Sarah Flanigan - Poetry Simply Put

She stared at the computer screen. It glared and burned holes in her eyes. On her desk were numerous reference books describing methods of murder, mayhem, body disposal and real-life accounts of atrocities most people are better off not knowing, but upon which she thrived. She was a mystery writer. Murder mysteries, of course. Samantha Smith.

Sam crushed out a cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and pondered whether one could really do damage with a dashboard cigarette lighter. Sam flirted with the idea while her killer paced and screamed from her monitor. “Hey! What the fuck I’m gonna do? Torture her with the lighter in my car or do I get a Zippo? A real man’s weapon?”

“Hey, will you snap out of it?” a voice from the real world yanked her head in another direction.

Sam’s heart braked. She focused on Erica, her best friend. “Jesus Christ, Erica! “Don’t do that! How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?” Sam raked her hands through her fine, blond hair.

Erica wore the expression of a cat who has found the fish tank unattended. “I didn’t sneak up on you, darling. I simply walked in. Is it my fault that you’re so absorbed in whatever murder you’re plotting that you’ve gone deaf?”

“All right,” Sam smiled, “I guess I’m happy for the distraction.” Her villain’s carping, a tiny voice in her head now. She lit another cigarette and looked around for the cup of coffee she’d brought into her office hours before. “Are we having lunch or something? Did I forget again?”

Erica shook her head and thumbed through one of Sam’s reference books. “Mmmm, The Poison Cookbook. That should make for some interesting recipes.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Just dropped in to say, hello.” Erica purred.

Sam took the book away from Erica and put it aside. She admired Erica’s long, red fingernails and pictured her at home in a novel about murder and deceit. She’d make a perfect murderess; beautiful, intelligent and manipulative. Sam let the idea dance in her head. A definite possibility for her next female villain. Sam smiled in that writer way as the wheels turned. Click, click.

Erica tensed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Sam asked.

“Like you’re wondering if I have a gun in my garter belt,” Erica snapped.

“Am I, darling? I’m sorry. Really I was just thinking . . . about my story. You know how preoccupied I can get.”

When Sam looked at her that way, Erica felt Sam could read her thoughts. It pissed her off. She fidgeted with the clasp on her designer handbag. “Don’t lie to me, I know you were thinking something.”

Sam laughed. “You’re right. I was thinking . . . I was thinking what a good murderess you would make.” Erica went white. “Don’t get upset, I don’t mean literally . . . I mean for one of my stories, you know?” Erica’s eyes went icy. Sam hurried to explain. “As a model, I mean. That you would make a good model for one of my villains . . . in a story . . . Oh come on, it’s a compliment really.” Sam found one, little spot in the ashtray to crush her cigarette.

Erica pulled herself together and smiled. “Oh,” she laughed. “Yes, I see. Well, thank you, I think.”

But Sam wasn’t listening, she routed around her desk for something. “Do you have a cigarette?” she asked. “I can’t find mine anywhere.”

Erica frowned. “You can’t find them because you smoked all of them”

“Do you have a cigarette?” Sam grumped.

Erica dug through her bag. “So tell me, what kind of killer would I be?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably clever.” She sat back in her chair and pondered it. “I think one with panache.”

Erica was delighted. “Oooh, with panche. Really, you think?”

Sam nodded and grinned. “Yes, definitely. It would be clever and unexpected. Your victim would trust you and never believe you would do anything to harm them.”

Erica smiled. “I would? How intriguing. Why would I kill? Would I have a reason, or would it just be for kicks?”

Sam liked the game and gave it thought. “Good question. No, you wouldn’t do it for the hell of it. You’d have a reason. Jealousy probably.”

Erica shook her head. “I would not.”

“Oh please, Erica, you know how jealous you are. Don’t you remember last summer? You thought Jim and I were carrying on behind your back? It took us weeks to convince you that your were mistaken”

Erica’s face clouded and she nodded. “Yes, I remember. Of course, I remember.” She found a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Sam. “Here’s your cigarette, darling.”

Sam snatched the smoke, lit it and took a deep drag. “Thank God!” She coughed. “Jesus, these are strong! What are they?”

“Poison, darling,” Erica smiled. “Pure poison.”

“Please, don’t start with the lectures again. I get enough of that crap from my mother. Besides, you smoke too.”

“Yes,” Erica nodded, “but in moderation. It’s not an addiction for me.”

Sam felt dizzy and put the cigarette in the ashtray. “I don’t feel right.”

Erica stroked Sam’s hair and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, darling, it won’t last long. I read it right here in your lovely book. They say the pain doesn’t last long.”

Sam tasted betrayal. “What book? What do you mean?”

“I told you I wouldn’t stand for you and Jim carrying on. You think because I’m beautiful that I must be stupid?” She waved a polaroid of Sam and Jim in Sam’s face. “I know what you did.” Tears welled up in her eyes but she fought them. “Well darling, it’s all over now.”

Sam knew she would be dead in minutes. The world faded out of focus. Her mind screamed questions and defenses but she couldn’t voice them. Equilibrium deserted her. She lunged for Erica but she fell out of her chair to the floor.

Erica bent down and checked for a pulse. She smiled. “Bye, bye, darling.” She put out the burning cigarette in the ashtray and put the stub in her pocket. “You’re right darling, I am a clever murderess, aren’t I? Do you think Jim will be surprised too?” Samantha’s dead eyes stared up at Erica in shock. Erica shrugged. “I guess the Surgeon General is right. Cigarette smoking can be hazardous to your health.”

copyright 2006

Blessed night came and I got the kids settled down. Paul sat on the sofa, listening to soft, lovely music. He had that out-of-this-world look and stared at his own thoughts. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are they asleep?” Paul asked, knowing I was there.

I collapsed into the beanbag chair. “They’re pretending to be.”

Paul smiled. “They’re so mature. I expected them to be smaller.”

“They were, when you left them.” I couldn’t help myself.

Paul took a hankie from his pocket and waved it. “Truce? At least until I’m dead. Then you can hate me all you want.”

I couldn’t respond because I was terrified I’d burst into tears. Again.

“Either we’re on the same side or we’re not, sis.”

I nodded. “Okay. Truce.”

******

After Paul went to bed, I looked in on the kids. The bedside lamp was on, but covered with a pillow case casting a low light. Robby’s answer to no night-light.

“Robby, why do you hate Daddy so much?” Emily asked.

Robby sighed. “He ain’t our dad.”

“Mommy said he is. She wouldn’t lie to us.” Emily insisted.

Robby punched his pillow. “Because he’s a jerk, okay? I hate him because he’s a jerk.”

I knocked lightly on the door and came in. “Hey, you guys should be sleeping,” I smiled. “The Sandman is falling down on the job again.”

Emily giggled but Robby sulked.

“Annie, is my daddy a jerk?” Emily asked.

I sat on the floor between their two beds. “No, honey. He’s not always good at making decisions but he’s not a jerk. He has a good heart.”

“That’s what you say,” Robby snorted.

“Robby, look, you’re old enough now that you have to behave a little better.” I tried to take his hand but he pulled away from me. “I know you’re pissed. I don’t blame you. I would be too.”

“Then why did you make us come here?” he griped.

“Because part of growing up is doing things that you don’t necessarily want to do. Sometimes, even if you hate it, you have to do the right thing.” I looked into his deep blue eyes, Paul’s eyes, and hoped I was reaching him.

“So I gotta be nice to him because he’s going to die?” Robby sneered.

“All I’m saying is don’t mix up your anger at him with hate. You don’t hate your father. You love him. That’s why you’re so mad.”

“Yeah, right,” he said and turned his back to me.

“Is Daddy scared, because he’s going to die, Annie?” Emily asked.

I stroked her soft cheek. “No, honey, I think your daddy understands that part. But I think he’s worried that he won’t be able to show you how much he loves you before he does though.”

Emily thought about it for a minute. “Then why’d he leave us?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I only know that you have a chance to see him now. I hope when you’re older you’ll think of it as a gift that God gave you.”

“Like my angel?” Emily whispered.

I hugged her. “Yes, sweet girl, just like your angel.”

****

Paul:
The morning sun caressed my face, its warmth a soft hand on my cheek. I smiled at the goldness and felt good to be in my own bed. I remembered that my sister and my kids were here with me. My stomach did that flip-flop that made my mind race ahead of itself. But there wasn’t time to dwell on it. I didn’t know how much time I had to do everything.

I got up and thanked God for giving me a chance with Emily and Robby. Even if it went bad, it didn’t matter. Being near them for even a few minutes was worlds better than to have left without seeing them at all.

My feet were cold, but I couldn’t find my slippers. My stomach growled. I was so hungry. Breakfast! I felt inspired to cook.

The house was asleep. Annie was on the sofa, smiling in her sleep. Like when we were kids. I always wondered if her dreams were that sweet or if her mouth just couldn’t help itself. When I entered the kitchen, I discovered my slippers on my Emily’s feet. I was in awe of that beautiful, little creature. How could I have had a part in her creation? God gave me a gift I’d never anticipated.

She talked to herself, or maybe the angel she said watched over me. “Yes,” she murmured, “Uh huh.”

“Morning, little one.” I tousled her russet curls.

Her face was better than sunshine. “Morning, Daddy-o.”

I made coffee, toast and eggs. The room filled with buttery, warm smells. “How’s my angel?”

Emily gave the question some consideration. “Fine. He said that God loves you.” The gold flecks in her eyes gleamed.

We ate and talked and laughed. It felt just so normal, as if we’d done it all our lives. I prayed I’d carry her face with me when I left this life. Certain it would give me the courage to face what would come next.

Annie stumbled in. She listened to me and Emily and derived contentment from our nonsense.

My little cloud, Robby, joined us too. He made sure I saw his resentment. He refused any food my hand had touched. He ate cold cereal after sniffing it, the bowl spoon and the milk. “You look like a puppy,” Emily laughed, “Smelling everything.”

I drank my coffee and read the paper. Robby scrutinized me like a science lab specimen. Annie and Emily were doing girl stuff in the bathroom.

“Is there something you want to say to me?”

“No.” Robby left the room.

“You’re doing good. He’s coming around,” Annie teased, appearing out of nowhere.

“You call that coming around?” I joked.

“It’s a start,” Annie said.

I took in the sight of my sister and my daughter, two beauties from the same planet. Emily could have been Annie’s daughter and I wished for her sake that she was.

“We’re going to get our hair done,” Annie announced. “You boys must fend for yourselves.”

The terror in my eyes made the girls laugh. They kissed my cheek, wished me luck and left.

Robby groaned when he found them gone. “And I’m supposed to babysit you?” he griped.

“I’m going to paint. You can do whatever you want.” I said as if I didn’t care but my heart pounded so hard that I worried the neighbors could hear it.

He pretended not to watch as I mixed the paints and daubed the canvas. I felt his eyes follow every move. I felt his interest.

“Somebody teach you that?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just sort of taught myself. I wanted to take lessons when I was your age.”

“Then why didn’t you?” the question was a dare.

“My folks didn’t have the money for foolish things,” I said casually but felt the hurt that I felt then.

Robby laughed. It sounded good. His laugh. I wanted to hear it again.

“Parents,” he complained. “They never think you know what’s important. If they don’t think of it, then it’s not important. Right?”

I nodded and kept painting. I knew if I kept painting, he’d keep talking. I mixed paints in vain, trying to find the exact color of green of Annie’s eyes. I cursed to myself.

He came up behind me and studied my work. “It looks like her.”

“You think so?” I asked feeling hopeful.

He grunted an affirmative. “Like how she looks on the inside,” he said thoughtfully. My heart did a triple axle. My son understood what I was trying to do.

I gave him the brush. “Want give it a shot?”

His face became a grin. “I don’t know nothing…”

“It’s the color of her eyes,” I said. “I can’t find the right mix…”

**********

Annie:
When we got back, they were covered in paint and laughing. Emily looked up at me and said, “Look, Annie. They like each other!” I let out a breath I’d been holding since I got there. Maybe it would be okay. Happy tears warmed my cheeks. I hugged Emily. “You’re right.”

********

Paul:
I checked the clock, three a.m. If I worked a little longer, I knew I could finish. When they woke up, they’d see it. I felt such joy at the thought. Dawn. Finished. I got the insurance papers and everything she’d need for the kids and put them on the kitchen table. It was time. I woke them.

*****

Annie:
We huddled on the vinyl couch in the hospital waiting room. Robby and Emily cried and whimpered. Barbara sat across from us, trying not to invade our grief. Emily said, “Want to sit with us?” She patted next to her. Barbara joined us. She took my hand and squeezed it. I was thankful she was there and didn’t care if I owed her anything anymore. The doctor came out, dressed in surgical greens. “Are you going to operate?” I was frantic.

The doctor nodded. “One of his lungs has collapsed.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Follow me,” she said.

She took us into Paul’s room. He’d aged twenty years since he’d arrived. The sound he made to breathe scared all of us.

Paul lit up at the sight of us. “Hey Doc did you meet my kids? This is Emily. She’s going to be a movie star when she grows up. Robby is going to be a great painter, just like his old man.”

The doctor smiled and told us we only had a few minutes.

He grinned at us. “Hey what are you doing so far away?”

We went to him, crying but trying to smile.

Robby hugged him the best he could amongst all the tubes and wires going in and out of Paul. “I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, son.” Paul whispered.

“Daddy, are you going to Heaven now?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know honey,” he said. “But give me a hug just in case.”

Robby picked up Emily so she could hug Paul’s neck.

The doctor looked in and nodded at me. It was time to leave. “Okay kids, say good bye to your daddy.”

Paul took my hand, “On the kitchen table…I have papers….”

“I’ll find them. Don’t worry. I’ll find them.” I put my cheek to his, our tears mixed.

“Thank you, Annie. For loving my kids…for loving me.”

“What about Mom and Dad?” I knew he’d never make it through the surgery. “What should I tell them?”

He whispered in my ear, “Tell them I died happy.”

My spirit always raised a little whenever I saw Robby and Emily. They reminded me so much of me and Paul at their ages. The way Robby leaned in to show that he was Emily’s protector to any stranger who might have looked her way. How her eyes shone when she looked into his stern and handsome face. “Robby! Emily!” I called out. So many laughs and hugs and giggles. Like old times. Who cared that we were in a crazy airport being bumped and tripped over by strangers? Robby was a bean pole who wanted to be a star pitcher for the Detroit Tigers. He was never without the ratty cap my dad got him from the first game they saw together. Emily was an Irish beauty in miniature, with wavy auburn hair and sparkly green eyes. He was twelve and very serious about approaching adulthood. She was eight and still believed in Santa Claus. What a pair.
On the drive to Paul’s house in Cambridge, Emily asked, “Annie, where’s my daddy?”
“He’s Annie’s brother,” Robby corrected her. “We don’t have a dad.”
Emily’s face clouded. “We do too! Right, Annie?”
I narrowed my eyes in the rearview mirror at Robby. “That’s right, Em. We’ll see him soon. At the hospital.”

Robby slunked down in the backseat like a prisoner on Death Row. “How long do we have to stay?” He didn’t wait for an answer because he knew one wasn’t coming. After a quick, cold stare at me in the mirror he pulled his sketchbook and colored pens from his backpack and doodled.

****

Paul’s apartment was a happy surprise. He had antiques that were grand and deep and rich in color and other funny little things that he probably found in thrift shops. Goofy, bright-colored bowls, a lava lamp and a bean bag chair.

I knew it was Paul, but a Paul I didn’t know.

Paul had framed and hung his charcoal sketches on the walls. Three big bay windows let in so much sunshine that the room almost smiled. His cherished easel, paints and brushes sat right next to that lovely light. I saw an unfinished painting of a woman who looked familiar. When I took a closer look, I saw it was me, in another life and time. An old Polaroid of me was clipped to the top of the easel. I was touched that he’d wanted to paint me and that I had remained a part of his life, though I didn’t know.

Emily was openly curious and nosed around, looking into everything and every room. “This is neat!” she declared.

Robby froze only a few feet into the apartment and looked like something would jump out and swallow him up if he moved. He pretended to shiver, “Gives me the creeps.”

I had to coax Robby the whole way down the hallway while Emily could barely control her excitement. “Come on!” she called out and disappeared into the back room. I felt encouraged, a little, maybe Robby would be the only tough nut to crack in this situation. She’d probably melt when she saw her father.

Robby said, “I don’t think we should stay here, Annie. What if… what if?” An Academy Award performance, it wasn’t.

Emily popped her head out the door. “What if what?”

I gave Robby the evil eye and he relented. “Nothing, geek.”

Emily stuck out her tongue at him and disappeared back into the room.

Robby pouted. “Okay, but I’m not going to talk to him. You can’t make me. Can’t make me like him.”

The small guestroom was just big enough for a couple of twin beds and a dresser.

“Where are you going to sleep, Annie?” Emily asked concerned.

Robby ripped off the bed clothes from the bed.

“Robby, stop it!”

Robby wouldn’t look at me. “I’m not going to catch what he’s got!” He screamed like an injured animal. He kicked and screamed some more. Emily cried and backed into a corner.

“Robby, stop it!” I yelled though I wanted to be calm. “What’s the matter with you?” I sounded like my mother.

Emily cried harder. “Stop it, Robby! Stop it!”

Robby was flushed and shook with rage. “He’s not my father! He’s not! I hate him!” He made baby sounds and murmured to himself lost in a secret world of anguish.

“Robby please…”

“No, no, no! Take me home!” he erupted again.

“Robby, please! Your dad is sick. He can’t handle this.” Regret crept up and tapped me on the shoulder. I’d only made matters worse. It wouldn’t work. It never could.

Emily stopped crying and smiled. “Who’s that?” she pointed but I couldn’t look because I was trying to get through to Robby.

Emily giggles, “Yeah, I see you. I hear you too. Who are you?” She cooed like a dove. “Uh huh…Sister Mary-Margaret says angels are God’s messengers.” She laughed and pointed to Robby, “I don’t know…he’s really stubborn.”

Robby stopped ranting and eyed Emily, then back to me. “Who is she talking to?”

They exhausted me already and we’d only been there ten minutes. “Nobody. She’s not talking to anybody.”

Emily continued her conversation like we could all see her imaginary friend. She laughed from her belly. “An angel named Al? That’s silly.”

“Emily, who you talking to, sweetie?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded calm and steady.

“Nobody. Just pretending,” she said then started singing a song I didn’t know.

“Geek.” Robby said it like a dirty word.

We heard the door open and then voices. I rushed toward the front room. The kids didn’t move.

Paul and Barbara greeted me as I entered the room. “Hello, there.” Paul sat propped on the sofa as Barbara wheeled a respirator next to him. Though he made a lemon face at Barbara’s coddling, he grinned too.

“How’s that?” Barbara asked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you had to stay in the hospital.”

Barbara grinned like a naughty kid. “We kind of finessed them. See, I’m a nurse. I told them I’d stick around and keep a watch on him.”

“And are you?” I asked. “Are you going to keep an eye on him?”

“I’m five minutes away, just pick up the phone and I’m here in an instant,” she assured me.

“They’re here?” Paul asked with dread.

Emily ran into the room and stopped short of jumping into Paul’s lap. “Are you my daddy?”

Paul melted at the sight of his beautiful little girl. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”

She smiled from head to toe. She went at him like a little fullback and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy! Hi, Daddy.”

“Let go of him!” Robby the monster ordered her. We all jumped at his angry voice. “You want to die like him? Don’t touch him!”

Emily pulled away from Paul but didn’t know what to do.

“That’s not true, Emily,” Paul said gently. “Touching me won’t hurt you. I can’t make you sick like I am.”

“Don’t you touch my sister,” Robby screamed at Paul.

“Robby, this is your father. Mind your tongue!” I scolded him with absolutely no effect.

“He’s not my father. Just some stupid faggot who’s gonna die.” He stormed down the hall and slammed the door to his room.

“Nothing like a warm welcome,” Paul joked, but none of us laughed.

****

(To be continued….) copyright 2006

I sat on the bed and traced the paisley pattern of the ugly bedspread as I talked to my mom. She talked. I listened. I needed a smoke, but I quit. I paced, instead.It was my turn to talk. “Yeah Ma, I saw him. He looks okay. Have you talked to the kids? Jane going to let them…you know…come out? Tell her I’ll take really good care of them. What? She said that? Well you tell her he’s dying and that his kids should at least see him before… What do you mean? Don’t say that! Face it Ma, it’s happening, we can’t stop it! Ma, Ma, don’t cry. Please. Okay… yeah, I’ll call you. Bye.”I hung up the phone and lay down on the bed. I was so cold I shivered although the room was warm. Rain tapped against the window. “The angels are dropping water balloons,” my dad used to say. I smiled and wished I were five, again.I went to the window and watched the rain.“God, I don’t know if I believe in you anymore, but if you’re there, could you please help me?”Somebody knocked. I wondered who it was. I felt scared. Alone in a strange city.

Annie:

The call came in the night. Like all bad things. When it is dark and still. I found myself driving northeast, toward Boston. On the long drive, I had time to think and remember. My brother was dying. My thoughts were only of him and us and the family.I barely acknowledged the freeway signs as they pointed me toward his sick bed. His final days. Our last meeting was years ago, in the winter. We saw The Rocky Horror Show; a movie where the audience called out the lines with the actors on the screen and threw bread and toilet paper up into the air. Fascinating and revolting. Later, we went to a pub where there was no ladies’ room and I was the only woman. It smelled of beer and anticipation. Oddly, I felt at ease there, as if in a sea of big brothers who would protect me from harm.Then nothing. I called but he didn’t call back. I wrote but the letters came back, unopened; stamped in red, “return to sender, addressee unknown.”A month before ‘the call’ I had nightmares in which I was forced to watch Paul’s murder. Unable to do anything to stop it. I had no voice, only eyes. It was God’s way of telling me. I despised my intuition sometimes.

Danny shoveled cereal into his mouth until he could hardly chew. He gulped his juice and tapped his foot.

“In a hurry for something?” Nora chided.

“No Mom,” the words garbled in a sea of cornflakes. He swallowed. “Just hungry. Real hungry.”

After breakfast, they did the dishes. Then they made the beds, dusted, vacuumed, went to the store and bought groceries and flashlights. Hours had passed by the time they finished. Danny fretted that Buddy was gone. Back to wherever he lived when he wasn’t peering from a mirror into Danny’s world.

Before the car stopped, Danny threw his door open, desperate to get out of his seat belt. “Slow down. Help me with the groceries,” Nora said.

“Aw Mom, gimme a break! You’ve been working me like a slave all day!” Danny groaned.

“You don’t look right,” she peered into his face and felt his forehead. “Are you coming down with something?”

Danny evaded her mother radar. “I’m okay, Mom.”

“Go take a nap,” she instructed.

“A nap?” He made a face.

“Go on. Upstairs for a nap.”

“Jeez, what’s a guy got to do to get a little respect around here?” He went to his room and waited. She’d check on him and he couldn’t sneak up to the attic until she did. He lay on his bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling, watching them change shape and dimension, turning them into faces, people and things.

When he roused, the sun was streaks in the scarlet sky. He sprang out of bed. Carefully, he cracked the door and listened for Nora. She spoke quietly, but he was so desperate to see Buddy that he didn’t wonder who the visitor was.

He sneaked the few steps to the attic and stole up the stairs. The darkness made him itch to turn on a light but he feared discovery more than the shadows, so he groped across the room. “Buddy? Buddy, you here? Come on, don’t be mad. She made me do all this stuff and then she made me lay down. Buddy?”

Danny leaned against the mirror, hoping it would force Buddy out, but it didn’t. Tears rolled down his cheeks but he didn’t care. He looked harder into the mirror but saw only his own sad face. He pressed harder and willed himself through to the other side. Suddenly he was looking down a long, dark hallway. His brain told him he was only leaning against a mirror. There was no Buddy, no hallway or shadows that took the shape of boys his own age. Nor wind whistling through the hall, calling his name. It was better to believe it was his imagination than to believe Buddy had deserted him.

Buddy appeared and motioned Danny to come in. Danny blinked. Buddy remained. He reached out to Danny, fingertips almost touching. Danny’s heart somersaulted. He couldn’t swallow. “I won’t pull away,” he promised himself. “No matter what!”

Buddy disappeared and reappeared, each time a little closer. Danny bit his lip and stretched his arm as far as he could. It snaked out into the hallway as if looking to attach itself to a body. He could feel Buddy’s breath, warm and moist on his face. Danny’s head pushed through the mirror into the hallway. He was half-in and half-out hoping his will could get him all the way there. Buddy took his hand and yanked him further inside. Other boys, like Buddy, appeared and began to chant. “Ally, ally, in for free, in for free, in for free . . . ”

“No!!!” Danny screamed. Fear stopped him from taking the final step. He couldn’t leave Nora all alone. She needed him.

Buddy and the boys vanished. Only Danny’s reflection occupied the mirror.

He shot down the stairs. “Never going back there again,” he said. The sadness of never seeing Buddy again engulfed him for a moment. “Can’t go back. Mom needs me more than you, Buddy.”

He closed the attic door and leaned against it to catch his breath. The murmurs from down stairs caught in his ears. “Who is she talking to?”

Though the creaking stairs announced his approach, they didn’t hear him. “Who is it?” he wondered and stepped to the living room entrance.

“I can’t,” Nora said. “I just can’t!”

Was she crying?

“But I want you to be safe,” said a man. A man? What man?

Danny peered into the room. Nora stood by the fireplace in the arms of a man Danny didn’t know. They kissed. Danny cringed.

“I know you love me,” he said.

“I do love you, David,” she cried. “I have to think of Danny. If Frank ever knew . . . he’d kill you!”

Danny burst into the room and ran at the stranger, David. “Leave her alone!” He punched at David. “Get your hands off my mother!”

Nora pulled Danny away. “Danny! It’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Danny stopped and looked at her and then him. “Who is he?”

“His name is David,” she explained.

Danny made the connection. The fight. The departure. This house. He was sick with anger. “Is that why we came here?” he asked.

Nora touched Danny’s face. “No, Danny. That’s not why. We came here to be safe.”

“You said it was just you and me. Not him! Not anybody but us!” Danny wondered what other lies she’d told. “You lied! You’re a liar!”

“Danny . . . ”

“No!!!” He ran up the stairs, two at a time. Away from the footsteps behind him. “No, no, no!!!” He slammed his door and locked it

She rapped on his door urgently. “Danny!”

David, must have come because their voices whispered and didn’t come under his door. Danny waited and listened. The whispers stopped, footsteps moved away, the stairs creaked, silence.

Danny huddled on his bed and rocked himself. He chanted. “liar, liar, pants on fire…she’s a liar . . . ”

“That’s what I been trying to tell you,” Buddy said.

Danny raised his head. Hope came back to him.

“Stop pretending,” Buddy said, “you know where I am.”

Danny tiptoed to the bureau but paused just before he looked into the mirror.

“What’s the matter, you a scaredy cat?”

“No, I’m not!” Danny said and stepped before the mirror.

Buddy grinned back at him.

“How’d you do that? Don’t you live in the other mirror?” Danny asked.

“I live all kinds of places,” Buddy winked.

Danny nodded, ready to believe.

“No parents. No grownups. Nobody tells us what to do. Nobody chases us. Or lies to us.”

Danny narrowed his eyes at Buddy. “Truth?”

“Truth!” Buddy reached out his hand. “Come on. You don’t want to stay here anymore, do you?”

Danny didn’t but he still wasn’t sure. “What if I want to come back?”

“You won’t ever want to come back.” Buddy reached out his hand again. “I promise.”

Nora rapped at his door again. “Danny! Danny, open the door . . . honey? I can explain . . . ”

The betrayal renewed itself. Danny swallowed hard and reached for Buddy’s hand. The instant contact made him feel faraway and untouchable.

“Danny, do you hear me?” Her voice barely there.

Danny’s arm and shoulder were through and part of his other arm. The boys smiled and reached out for him.

“I’m coming in,” Nora said but he knew she’d never reach him.

He was in! Buddy and the boys gathered around, laughing, cheering, singing. “Danny’s here, Danny’s here. No more fear, Danny’s here!” His fears fell away and he was happy.

Nora turned the key in the lock and stepped into the room only to find a shattered mirror lying in shards on the floor. “Danny?” She searched under the bed, in the closet, even looked out the window to see if he hid on the ledge. “Where are you?”

Danny’s eyes appeared in one shard of glass, but she didn’t see. She thought she heard the sound of children laughing but couldn’t be sure.

“Where have you been?” Nora asked. Danny wondered how she was also able to appear at will.

Danny gasped. “Gee Mom, can’t a guy put on his pajamas in private?”

Nora smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t know you . . . minded.”

Danny buttoned his pajama shirt to the top button though it was too tight. “I do, Mom. I really do.” He climbed into bed. “I’m not a baby any more.”

She pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Does that mean I can’t tuck you in?” Her smile was a cocoon that made him feel safe. He wondered why his mother could be so good and his father so bad.

Danny touched Nora’s coffee-colored hair that hung past her shoulders. He blurted out the question that hovered between them. “Mom, are we getting a divorce?” He watched Nora’s face for a change of expression. Dread gnawed at him when none appeared.

Nora kissed him goodnight and moved to the door. “Don’t worry so much, son. Everything will be fine.” She closed the door behind her. Danny listened to her footsteps move away from the room and him.

_____________

Danny awoke with a stiff back and cold feet. Though the sun shined in his eyes, his body shivered. He reached for blankets that weren’t there. He sat up and leaned against the wall.Why was he in the attic? The cobwebs of his dreams dissolved and the real world came into focus. “What . . . ?”

“Bad dream, huh?” the mirror boy asked.

Danny averted his eyes. “I’m still dreaming.”

“Nope.”

Danny padded barefoot, across the cold, plank floor to the dingy mirror and studied the boy. “Who are you?”

“Buddy’s the name, fun’s the game.”

“Why are you here? Danny scowled. “This is a rotten place. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to.”

“Can’t help where you live.” Buddy lost his grin. “Been here a long time.”

“You’re a gho…you know a…are you?”

“Don’t know. Maybe. Never asked.” Buddy’s amber eyes lost their shine. “Want to be friends?”

Danny moved in closer and put his hand out but when Buddy reached back Danny jerked his hand away. Both jumped, then laughed.

“You scaredy cat,” Buddy teased.

I’m not scared,” Danny contended.”Surprised me, is all.”

“Want to come in?” Buddy reached again.

“In?”

“Come on! You’ll like it!” The mirror shifted and moved, becoming almost liquid. Buddy’s hand transformed into a mutant claw as it extended through the tarnished glass. Danny balked.

“Danny?” Nora called from the second floor.

“Up here, Mom,” Danny answered. His eyes remained on Buddy, afraid he might change if he looked away.

“Breakfast.” Her voice sounded wrong. He felt shadows over his shoulder but pushed them away.

“Coming.” He whispered to buddy. “Be back later. Wait for me?”

Buddy grinned. “Uh-huh. I can wait . . . for a while.”

copyright 2006 (to be continued…)

Like ghostly eyes, headlights emerged out of the fog, briefly blinding Danny before rushing by. Shivering, he pulled his parka around him.

“Are you cold, honey?” Nora, his mother asked.

In the sparse light of the dashboard, Danny saw the bruise that spread across her cheek, a final, painful gift from his father. He closed his eyes and images assaulted; Grownups screaming, a lamp smashed to the floor, angry engine revving as his mother called his name so urgently that walls seemed to shake. His father’s face flushed and pressed against the car window. Echo of tires squealing, brakes screeching. Then dark. Then nothing.

“You’re sure he won’t find us?”

“I’m sure.” Nora lowered her voice to keep it steady.

He touched his arm and remembered his own aching memento under his coat. “You don’t sound sure. What if you’re wrong?” Danny asked.

“I’m not wrong. He doesn’t want to find us.” Nora shifted her gaze from the road to Danny for a moment. “We’re safe, honey.”

Danny folded into his own world and pictured things that made him feel safe. Riding his bike through the early morning streets. A triple-scooped cone of rocky road. The way his mother’s nose crinkled when she laughed.

The car rolled to a stop. “This is it,” Nora murmured.

Through the window, Danny stared into the fog. A beach house, weathered and gray, emerged like an angry phantom bent on revenge. It looked more to be made of shadows and secrets than wood and mortar. Warily, Danny opened his door and stepped into the wet air.

The house was colder than his father’s smile. He remembered again, the angry, red face, screaming obscenities and vowing revenge. How those screams were swallowed by the sound of fists banging. The nausea he felt when the car careened out of the parking structure to the safety of the highway.

“Well?” Nora prodded. “You going to help me or not?” She pulled the sheets off the furniture.

Danny stepped into the room gingerly as if it was a monster that would swallow him up. He forced himself through the motions with Nora and felt better once they’d finished.

Nora made dinner. The aroma of meatloaf tickled Danny’s senses and issued a primal command to his brain to relax. He laughed when the gravy spoon upturned and splattered him with savory brown goo.

________

As Danny wandered the house, its creaks and moans renewed his anxiety. Yet, something else calmed him.

He discovered the attic door. The light switch worked. The steps squeaked like tortured mice in bad traps.

The smell of old clothes, rotting wood and salt air punished his nose.

“Hey! Who let you up here?” another boy’s voice complained.

Danny flinched. He was alone in the room. Completely alone.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you understand English?” the boy asked.

Danny’s heart thumped. A mirror, ancient and scratched, glowed in the corner. Something moved. “Oh God, oh God . . . ” Danny thought he would wet himself.

“Why you whispering?” the boy complained. “Nobody but me and you, here. And nobody’s listening to us.”

“Mirrors don’t talk! Where is he?” Danny thought.

“Here!” he answered Danny’s thoughts. “Over here!”

Danny followed the voice and stopped. A boy grinned at him from the mirror.

“Something wrong?” The boy was Danny’s age, but taller and gangly. His wordly expression contradicted his impish face. A child with an old man’s eyes. Shaggy red hair framed a heart-shaped face. When he grinned, Danny felt an odd kinship to him. Like finding a lost twin brother.

Danny approached the image that blocked his own reflection. “It’s a trick, right?” He craned his neck. “Where are you?”

“Right here! You’re looking at me,” the boy giggled.

Danny ignored the fist in his stomach. “Nobody can be in a mirror.”

“I can!” the boy teased.

“This is too weird, for me.” Danny turned from the mirror and made straight for the stairs.

“No! Don’t go! Talk to me,” the boy called out.

Danny hustled down the rickety stairs. Squeak, squeak went the stairs. Thump, thump went his heart. (to be continued…)

copyright 2006

It was an ordinary night for me. I drove home from work, it was late, and I was tired. For a moment, I looked away from the road to push in the cigarette lighter. I was alone on the road and I knew nothing would happen if I looked away for a moment. The flash of movement that glanced my peripheral vision was so slight it could have been a hair falling in my eye. But instead, it was a little boy on a bike, who darted out in front of me. I jumped on the brakes with both feet and prayed the car would stop. I heard the thud of metal and body meeting, despite prayers.Unable to move because of my dread and overload of adreline I could hear all of the infintesimal noises of the night; distant traffic, muffled television sets, crickets, people arguing as if there were no neighbors for miles. Suddenly, I stood in the middle of the street without having any recollection of getting there.I managed to move around to the front of the car, while the voice in my head screamed, “hurry, hurry, hurry…he could still be alive…” but I knew he wasn’t. He lay dead, under the wheels of my car, of this I was certain. Braving a look I saw…nothing. Sure my hysteria had blinded me to reality, I kept looking for the dead person that had to be there. But  didn’t find him because there was no one there, except me. “Good Nancy, you’re running over ghosts on bicycles now. I’m definately, really, absolutely going to make an appointment with the eye doctor tomorrow.”“Who are we talking to?” a policeman wanted to know. I hadn’t seen him coming, hadn’t noticed the patrol car or the lights. Another shot of adrenaline shot through my system and I jumped like an old puppet, poorly manuevered.I smiled. “I guess you’re wondering why I’m stopped in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night, talking to my car?”He shined his flashlight in my face to see if I was drunk. “I guess I am.”