Alex (10 page)
She understood.
He thought about trying to explain that feeling to this group, and rejected the idea.
Sometimes that moment felt so close, he could still imagine the warmth of Alex's weight on his chest.
But those times were getting further and further between, and tonight, while he still loved his son, he was angry with him, too.
Angry, and scared.
Whether intentionally or unintentionally, the boy he loved so much was driving him mad.
After the session, Alina turned away to put her coat on.
He thought she was going to leave without speaking, but she touched his arm as they stepped into the parking lot.
"You were quiet tonight."
Being quiet is wrong.
Saying what I think is wrong.
What the fuck do you want me to do?
But her eyes weren't accusing.
Maybe she hadn't meant it that way.
"I think... sometimes, it helps just to listen."
She nodded.
Her face was gentle.
"I can understand that."
"You can?"
"Yeah."
"Listen, I'm sorry about last week.
I didn't mean to go off on Shauna."
"You should give her a chance, Ian.
She's not as bad as you think."
"Yeah.
I'll try.
I'm just... I don't know, ever since... they found him, I'm just so angry all the time.
"
All the time
."
Her face was unreadable.
"I know."
He had forced her out.
She said it when she left:
"I can't breathe in this fucking house anymore."
Of course she knew.
"I don't mean to be.
I'm trying... I just don't know what to do."
She touched his face.
"Thank you for trying.
It means a lot."
He remembered her being at home, smiling at him when he came in, making furious, quiet love to him in the dark so they wouldn't wake their son.
I need you,
he wanted to say.
I still love you, and I need you back.
Then he thought:
If you're at home, Alex won't be.
It cheapened the urgency of his desire, turned her into a tool he was trying to use.
The words died on his tongue.
Because there was nothing else to say, he said, "Next week?"
She smiled and nodded before hurrying to her car.
It was getting cold.
Alex was in the backseat again.
"Good," he said, as if Ian had just asked him a question.
Ian turned the engine to let the car warm up, watching the boy in the rearview.
Alex, you have to stop talking to me like this.
You have to stop.
But saying that wouldn't do anything.
He'd tried reasoning with Alex already.
It didn't work.
"Good, Daddy," Alex repeated.
"What's good?" Ian asked.
"It was
good
."
"What was?" But suddenly he knew.
"Your day at Rita's?"
"Yeah.
But it was not...
not quite... it wasn't quite fun."
"It wasn't quite fun?"
His heart hammered.
This is it,
he realized.
He's trying to tell me something.
She was involved.
She had to be.
"No," Alex drawled.
He was looking out the window.
"There were too many kids."
"Too many kids at Rita's?"
His heart sank.
He remembered this conversation now.
It wasn't anything new.
"Yeah, Julie was there.
And Big Alex was there.
And Delilah was there."
Delilah?
Is that a new girl?
"Yeah, but she's only three.
I'm older than her... than her is, Daddy."
Than
she
is.
"Yeah, than
she
is."
Well, that's good, maybe you can help her out.
You were three once, you know.
"But now I'm a
big
boy!"
You sure are!
Does she know her alphabet?
"Yeah, but... not
quite.
"
You can teach her, I bet.
"Yeah, I can teach her!
And also we can do some
puzzles
!"
Alex bounced up and down in his booster, excited.
That sounds good.
I'd be so proud of you if you taught someone their letters, kiddo.
"Yeah.
I'll do that tomorrow.
Right, Dod?"
Alex grinned, hoping to bait Ian into their old game.
Ian closed his eyes.
This has to stop.
It has to.
If it was in his head, maybe there were some drugs he could take.
He remembered taking something a few years ago for overactive dreams, when he was having trouble sleeping at night.
Maybe he had some of those left at home.
When he opened his eyes, he flipped the rearview mirror up so he couldn't see Alex.
He'd rather face the glare of other cars' headlights.
He searched his cabinet for the pills when he got home, but couldn't find anything.
Maybe he'd thrown them out.
Probably shouldn't take them anyway, they're probably not for this.
But he didn't care about that.
He just wanted to stop seeing his dead son.
There was probably something else he could get, that would treat -
What?
Overactive dreams?
These aren't dreams.
If you're looking at medication, you need something for schizophrenia.
Was there even a treatment for schizophrenia?
He thought there was.
Pills, weren't there?
He seemed to remember that a lot of patients had to be forced to take them.
They were fine while they were on them, but they would never take them on their own.
Was that right?
He wanted to Google it, but he couldn't bring himself to open the basement door.
He hadn't been down there since last weekend, when they'd played hide and seek.
I won't go into the basement.
I don't like to shower.
I check Alex's room every night before I go to bed.
This is getting bad, Ian.
But it didn't change anything.
He left the basement door and turned on Law & Order.
Is every night going to be like this, from here on out?
He dreaded coming home.
He was always looking over his shoulder.
How long could he live like that?
As he lay in bed, he figured it broke down like this.
There were two possibilities.
Or four, depending on how he looked at it.
Maybe he was going crazy.
That could be something temporary, brought on by the grief, or it could be something more serious that would've developed anyway, that just happened to coincide with Alex's death.
If it was temporary, it would go away.
Right?
So he could just get through it.
If it was permanent...
That was bad.
That was the worst possibility.
He set it aside.
The other possibility was that he was actually seeing a ghost.
He was a grown man, and he didn't believe in ghosts, but there was no way he could pretend this wasn't a possibility.
If Alex were haunting him, then there could be one of two reasons: either he was trying to make Ian miserable for letting him be killed -
He choked.
He knew that was it.
Derek had thought otherwise, and at the time his argument had been persuasive, but Ian was no longer sure he agreed.
An angry spirit wouldn't have the compunctions his son had had.
Would
I
be the same person, if I were abandoned by my family, raped, and killed?
So Alex was appearing to remind Ian what he had lost and how he had failed.
Of the promises he'd broken.
Pills wouldn't help with that.
So, what then?
Again, his mind grasped at movies, because it was all he knew.
A psychic?
An exorcist?
A... séance, or something?
The whole idea was so ridiculous, he laughed.
In the dark, alone in his room.
The noise echoed off his bare walls like the cry of a loon.
Alex had been a talkative boy.
Ian used to joke that they spent the first two years of his life teaching him how to talk, and the next three teaching him to shut up.
"Good morning, Daddy!
I peed already," he announced, standing in the hallway the next morning.
He was in his pajamas.
Ian went past him and into the bathroom.
As he relieved himself and brushed his teeth Alex kept up a constant barrage from the other side of the bathroom door.
"Daddy, can I have Pop Tarts today?"
"Daddy when I was sleeping I had a good dream about elephants.
But only not about zebras too.
The zebras are just sleeping."
"Daddy I know what's two plus two.
It's four!
Did you see the picture I made?
I think you should bring it to work and hang it up."
Ian ignored him.
This was his resolution upon waking: ignore it, and see if it would go away.
If Alex had truly come back to torment him, perhaps Ian could make him tire of it.
If Alex wasn't real, ignoring him was the smartest option anyway.
"Daddy I need to brush my teeth!
Don't forget!
Or I will get the cavities!"
"Where is Donnie?
Donnie!
"
"BAAAA-OOOO!
BAAAA-OOOO!
BAAAA-OOOO!"
"
Okay!
" Ian snapped.
He tore the bathroom door open.
Alex was balanced on one of the dining room chairs, holding his hands above his head and spinning as he yelled.
"Alex!
Get down!
You're gonna -"
He slapped his mouth shut.
He wouldn't finish that sentence.
His thoughts did it for him.
-
hurt yourself.
"Sorry, Dod!"
Alex was always quick to apologize.
"I will never ever do it again."
Sure you won't.
But he didn't say it.
He fixed his eyes on the kitchen, skirted past the dining room table, and resolutely ignored his son.
"Daddy are you making Pop Tarts?"
"Daddy can I have Pop Tarts today?"
"Daddy are you making Pop Tarts?"
They'd been teaching him how to wait for other people to acknowledge him before speaking, how to only make requests once.
The urge to correct him, to say,
Alex, stop and wait until I answer.
Be quiet now,
resurged in his chest as though it had never left.
