“Hi, hi, hi, icky Ricky!” Robin's strong hands clamped on Ricky's throat and started to press.
“It was kinda fun fuckin' with you, baby brother.” He seemed oblivious to Ricky's thrashing. “But we're not gonna play anymore.” He laughed through his teeth, hissing like a snake. “I'm not gonna kill you, icky Ricky, don't worry, I'd never kill you. I'm just gonna take you outside.”
Ricky coughed, his vision blurring. He stopped fighting, unable to think.
A second later, Robin's hands loosened, and Ricky gulped air as his twin grabbed him around the waist and yanked him off the bed. They rolled in twisted somersaults across the floor, Robin propelling, Ricky unable to fight, barely able to breathe. By the other bed, Robin let go and climbed up on his bed. Before Ricky could drag himself away, Robin reached down and grabbed him under the armpit and hauled him onto the bed as if he weighed nothing.
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
“No!” Ricky choked on the word. “No!” He kicked, but Robin only laughed and pulled him up against the open window. He pinned his arms with one hand and clamped the other over his mouth.
“Shhhhhh! You're so stupid, icky Ricky. You're such a scaredy-cat. You don't know anything!” As he spoke, Ricky cringed, hearing adult fury hiding behind his brother's falsely cheerful tones. “Be quiet and listen, Ricky Piper, Ricky Diaper. You don't know what you're missing. If you go outside with me tonight, you get to live forever. You don't have to go to bed or eat your vegetables. You can do anything you want and never get punished. You get to play all the time!” He grinned. “Would you like that, little brother?” The hand was lifted from his mouth. “Would you?”
“No!” Ricky whispered.
A string of drool dripped onto his cheek. “Aw, come on, icky Ricky. If you don't go with me, I'll tell the folks all about how you don't think I'm your brother, and then they'll know you're the crazy one and they'll have the men in the white coats come and take you away, away.” Robin's teeth glinted in the streak of moonlight. “Hee hee, ha ha, ho ho!” He paused. “They already decided you're crazy anyway. They changed their minds again. I heard them talking again this morning. They're going to send
you
away, not me.”
“You lie.” Ricky hissed.
“I heard them. They don't like you anymore, Icky Ricky; they've decided to send you away and keep me here. So why don't you go with me outside instead? It'll be a lot more fun, it really will. And you get to see your real brother. He misses you, Ricky. He misses you a lot.”
“No!” Ricky whispered. “You killed him. You took his body away, and nobody knows he's alive. He can't talk to anybody.”
“No, no! That's not true!” Robin sounded happy and sincere now. “He has lots of new friends. Friends you can have too. Friends you can share. All we did was trade bodies for a while, just like trading marbles or baseball cards. I'm letting him use my body while I use his. He has legs now, Ricky. He's happy because I gave him my legs.”
“You want
my
legs!”
“Shhhhh! You don't want Mommy and Daddy to hear you, do you? If they hear you saying crazy things again, you'll be sorry!”
“You just want my legs!” Ricky repeated, but more softly.
“Not true, baby brother. I want your eyes, too.” Robin pushed him up against the windowsill. “I only want you to share, Ricky. Is that a bad thing? To share with friends? Robin's sharing and he's happy. He has legs. But he misses you. He wants you to come out and play.”
“You lie,” Ricky whispered again.
Robin's expression changed, hardened into a scowling mask, the eyes glittering like black onyx. Strange eyes, animal eyes, not his brother's eyes. Ricky moaned as Robin twisted one hand into his hair and pulled.
“If you won't go with me willingly, then I guess it's time to play, little brother,” he whispered. He grabbed Ricky under his arms and lifted him up into the window. “We're gonna go down there, and I'm gonna choke you just a little more, and then you get to see your brother again.”
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
Gathering all his will, Ricky kicked Robin as hard as he could. His brother fell back on the bed, clutching his stomach.
“You little shit!” he hissed. “You little shit!”
Ricky started screaming, his voice loud and raspy, not stopping as he hopped down from the window and ran across the room.
“You stupid little shit!”
As he was about to open the door, he heard his parents' door open and close, his mother's hurried footsteps, his father's slower, heavier ones just after. He sighed, and sat on the edge of his bed. He might as well let them think he had a nightmare, because even though they might be on his side nowâhe wasn't entirely sureâthey'd never believe that Robin tried to kill him.
As the doorknob began to turn, Robin grinned and propelled himself across the room and onto Ricky's bed. Then his twin's arms were around him again, so tight he could hardly breathe. “You little shit,” he whispered again, and began rocking him back and forth in his arms, a pretend soothing for the grown-ups to see.
Light bloomed overhead and then his mother was at his bedside, his father standing behind. He could see Carmen waiting behind them in the doorway.
“Another bad dream, Ricky?” his mother asked, her gentle embrace removing him from Robin's rough one.
She smelled good, like Breck shampoo and Ivory soap, and Ricky nodded, burrowing into her shoulder, putting his arms around her neck, letting himself cry just a little.
“Do you remember the dream, Rick?” his father asked softly.
“I forget,” he muttered, clinging to his mother.
“He just screamed,” Robin said. “He screamed and I woke up.”
“It was good that you tried to make your brother feel better,” Dad said hesitantly.
“Yes,” agreed Mom, though she glanced oddly at Dad as she said it. She stroked Ricky's hair and rocked him.
“Is there anything you need to tell us, Rick?” Dad asked.
He was tempted to tell until he saw Robin's threatening glare. “No.”
Dad stared at him a moment, then nodded,
“Frank, would you mind shutting that window?” Mom asked as she continued to hold Ricky.
He saw a look pass between his parents, then Dad said, “Robin, I thought you learned your lesson about that window when you were seven.” He closed the window and turned the latch.
“I was hot,” Robin said softly. “I'm sorry, but I wasn't playing. I think maybe I have a fever.”
Mom let go of Ricky and felt his twin's forehead. “Well, you're a little warm, I guess.”
Dad picked Robin up and carried him back to his bed. “No more open windows, son,” he said, tucking him in while Robin smiled angelically. “You get some sleep now.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
Dad returned to Ricky. “What about you, Rick? Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”
“Can I sleep in Carmen's room?” he asked.
Mom and Dad exchanged glances. “Sure, honey,” Mom said. She kissed his forehead, then stood. Ricky ran past her, out of the room, and took Carmen's hand.
“See you later, Ricky,” Robin called.
In the hall, Mom kissed him again, then a concerned look crossed her face. “Look at those dark circles. A little guy like you shouldn't have such big circles under his eyes.”
“I'm okay,” Ricky said.
“He just needs sleep, Miz Piper, and I'll make sure he gets it.” Carmen smiled. “I don't allow bad dreams in my room, so you don't have to worry about him anymore.”
Â
Â
He stayed with Carmen that night, and all the nights thereafter, until, on June 25, she and Hector were married, and he inherited her room with the nailed-shut passage in the closet and the lock on the door.
Suddenly the cat jumped on the bed, startling him from his reverie. “Well, it's about time,” he said as Quint planted himself on Rick's chest and began to knead with his claws, eyes half-closed, purr rumbling, looking completely happy and moronic. Absently Rick petted the animal. He'd acquired Quint four years ago, a few days after Laura was killed. He'd had to be strong for Shelly and Cody, but he had no one to lean on himself, and the lonely nights were especially bad. Over and over again, he'd wake up sobbing and reaching for his wife, and he didn't know how he could go on without losing his mind. Then Dakota O'Keefe, a new neighbor he barely knew at that time, knocked on the door and showed him a tiny orange kitten, no more than a month old. Dakota had found it abandoned in the alley behind the theater where he was working. It needed to be fed with an eyedropper every hour, he'd explained, and he couldn't do it because he had to work, and his roommate was allergic to cats. He begged Rick, who worked at home, to watch it for a day or two while he tried to find it a good home.
Reluctantly, still in a depressive haze, Rick took the kitten. Within an hour it had burrowed into his shirt and fallen asleep against his heart, remaining there while Rick worked on his column. That night he put it to bed on a finger towel in a shoe box lid that he placed on the nightstand. When the dream about Laura's death came, he woke up sobbing, and found the kitten snuggled up between his shoulder and neck, watching him, purring as hard as it could, and gently batting at the tears as they ran down his cheek. They'd been together ever since. The cat knew his moods and had proven itself to be a great listener. Rick could tell it anything.
He scratched behind Quint's ears. “I thought I saw the greenjacks,” he told it. “You know what that means?”
Quint purred louder and settled down, watching Rick through slitted eyes.
“It means I'm nuts,” he told the animal. “Completely, utterly bonkers.”
The cat purred.
“Ready for the rubber room,” he added, almost asleep.
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
Ricky
. . .
Fear exploded within his gut, and the cat exploded on top of it, digging in its claws and hissing, before racing for its spot under the bed, where it started growling with a vengeance.
“Shit!” Had he dreamed the voices or not? he wondered. Either way, he'd scared the piss out of the cat.
“Shit!” he repeated. He got out of bed and knelt on the floor, pulling the bottom of the bedspread up. “Hey, cat, come on out. It's okay.”
Quint stared at him, unblinking. The growling ceased.
Icky Ricky, icky Ricky, come out and play.
The cat hissed, the sound turning into a high-pitched yowl. Ears flat back, Quint swatted at Rick's face.
“Christ!” He pulled back just in time. “What the hell's the matter with you?” The feline moved farther under the bed, growling.
Hey, icky Ricky, come and play, hey .
. .
The cat growled again.
The voices, Rick thought.
He hears them, too.
Hey, Ricky, come and play .
. .
Softer now, fading into the night. They never called for long, he remembered. Never for long.
18
July 15
Â
“Daddy!”
Cody's call brought Rick instantly to consciousness, his stomach lurching behind somewhere, his brain dizzy, disoriented, and alarmed. The cat sprang off the bed, growling.
“Daddy!”
“I'm coming!” He staggered to the bedroom door and fumbled with the lock. “What's up?” Seeing that his son was fully dressed, he glanced at his wristwatch, was appalled to see it was past ten
A.M
.
His son stood a few feet back from the door, staring at something on the floor. “Lookit.”
He followed Cody's gaze down to the stuffed poodle standing just outside his door. It was bluish white and wore a purple rhinestone collar, its hind leg was held lifted, ready to urinate. Rick pulled his bare foot back without thinking.
“You're funny, Daddy!” Cody giggled, squatting to study the animal.
“Did you put this here?” This was the dog that Carmen had talked about, the one she found dead in the dryer only six months ago.
“Nah. It smells yucky.” Gingerly Cody patted its head. “But it wasn't here when I went downstairs before.”
“When was that?”
“I dunno. It was light out, though. Carmen said I was an early bird and wanted to know if I eat worms.” He giggled. “I said no, so she made me breakfast. She
cooked,
Daddy. Pancakes, just like at McDonald's, only better.”
“Well, Cody was Aunt Jade up?”
He made a face. “I didn't see her.”
“Where's your sister?”
Cody shrugged. “Can I go now?”
“Where are you going?”
“Carmen's gonna let me pull weeds!”
Rick had to smile. “How fun.”
“Yeah!” Cody's voice betrayed complete sincerity.
“Don't go near the pond.”
“I know. Carmen said.” He turned and skipped back toward the stairs.
With a last withering glance at the petrified peeing poodle, Rick shut his bedroom door.
Fifteen minutes later, feeling considerably more human, he reopened it, snagged the poodle by its raised leg, and walked toward the back stairs. Pausing, he knocked on Shelly's door, but there was no reply, so he headed on downstairs, the poodle held distastefully out and away from his body like a lethally loaded diaper.
Carmen's arms were in dish suds up to the elbows. “Sleep okay?” she asked without turning around.
“Like the dead.”
“Sometimes the dead don't sleep so good.”
He'd never known how to react to Carmen's dire pronouncements, so he did what he'd always done and ignored it. The cheerful morning light that streamed in through the windows made her superstitions seem especially silly. “Jade paid me a visit sometime this morning,” he said.
“Oh?” Drying her hands, she turned to face him, her eyebrows rising as she saw the dead dog.
“Madre Dios.”
“I found it outside my door.” While he was dressing, it had occurred to him that maybe Jade had picked up the odor of cat piss and was getting even, but he decided not to mention this possibility to Carmen.
“That filthy old
puta.”
Carmen took the dog from Rick. “Excuse me a minute.” She stomped through the laundry room and pounded on the locked hall door, the back entrance to Jade's apartment.
Rick couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but Jade sounded haughty, and Carmen, heated. A moment later she returned without the dog. “She says she didn't do it. You want some breakfast?”
“No, thanks. Well, who did it, if she didn't?”
Carmen crossed herself. “She did it.
Mentirosa.
She does it all the time.”
“Menti . . . ?”
“She's a liar, Rick. She lies.”
“Has this happened before?”
“Sure. Every time I find that dog standing over my slipper, she says she didn't do it. You should have a good breakfast.”
“I can't eat in the morning. Who does she say takes them?”
“She takes them, Ricky. I told you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Ricky, I don't even want to say it.” Carmen crossed her arms and nodded. “Crazy old
puta.
She's lost her marbles. Like I told you last night, she talks about him all the time. He makes love to her, he sneaks food from the fridge, he steals her dogs. She does whatever she wants, then blames him. Can you believe it, the stories she tells? She's loco, that one.”
“Are you sure she's not dangerous, Carmen? Really sure?”
“I wish I could say no so you'd have an excuse to send her away, but she's harmless, except for the sex talk. And she'll get into your refrigerator and get her germs in your foodâyou should get a lock for it or she'll get her germs in everything. You should lock your bedroom, too. Sometimes she goes upstairs, you know.” Carmen paused. “It's not good for you to skip breakfast, Ricky.”
“I always skip breakfast, so you don't need to remind me anymore,” he said with a smile.
“Okay, okay,” she said quickly. “Tell me about last night, when we looked out the window. Did you see thâ”
“Excuse me,” he interrupted, having no intention of talking about last night either. “Do we have a Sears catalog around here somewhere? We should pick out a dishwasher.”
“They don't have the catalog anymore. But there's a store in Montclair and another one in San Bernardino. Take your pick.” She blew air noisily out her nostrils. “But first we need to talk about the greenjacks.”
“I'd better go now,” Rick said quickly. “I have to get back and get to work. I'm way behind on my columns.”
She shook her head, “poor, little Ricky” written all over her face. “Whatever you say.”
“Are there any features you especially want on the washer?”
“I really don't need it, Ricky.” Her tone betrayed her continuing irritation with him.
“Well, I do,” he said lightly. “What am I supposed to do on your day off? The three of us will use up every dish in the house in twelve hours, we always do. And if you're gone for more than a day, well . . . I have to have a dishwasher.”
She started to protest.
He held his finger to his lips. “Shhh. It's for me, okay? I'm buying. But you can use it if you want.”
“You want some lunch?” she asked, glancing at the kitchen clock. “It's almost lunchtime.”
“No, thanks.” The clock was a circa
1965
plastic plate, olive with copper hands and numerals, uglier than sin. As soon as his stuff arrived, he'd replace it with his own kitchen timepiece, a reproduction of a vintage yellow and white rhinestoned Felix the Cat clock with the ticking tail and shifting eyes.
Rick smiled, suddenly understanding her. She'd spent her whole life watching out for him, and now he was back and her instincts were up and saluting. “Carmen, I ate so much last night that I won't eat again for a week. Stop worrying about me. I'm going to go out for a while. Is it okay if I leave Cody with you?”
“Of course it is! You know Shelly took your car, right?” She saw the look on his face. “She said you knew.”
“She lied,” he said, suddenly tired. “Do you know where she went?”
“She said she was going to the mall to put in job applications at some more stores.”
“Well, don't let her take my car again without double-checking.”
“I'm sorry, Ricky. I didn't realizeâ”
“It's not your fault, Carmen. I should be apologizing to you. I can't believe how badly she's behaving.”
“No, she's just being her age.” Carmen smiled wryly. “Of course, she's doing it in spades.”
“She's very difficult for me to control.”
“We'll turn her around. Kids that age, you give 'em a little bite of cake, they'll take the whole thing.” She shook her head. “A lot of little kids are cruel. A lot of big kids are selfish.”
“Cody's not cruel.”
“Neither were you, and he's a lot like you, just happier. More outgoing. But he hasn't started school yet either. He'll have to learn to be a little mean so he can take care of himself.” She paused, considering. “You never liked school very much, did you?”
“No,” he admitted. “But it wasn't that bad. I knew how to stay away from the bullies.”
And everybody else,
he thought.
“Cody will have it easier because he doesn't have the pain you had.”
Rick's throat tightened up. “Carmenâ”
“We have to talk, Ricky. We both have things we need to say to each other.” Her voice was fierce with emotIon. “You know? You remember?”
Carmen kneeling by the koi pond, pushing her hands into the cold corrupt water, so green, so alive . . . Our secret, Ricky, our secret .
. .
Roughly he shook his head. “No. I don't remember.”
She studied him a moment, then drew a key from her pocket. “Here, you can use Hector's truck. He's better today, but he's not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.” He accepted the keys and opened the back door, then turned and looked at Carmen once more. “I'm sorry,” he told her quietly. “Sometime we'll talk.”
“Okay.”