-
Donnie went off the road.
Followed by:
(?????????)
Enter.
- I don't like that black hat.
Could be Kelly.
Could be something else.
Enter.
He rapped feverishly on the table four times.
- Delilah.
New girl at daycare.
Reference to Kelly?
A "new girl".
In retrospect it seemed obvious.
If Alex could only repeat what he'd said in life, then he'd latch on to any kind of reference he could manage to a second person, or a female that Ian hadn't heard of before.
He froze.
Jesus.
He arrowed back up to
Donnie went off the road,
added:
Another car went off the road.
That was always how the game went.
It started with Donnie, then another one.
Someone had to come help them both.
There were two cars.
Of course there were.
The van for Eston and Alex.
And something else for Kelly.
Alex had been trying to tell him since
the first night.
Enter.
What else?
"Daddy?"
Ian's heart nearly punched out of his chest.
He snapped his head toward his son, standing on the bottom step, and stifled a scream.
"Jesus, Alex," he managed.
"You scared the shit out of me."
The boy's eyes were heavy with sorrow.
He was in his favorite footy pajamas, festooned with cars and racetracks.
"I can't find Mr. Tuskers."
Ian took a shuddering breath.
"He's not in your room?"
He turned one eye back to the monitor, typed:
- Mr Tuskers?
and
- What's that noise????
"I can't find him," Alex repeated.
"May you look for him please?"
"Alex," Ian said.
He felt a flush of annoyance, but swallowed it.
"I'm trying to find Kelly.
I'm trying to write down everything you've said, okay?
And use it to find her.
Because she got away, right?
I think I finally figured out why you're here.
Because of her, right?
She hurt you, but she never got caught, and Daddy's gonna catch her."
His vision blurred.
His heart thundered.
"Because I won't let anyone who hurt you live."
"Okay, but Daddy I can't find Mr. Tuskers."
Ian shook his head.
"What?"
He had expected
some
thing from Alex, some sign of relief, or happiness -
"I can't find Mr. Tuskers.
Please,
Daddy.
Can you find him, please?"
The annoyance resurged, sharper than before.
God damn it.
"Alex, I'm doing this for
you.
This is what you wanted me to do.
Remember?"
He glanced back to the monitor, typed:
- Raped in the basement.
"But Mr. Tuskers -"
"Alex, I can't find him!
Okay?
He's gone!
We got rid of him when you..."
God
damn
it.
"When we lost you.
I'm sorry, pal, but I just don't have him.
Okay?"
Alex's face broke with tears.
Devastated, he turned and ran back upstairs.
Ian stayed at it for another two hours, eventually branching back online, looking for some leads on his new avenues of inquiry.
He still found nothing.
His newfound reservoir of energy ran dry.
He just didn't have enough to work with.
Even with the clues Alex had given him - even with everything Eston had let slip - there were too many holes.
What was Kelly's last name?
Was her house in Shakopee, like Eston's, or somewhere else?
What kind of car was she driving?
He briefly considered driving to Shakopee, to the neighborhood around Eston's house, to see if anyone remembered seeing her.
But he didn't even know what she looked like.
A night of work, and nothing to show for it.
Alex could find a way back from the dead, but his dad couldn't find the boy's other kidnapper.
Ian slammed his fist into the table.
It rattled through his bones like a thunderclap.
He did it again, then again, then struck himself in the forehead.
His ears rang.
"
God damn it!
" he shrieked.
"
You fucking idiot!"
The accusation echoed in the basement twice and faded away.
His headache sprang back as if summoned.
His wrist hurt; the soreness in his elbow from his tantrum with the Ouija board suddenly started throbbing again.
He drew one deep breath, trying to calm down, then another, then he was weeping.
His fist flailed weakly at the table.
"What the fuck am I doing?" he whimpered.
For just an instant, like the clouds parting for a ray of sun, he realized how mad his little text document - now up to three pages - would look to his wife.
He resolved, again, to seek help.
Then he wondered: if he told Shauna what he was seeing, would she even let him leave the building?
Could she have him committed the same night?
His hands still trembled, but his tears dried.
He saved his document, shut off his computer, and went to bed.
The next morning he stood in the dimness of his shower and realized he just needed to wait.
Eventually, Eston would give Kelly's last name, or a clue to where she lived.
Or Alex would say something else, something more useful, now that he knew Ian was on the right track.
Some
thing.
He had come too far now.
Something would break.
He just had to wait it out.
He bowed his head and let the water run over him, cascading from his hair like a waterfall.
He'd slept terribly.
That was nothing new, no, but still - it was wearing him down.
Alex might not have been screaming every night any more, but Ian still woke up several times every night.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a full night's sleep.
The water ran until it grew lukewarm.
Ian blinked and opened his eyes.
He had washed his hair, but couldn't remember if he'd scrubbed all over.
He got his pits and his crotch again, just to be safe.
The water grew cooler.
He turned the knob as far into the hot as it would go.
Had he washed his feet?
God, this was pathetic.
Screw it.
It was almost time to leave for work.
If his feet stunk he'd just be sure to take his shoes off by Sheila's desk.
He gave a weak chuckle and shut off the water.
As he stepped out, something
pushed
him.
The floor slipped away, and the corner of the sink lunged suddenly for his temple.
He threw out an arm, bounced off the vanity, and felt a singing pain in his neck.
The toilet dug hard into his gut before he thudded into the floor, wet and heaving.
In the sudden, indifferent silence that followed, he stared at the ceiling and wondered if his neck was broken.
"Ah," he groaned.
He lacked even the strength to curse.
"Ah."
He turned his head toward the wall.
His neck let him move it, but god, it hurt.
His shoulder groaned too, and the side of his stomach felt like it had been kicked.
Wincing, but fairly sure his neck was in one piece, he tried to sit up.
His hand slipped on the glistening bathroom floor as he leaned on it, but he grabbed the rim of the sink and managed to keep his balance.
As he sat up, the room spun lazily.
The shower curtain rod had gone askew when he fell; the curtain twisted from it like a cripple's wasted limb.
He stared, panting, daring himself to pull it aside and see what was there.
Eston.
Don't be an idiot, you know it's Eston.
He pushed himself shakily to his feet, then sat down hard on the toilet.
His neck had the world's worst kink, like it had jagged rocks jammed between the vertebrae.
His mind was racing.
He didn't know what to think.
Finally he pivoted his shoulders toward the shower - it hurt less than trying to turn his head - and yanked the curtain aside.
The shower was empty.
What the fuck.
He pushed an arm in, waved it around as if he could catch Eston crouching in the murk.
Jesus.
You fell.
You slipped in the shower.
Jesus Christ, it's not like you're the only one who's ever done it.
You're just lucky you didn't knock yourself out.
He tried to place his head in his hands, then recoiled from the sudden wrenching pain in his neck.
"Ah, fuck!" He grimaced and faced straight ahead, whimpering and cursing.
He hadn't fell.
Something had
pushed
him.
Eston tried to kill me.
He waited for the reflexive scoff, the litany of reasons why this couldn't be the case.
Instead, he remembered Eston telling Alex,
"I will come to your house, and I will kill your mom and dad."
The phone rang.
The bathroom's silence shattered like glass.
Ian whipped his head toward the sound, then pulled it back with an agonized groan.
He made his out of the bathroom slowly, feeling his way along his surroundings like a blind man.
"Hello?"
He braced himself for Eston's voice.
"Ian?"
A woman's voice.
Kelly?
Ian's hand shook, though with fear or fury he couldn't tell.
Maybe both.
He clenched the phone like a knife, growled: "
Who is this.
"
"It's your mother."
Like ice.
Affronted ice.
"Oh."
He relaxed his hand, slightly.
He suddenly felt very stupid.
"Yeah.
Who did you think it was?"
"I don't.... I don't know."
"Is everything okay?
You sound -"
"Yeah, everything's fine.
I was just getting out of the shower."
Inspiration struck.
"I've been getting crank calls every morning."
"Oh, those are the
worst.
"
He gave a shaky sigh.
Crisis averted.
"Yeah."
"Well I'm sorry to call so early, I just wanted to catch you before you left for work."
Ian stole a sidelong glance at the bathroom.
The light was still on, steam curling into the hallway.
"Okay?"
"It's been a long time since you've been over.
I thought maybe you could come over for dinner tonight."
He tensed immediately - he always did at the thought of going to see his mom - but the thought of getting out of the house was intensely appealing.
"That sounds nice," he said.
The words surprised him.
"What time?"