you believe in the Devil? Heaven and hell? Quantum physics? Parallel universes? This guy is a portal. Okay? Understand?”

A brutal headache had lodged itself between her temples, while fright and excitement collided in her stomach. “What’s going on?” she practically shouted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just listen to me,” he told her solemnly. “Whatever you do, don’t ask him for anything. Okay? Trust me. You don’t want to make a wish.”

“Wait a second. Are you saying it’s true? Are you telling me he could actually grant me one wish?”

His face darkened. He took her beer away. “Sophie, you’re not listening to me. He did something to me. Mandelbaum.”

“What?” she said with alarm. “What did he do to you?”

“Never mind.” He shook his head. “You won’t believe me.”

“Just tell me.”

“Nobody ever believes me.”

“Please!”

“Okay. Fine. I can’t die. I’m immortal.”

“What?” She looked at him with utter disbelief before she burst out laughing.

“Go ahead and laugh,” he said angrily. “I was born in 1939.”

She guffawed. “Yeah, right.” She laughed so hard she could feel huge waves of relief washing through her. It felt good to be laughing; but then, all of a sudden, it felt terrible to be laughing. She felt like a monster. She was coming unglued. The laughter turned to sobs. She was losing her grip. She was freaking out.

“Sophie? Calm down. It’s true,” Ryan said softly. He waited until she had composed herself. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Nobody does.”

“That would make you… seventy-plus years old?”

“Let me show you something.” He got up and fetched an old-fashioned leather-bound photo album from a bookshelf, sat down and started pawing through its musty pages. There were pictures of Ryan with his family, all of them dressed in 1940s and 1950s garb. There was a newspaper article from 1959 with a picture of Ryan posing with a college rowing team. “That’s me at the Regatta on the Charles River. I graduated from Harvard in 1960.”

Sophie scowled. Anybody could buy a fake newspaper nowadays.

He flipped through the photo album until he came to a picture of Mandelbaum looking much younger than he did today. “My apartment in Back Bay. 1966. He was my next-door neighbor. One wish, he said. I thought about it long and hard. I could’ve asked for anything. But I was young and stupid, so I told him I never wanted to die. It was the worst decision I’ve ever made in my life. Think about it, Sophie. Would you want to live forever and watch everyone you care about pass away before you?”

She said sourly, “I just did.”

“Sorry. I’m just saying. I never age. Not a day. Not a minute. Immortality is overrated. As a matter of fact, it sucks.”

“You’re crazier than he is!” she said, getting up and storming out.

He followed her into the hallway. “Look, I was as mixed up as you are, Sophie. I thought he was joking. I thought he was kidding around, but he wasn’t. He’s dead serious. He can do it. The guy’s for real. He’s for real! Don’t fall for it!”

She opened the heavy fire door and ran down the stairwell to the underground garage, where she could still hear him shouting behind her, “He’s the Devil, Sophie! The Devil!”

*

She drove to a cramped little bar on the east side of town called Stellini’s Hourglass Lounge, where stiff red curtains covered the windows and the university students played pool out back. The noisy kitchen served hamburgers and ribs and the air was dense with barbeque smoke. Sophie chose a quiet booth in back, got out her mobile phone and called Cassie. “We have to talk,” she said.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m cracking up. I’m at Stellini’s.”

“Be there in fifteen minutes.”

When Cassie arrived, they ordered a pitcher of beer.

“What’s wrong, Sophie? You look terrible.”

“Mandelbaum is psychotic. He knows all sorts of private things about me. Like what happened the day of the accident. Details. It’s freaking me out. Look at my hands, they’re shaking.”

“Somebody must’ve told him,” Cassie said, reaching for a reasonable explanation.

“There’s no way he could’ve known. And Ryan’s crazy, too. Do you know what he said? He thinks he’s immortal.”

Cassie laughed. “Are you sure he didn’t say
immoral
?”

She shook her head fiercely, eyes wet with tears. “Mandelbaum offered to grant me one wish, Cassie. He said I could have anything I wanted.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s Alzheimer’s.”

“What about Ryan?”

“Honey, calm down.” Cassie cupped her chin in her hand. “Want a cigarette?”

Sophie nodded. “They’re both insane. Maybe I should call the police?”

“Ryan’s just messing with you,” Cassie said matter-of-factly.

“You think?”

“Yeah.” She took out a pack of cigarettes and made a big deal out of handing one to Sophie, flicking her lighter and holding the flame up to Sophie’s cigarette. Then she lit her own cigarette with a dramatic gesture. She put the lighter away and rested her hands on the table.

“Ryan said he met Mandelbaum back in 1966 and made a wish—and now he can’t die. He said he asked for immortality. He called Mandelbaum the Devil. And it kind of makes sense now, because how else could he know every detail, every gesture, as if he’d been there? All those intimate details nobody could’ve possibly known about me, and now…” She had to stop and catch her breath. She suddenly noticed the diamond ring on Cassie’s finger. “Cass, what the fuck?”

“I’m getting married!” she squealed with delight.

“Really?” It stopped her cold. “Congratulations.”

They hugged.

“Isn’t it exciting?” She flashed the diamond ring. She held out her left hand and proudly examined the ring on her third finger.

“Wow.” Sophie plucked another cigarette from the pack on the bar and lit it, drawing deeply until her lungs hurt. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

Cassie laughed. “Billy, of course. We made up. He’s such a sweetheart. I realized how much I loved him. I mean, this is true love we’re talking about here.”

“Are you sure?”

Cassie laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“But you just slept with Ryan.”

“That was a mistake. I don’t want Billy finding out about it, either.” She took a sip of beer and smiled coyly. “The sex was pretty good, though. With Ryan. You know?”

“No, I don’t know, Cassie. I read somewhere that when a woman doesn’t have sex in a very long time, her vagina tightens up and becomes like a virgin’s, except for the missing hymen.”

“You wish.” Cassie smiled ironically. “Imagine me? Tying the knot?”

Sophie couldn’t remember when she’d felt so betrayed, as if Cassie had snatched the rug right out from under her, as if she’d stolen her future. She didn’t understand why she felt this way. She couldn’t explain it. “Are you sure about this? I mean, you’ve only known each other for, what… eight months?”

“Wow, I’ve got stereo mothers.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t say anything, Sophie. Okay? Please? It’s fate.”

“Hey, as long as you’re sure.”

“Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Of course I’m happy for you, Cass.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, then looked at her friend with grave concern and said, “Now let’s focus on you.” She took a worried breath. “You’ve got to stop drinking, Sophie. Cold turkey. And no more pot. Understand? It’s time to let go of the past.”

Sophie rubbed her tired eyes. “I know. I know.”

“Go back to your therapist. She really helped you once, didn’t she?”

She nodded lethargically. “I guess so, yeah.”

“And listen. Don’t worry.” She reached for Sophie’s hand and squeezed. “You’ll find somebody soon.”

She drew back abruptly. “Who says I’m looking?”

“I know, but seriously… don’t you want another child some day?”

She stared at Cassie a breathless beat.

“Oh my God. That was dumb. I’m sorry.”

Sophie withdrew into an icy silence.

“I didn’t mean to say that, sweetie. Do you forgive me?”

What Cassie didn’t understand, what she would never understand, was that Sophie had already found perfection, and her name was Jayla. Sophie had once been the mother of absolute perfection, and that opportunity didn’t come along twice in a lifetime. There would be no encores. She refused to have any more children. And Mandelbaum was wrong—it
was
her fault. At least, it was partly her fault. For the longest time, she’d ignored Peter’s drinking. She should’ve seen the accident coming years before it happened. She should have done more to protect her daughter. She should have gotten a restraining order or moved away or changed their names. But instead, she’d stupidly let him come into the house that day. Why? Couldn’t she see how drunk he was? Why had she let him inside? Why didn’t she lock the doors and call the cops? She had failed, she was an unfit mother, and you didn’t trust a parade of babies to such ignorant arms.

*

The next morning, Sophie started drinking early enough so she was hammered by noon. It was funny. She never used to drink—Peter did. She never touched the hard stuff, but she wasn’t a tea-totaler. She’d have a glass of wine once in a while. But ever since the accident she hadn’t been able to control herself. Alcohol was the quickest way to numb the pain.

Now she stared at her old therapist’s phone number, written on a piece of scrap paper, but each time she picked up her phone and got ready to dial her number, she would find some excuse to hang up. “Coward,” she grumbled.