“It’s a strange feeling.”
“I’m very happy for you,” he said.
He was, she could tell. So why wasn’t she? Ann felt skewed; making partner still felt numbly distant. Why? “I’ll be home more now,” she said. “I’ll be able to get Melanie off your back a little.”
“Ann, she’s a great kid, she’s no trouble at all. I think she’s really starting to come out of her shell now.”
“No help from me.”
“Would you stop? Everything’s working out great, isn’t it?”
Actually it was. Ann just didn’t understand why she didn’t feel that way herself. Everything was working out.
“Are you all right?”
“What?” she said.
“You look pale all of a sudden.”
Ann tried to shake it off. She felt pale too. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ll snap out of it.”
“You’ve been working too hard,” Martin suggested. “It’s no wonder. And then this nightmare business…”
The nightmare, she thought. The hands on her.
“That’ll work out too—you watch,” Martin said, and sipped his Wild Goose lager. “It’s all stress related. All the hours you put in, plus worrying about Melanie, it gangs up on you. Harold’s a great doctor. I know a bunch of profs at the college who see him. The guy works wonders.”
But was that really the answer to her problem? Ann wasn’t even sure what her problems were. Beyond the great window, the city extended in glittery darkness. The moon suspended above the old post office; it seemed pink. Ann was staring at it. Its gibbous shape fixated her, and its bizarre pinkness.
“Mom, are you okay?” came Melanie’s voice.
Now they were both giving her long looks. “Maybe we should go,” Martin said. “You need to get some rest.”
“I’m fine, really,” she feebled. “Once I eat something, I’ll be fine.”
Ann had to force herself to act normal, but everything distracted her. Subconscious ideas of reference, Dr. Harold had called it. Image symbolization. Even irrelevancies reminded her of the nightmare. The glass candle orb on the table. The pretty hands of the waitress as she set out their appetizers. The fleshy pinkness of Martin’s poached salmon, like the pink flesh of the dream which seemed the same eerie pink as the bulbous moon beyond the window. The moon looked bloated, pregnant.
She was pregnant in the dream. Her belly was stretched huge and pink. Then she saw the faces…
The faceless faces.
“Some guy called you a bunch of times yesterday,” Melanie said. “I asked what he wanted but he wouldn’t say.”
Martin looked up. “Did his voice sound—”
“It sounded creepy, like he had a chest cold maybe.”
The same person Martin had mentioned. “It’s probably somebody selling magazine subscriptions,” Ann attempted. But now her curiosity was festering. She didn’t like the idea of someone calling her and not knowing who or even why.
“Whoever he is, I’m sure he’ll call back,” Martin remarked. “I’m a little curious myself now.”
Ann felt a little better when she got something in her stomach. Her glazed Muscovy duck appetizer had been prepared to perfection, and Martin devoured his poached salmon. But Ann realized that her sudden weird behavior had dampened the entire evening. Melanie and Martin were good sports but it showed. They knew something was wrong. Again, Ann struggled to make conversation, to normalize. “I’ll be able to drive Melanie to school most mornings,” she said, but the fact assailed her. Melanie had been in high school two years now, and Ann didn’t even know what the place looked like. She didn’t even know where it was. Martin had registered Melanie.
“Next week I figure I’ll take her to some of the museums in the District,” Martin said. “Too bad you can’t get off.”
Ann didn’t know what he was talking about. “Museums?”
“Sure, and some of the galleries.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to the National Gallery,” Melanie said.
This observation made Ann feel worse; it was just another thing she’d been promising Melanie for years but had never made good on. Still, though, she didn’t understand. “Martin, how can you take her downtown? She has school.”
Martin tried not to frown at her neglect. “It’s spring break, Ann. I’ve been reminding you for weeks.”
Had he been? God, she thought. She remembered now. It had slipped her mind completely.
“Melanie’s off for the whole week, and so am I,” Martin said.
A vacation, it dawned on her. It would be perfect. “I’m sorry, I forgot all about it. We’ll go someplace, the three of us.”
Martin looked at her funny. She hadn’t had a vacation in years, and in the past, whenever he brought it up, an argument usually resulted. “You serious? They’ll give you a week off just like that?”
“Martin, I’m one of them now. I can take off whenever I want provided everything’s in order.”
Martin looked incredulous, poised over his salmon. “This I don’t believe,” Melanie scoffed. “Mom’s going to take time off? That’s a change.”
“A lot of things are going to change now, honey,” Ann assured her.
Melanie was ecstatic. “I don’t believe it. I’m finally going to get to see the National Gallery and the Corcoran.”
“Since your mother’s talking mighty big now,” Martin added, “maybe she can do you one better. Maybe Giverny. Maybe the Louvre.”
They think I’m bullshitting? Ann couldn’t help but smile. Finally, she could do something for them that involved her. “It’s settled, then,” she stated. “This weekend we leave for Paris.”
Melanie squealed.
“You better check with your bosses first,” Martin suggested. “We don’t want to get our hopes up for nothing.”
“Don’t you understand, Martin? I am one of the bosses now. This’ll be great. Paris. The three of us together. The timing couldn’t be better.”
That much was true. The timing couldn’t have been better. But what Ann Slavik didn’t realize just then was that the circumstances couldn’t have been worse.
—
Chapter 2
They never came to him here. They could, he knew, if they wanted to, but there was no reason. He could still see them in his mind and in his dreams; he was always dreaming of them: their swollen, perfect breasts, their beautiful bodies glazed in sweat and moonlight, their unearthly faces. They were like the drugs he used to take, euphoric, potent without mercy. In his dreams he remembered how he’d cowered before them in the promise of flesh. Five years ago they hadn’t been dreams at all.
The phone rang and rang. No one home, he thought, and hung up. He retrieved his quarter and dime and waited.
“Hurry it up,” Duke complained. “I’m missin’ Ping Pong.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Erik grated. “Please.”
Duke shrugged. “It’ll cost ya, fairy.”
Yeah, he thought. “All right. Five minutes?”
Duke grinned.
Erik Tharp didn’t even care anymore. He was doing what he had to do. “The Rubber Ramada,” the staff called this place. It was the state mental hospital. He’d been locked away, forgotten, but that was good, wasn’t it? The world had forgotten about him now, after five years. But so had they.