Alex (15 page)
"Yeah."
Ian thought about a hotel room again, but he couldn't afford it.
He could call his mom, but she would freak.
"Yeah, that's a good idea.
Okay."
"And..."
Derek hesitated.
"Look, I hate to say this, I know you hate the idea, but it might help to talk about it.
You know, or see someone who can help you.
There's got to be something."
"Yeah."
He was headed home, where Alex would be screaming.
"Ian."
The world beneath him quivered and he jerked awake, casting left and right, trying to figure out where he was.
Justin waited for Ian to get his bearings.
Behind him, Sheila was looking back from her desk, her lips pursed like she'd found a maggot on the carpet.
"Shit," Ian said, hoarsely.
"Sorry, I'm sorry."
"Can you come into a quiet room for a minute?"
"Yeah.
Yeah."
He started to set his phone to After Call Work so he wouldn't get calls, but it was already set.
Shit,
he almost said again.
Justin led him to a quiet room and closed the door.
As they sat down, Ian started.
"Justin, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to.
I've just... I've been sleeping so bad.
I can't get any sleep at home.
I keep having these nightmares."
He felt like a worm, groveling to this man.
"Ian, you can't sleep on the job."
"No, no, I know I can't -"
"We have to write you up for this.
It's gonna go in your file."
"Yeah.
Of course."
What could he say?
"Okay."
He had expected to be fired.
Justin's pen scratched across the paper, all in neat little caps.
WED, 11/3/10.
IAN COLMES WAS SLEEPING AT HIS DESK ON ACW.
I HAVE ADVISED IAN THAT HE IS ON WRITTEN NOTICE AND ANOTHER
Justin paused, at a rare loss for words.
INCIDENT MAY RESULT IN TERMINATION.
He signed his name in impeccable cursive, and handed Ian the pen.
Ian's sprawling scribble went on the line that said,
Employee Signature
.
"Take the afternoon off," Justin said as he stood.
"Go home and get some sleep.
Take it easy."
Ian wondered if he would get paid for the rest of the day.
He was out of vacation time for the year.
But he didn't ask.
The image of his couch - or, oh god, his
bed
- glimmered like an oasis.
Justin paused at the door.
"Maybe give SER a call.
I've heard they're really good."
Smartlink Employee Resources.
Ian had seen the fliers.
They could get him some free mental health care.
Probably a couple hours.
That should be enough, right?
Fix everything.
"Okay.
Yeah."
Ian nodded.
"Thanks."
It was cold outside, the first really cold day of the season.
He trudged through the parking lot under a grey sky, head bowed against the wind, as brown and yellow leaves chased each other over his shoes.
He had to stop for gas.
The wind gusted as he climbed out of the car, making him shiver.
He remembered being young, and running around in autumn without a coat on.
He had relished the cold, then, but the fire of youth had burned out sometime since, and now the wind sliced right through him.
There was an old coat in the trunk - left there since last March, when he'd torn it off one day in a sweat.
That was before Alex was taken.
How long before?
he wondered, but couldn't remember.
Long enough that something like the first warm day of spring had still been notable.
He popped the trunk to grab his coat, and saw the Ouija board.
REACH OUT TO GHOSTS,
the package read.
CONTACT LOST LOVED ONES!
Hokey bullshit.
A scam made for suckers.
He threw his coat on and slammed the trunk.
But as he watched the dollar display on the pump rocket upwards, he kept thinking about it.
CONTACT LOST LOVED ONES!
Maybe it will let him talk.
Maybe he'll be able to just tell me what he wants.
It's bullshit.
Jesus, I thought you outgrew this shit when you were twelve.
I did.
But obviously I got something wrong.
It's fucking stupid.
Don't be an idiot.
If you want to do something about this, do like Derek said.
Get some fucking Tylenol PM.
Call a shrink.
Call SER.
He slapped the gas dispenser on to the pump and climbed back into the car.
He was so
tired.
The Ouija board's box slid on to the kitchen table with a whispered
thunk
, and he turned away from it at once.
He hung up his coat and grabbed a pop from the fridge, something with caffeine, and stood staring out the kitchen window into his little backyard as his thoughts chased each other in circles.
He was ashamed of the thing sitting on the table.
He wanted to bury it in the closet, like a rented porn video, but of course that was ridiculous.
There was no one to see it but him.
Then again, maybe that was enough reason to do it.
In the backyard there was a swing hanging by a pair of rusty chains from a broad tree branch.
It had been part of the house when they had bought it, and when he'd gotten old enough, Alex had loved it.
Now it was twisting with the autumn breeze, banging against the trunk, its chains jingling like a poorly made wind chime.
The thing was, the board was the only way forward that he could keep a secret.
The other options -
all
the other options: talking to a psychic, trying to perform a séance, shit, even taking an FMLA leave - involved telling someone what was happening.
He wasn't ready for that.
He didn't know that he ever would be.
Finally he made up his mind and marched away from the window, toward Alex's room.
Outside, the wind blew and the dead leaves danced.
Wait outside the door and listen,
some part of him said.
Make sure he's not in there.
But he steamrolled this warning, grabbed the knob and threw the door open.
It was
his
house, he'd go over wherever the hell he wanted.
Boxes, stacked two and three high.
Faded white walls, flecked with bits of tape and old nail-holes.
It had to be done in here.
He was sure of that much.
He flipped the switch, but the light was dead.
That was okay.
It was dim, and the overcast day didn't help, but he could still see.
The boxes were heavier than he'd expected, but he moved them out of the middle of the room.
He and Alina hadn't labeled them.
He still remembered the day they had packed it all up.
Alina had started in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, after mentioning that it had to be done several times over the preceding months.
She had come in here and worked silently, periodically walking out with a full garbage bag or a plastic dish.
She hadn't said anything, but she hadn't needed to.
Waves of condemnation had rolled off of her.
I can't believe you're making me do this by myself.
Hurt, anger, frustration: all the hallmarks of their new relationship.
Finally he'd caved.
He really didn't want her to have to do it alone.
It was a horrible job.
He didn't wish it on anyone, least of all her or himself.
Why he had to respect her wishes (to do it NOW), but she couldn't respect his wishes (to wait), he didn't know.
It didn't matter.
She was doing it, and he either had to be there for her, or abandon her.
He stood and stretched his back.
The boxes lined the walls now, crouched in the dimness like blocks of stone.
Uncarved statues, waiting to watch the show.
He settled on the floor in the middle of the room and slid the board from the box.
There were no instructions: just the board, and a simple planchette.
Who needed instructions?
Everyone had seen The Exorcist.
All the Ouija stories Ian had heard growing up involved inadvertently contacting something evil and bringing it into the user's house.
Even when he had believed in the possibilities of afterlife, he wouldn't touch a board for exactly that reason.
Now, concern for that outcome barely flickered across his mind.
He'd already spoken with his son; he knew Alex could move things.
He still didn't believe in demons, or any of the rest of it.
But he knew something was happening with his son.
He just wanted to talk to
him.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
Ian jerked his head up.
Alex stood by the door in jean overalls.
He was shorter, plumper, his cheeks stuffed with chub.
After speaking, he popped his thumb in his mouth and sucked at it furiously.
"For what?" Ian rasped.
"For... for... the owl-it."
His eyes were big and heavy.
He pointed at the nearest electrical outlet.
It came back.
Alex had been playing with the outlets.
Somehow, he had found a fork.
Ian had caught him.
It was the first time Ian had really let loose yelling at him.
It had also been Alex's first spanking.
Ian could count the others on one hand.
I'm glad you're here to say you're sorry.
It could've hurt you really bad, you know that?
Really, really bad, so bad you wouldn't be able to talk or call for help or anything.
The outlet is not a toy, Alex.
You need to leave it alone.
"It's not a toy," Alex agreed miserably.
But he wasn't looking at the outlet now.
He was looking at the Ouija board.
Ian felt his mouth run dry.
His breath whistled in his lungs as if he'd tumbled into a freefall.
"It's not a toy," Alex said again.
"You mean this?" Ian asked carefully.
He tapped the board with one finger.
"You don't think I should use this?"
"It's not a toy."
Ian sat, slack-jawed, working it through.
"Well... Alex, I don't know what else to do.
You want to tell me something, I think, but I don't know what that is.
I can't understand you.
I'm trying, but I just can't understand, and every night you've been
screaming
, and I just can't keep doing that.
Do you understand that?
I
can't.
"
Shorts and a t-shirt.
"Donnie went off the
road.
"
"I don't know what that means, Alex!"
