“Let’s take a look. I’ll turn out the light so we can see better.”
Vicky’s face twisted in sudden panic. “Don’t turn out the lights! Please don’t!”
“Okay. I’ll leave them on. But there’s nothing to worry about. I’m right here.”
They both pressed their faces against the glass and cupped their hands around their eyes to shut off the glare from the room light. Gia quickly scanned the yard, praying she wouldn’t see anything.
Everything was as they had left it. Nothing moved. The backyard was empty. Gia sighed with relief and put her arm around Vicky.
“See? Everything’s fine. It was a dream. You just thought you saw Mr. Grape-grabber.”
“But I did!”
“Dreams can be very real, honey. And you know Mr. Grape-grabber is just a doll. He can only do what you want him to. He can’t do a single thing on his own.”
Vicky said no more but Gia sensed that she remained unconvinced.
That settles it, she thought. Vicky’s been here long enough.
The child needed her friends—real, live, flesh and blood friends. With nothing else to occupy her time, she had been getting too involved with these dolls. Now they were even in her dreams.
“What do you say we go home tomorrow? I think we’ve stayed here long enough.”
“I like it here. And Aunt Nellie will be lonely.”
“She’ll have Eunice back again tomorrow. And besides, I have to get back to my work.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer? “
“We’ll see.”
Vicky pouted. “’We’ll see.’ Whenever you say ’We’ll see’ it ends up meaning’no.’ “
“Not always,” Gia said with a laugh, knowing that Vicky was right. The child was getting too sharp for her. “But we’ll see. Okay?”
Reluctantly: “Okay.”
She put Vicky back between the covers. As she went to the door to switch off the light she thought of Nellie in the bedroom below. She could not imagine anyone sleeping through Vicky’s screams, yet Nellie had not called up to ask what was wrong. Gia turned on the hall light and leaned over the bannister. Nellie’s door was open and her bedroom dark. It didn’t seem possible she could still be asleep.
Uneasy now, Gia started down the stairs.
“Where’re you going, Mommy?” Vicky asked with a frightened voice from the bed.
“Just down to Aunt Nellie’s room for a second. I’ll be right back.”
Poor Vicky, she thought. She really got a scare.
Gia stood at Nellie’s door. It was dark and still within. Nothing out of the ordinary except an odor… a faint whiff of putrefaction. Nothing to fear, yet she was afraid. Hesitantly, she tapped on the doorjamb.
“Nellie?”
No answer.
“Nellie, are you all right?”
When only silence answered her, she reached inside the door and found the light switch. She hesitated, afraid of what she might find. Nellie wasn’t young. What if she had died in her sleep? She seemed to be in good health, but you never knew. And that odor, faint as it was, made her think of death. Finally she could wait no longer. She flipped the switch.
The bed was empty. It obviously had been slept in—the pillow was rumpled, the covers pulled down—but there was no sign of Nellie. Gia stepped around to the far side of the bed, walking as if she expected something to rise out of the rug and attack her. No… Nellie was not lying on the floor. Gia turned to the bathroom. It stood open and empty.
Frightened now, she ran downstairs, going from room to room, turning on all the lights in each, calling Nellie’s name over and over. She headed back upstairs, checking Grace’s empty room on the second floor, and the other guest room on the third.
Empty. All empty.
Nellie was gone—just like Grace!
Gia stood in the hall, shivering, fighting panic, unsure of what to do. She and Vicky were alone in a house from which people disappeared without a sound or a trace—
Vicky!
Gia rushed to their bedroom. The light was still on. Vicky lay curled up under the sheet, sound asleep. Thank God! She sagged against the doorframe, relieved yet still afraid. What to do now? She went out to the phone on the hall table. She had Jack’s number and he had said to call if she needed him. But he was in South Jersey and couldn’t be here for hours. Gia wanted somebody here now. She didn’t want to stay alone with Vicky in this house for a minute longer than she had to.
With a trembling finger she dialed 911 for the police.
12
“You still renting in the city?”
Jack nodded. “Yep.”
His father grimaced and shook his head. “That’s like throwing your money away.”
Jack had changed into the shirt and slacks he had brought along, and now they were back at the house after a late, leisurely dinner at a Mount Holly seafood restaurant. They sat in the living room sipping Jack Daniels in near-total darkness, the only light coming in from the adjoining dining room.
“You’re right, Dad. No argument there.”
“I know houses are ridiculously expensive these days, and a guy in your position really doesn’t need one, but how about a condo? Get ahold of something you can build up equity in.”
It was an oft-held discussion, one they had whenever they got together. Dad would go on about the tax benefits of owning your own home while Jack lied and hedged, unable to say that tax deductions were irrelevant to a man who didn’t pay taxes.
“I don’t know why you stay in that city, Jack. Not only’ve you got federal and state taxes, but the goddamn city sticks its hand in your pocket, too.”
“My business is there.”
His father stood up and took both glasses into the dining room for refills. When they had returned to the house after dinner, he hadn’t asked Jack what he wanted; he’d simply poured a couple of fingers on the rocks and handed him one. Jack Daniels wasn’t something he ordered much, but by the end of the first glass he found himself enjoying it. He didn’t know how many glasses they had had since the first.
Jack closed his eyes and absorbed the feel of the house. He had grown up here. He knew every crack in the walls, every squeaky step, every hiding place. This living room had been so big then; now it seemed tiny. He could still remember that man in the next room carrying him around the house on his shoulders when he was about five. And when he was older they had played catch out in the backyard. Jack had been the youngest of the three kids. There had been something special between his father and him. They used to go everywhere together on weekends, and whenever he had the chance, his father would float a little propaganda toward him. Not lectures really, but a pitch on getting into a profession when he grew up. He worked on all the kids that way, telling them how much better it was to be your own boss rather than be like him and have to work for somebody else. They had been close then. Not anymore. Now they were like acquaintances… near-friends… almost-relatives.
His father handed him the glass of fresh ice and sour mash, then returned to his seat.
“Why don’t you move down here?”
“Dad—”
“Hear me out. I’m doing better than I ever dreamed. I could take you in with me and show you how it’s done. You could take some business courses and learn the ropes. And while you’re going to school I could manage a portfolio for you to pay your expenses. ’Earn while you learn,’ as the saying goes.”
Jack was silent. His body felt leaden, his mind sluggish. Too much Jack Daniels? Or the weight of all those years of lying? He knew Dad’s bottom line: He wanted his youngest to finish college and establish himself in some sort of respectable field. Jack’s brother was a judge, his sister a pediatrician. What was Jack? In his father’s eyes he was a college drop-out with no drive, no goals, no ambition, no wife, no children; he was somebody who was going to drift through life putting very little in and getting very little out, leaving no trace or evidence that he had even passed through. In short: a failure.