Comes the Blind Fury (21 page)

“I want to see things that happened a long time ago. Things I could never see then … I’ve been waiting for you for so long—for a while I didn’t think I’
d
ever be able to see. I tried. I tried to get other people to show me, but they never could. And then you came …”

The whispering was interrupted by a sound.

“What’s that?” the voice whispered.

“Just Jenny. She’s crying.” From the nursery down the hall, the wails of the baby increased. Michelle
waited a moment, sure she would hear her mother’s tread on the stairs. Then the voice whispered to her again.

“Show her to me.”

“The baby?”

“I want to see her.”

Jennifer’s cries had turned into a squalling sob. Michelle went to the door.

“Mom?” There was no response.

“Mom, Jenny’s crying!” When there was still no response, Michelle started down the hall toward the nursery. She was sure Amanda was with her, beside her: though she could see nothing, she could feel a presence. She decided she liked that feeling.

She opened the door to the nursery. Jennifer’s cries were suddenly louder. Michelle picked up the crying baby, cradling it against her chest as she had been taught by her mother.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” she whispered to Amanda.

“Do something to her,” Amanda whispered back.

“Do something? Why?”

“She’s like the others … she’s not your friend …”

“She’s my sister,” Michelle protested uncertainly.

“No, she isn’t,” Amanda told her. “She’s
their
daughter, not
your
sister. They love her, not you.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It is true. You know it’s true. You have to do something.” The whisper became intense, urging Michelle, commanding her.

She looked down into the face of the baby, saw Jenny’s tiny features, grimacing with unhappiness, and suddenly, unreasonably, she wanted to squeeze her, wanted to make her stop crying, wanted to punish her.

Her arms tightened, and she pressed Jennifer against her chest.

Jennifer’s screams took on a note of pain.

Michelle squeezed harder. Jenny’s cries seemed to fade away, and the sound of Amanda’s voice grew louder.

“That’s right,” the voice crooned in her ear. “Harder. Squeeze her harder …”

Jenny’s eyes began to bulge in her head, and her little arms flailed as she tried to breathe. The wailing was growing softer, turning into a whimper.

“Just a little more …” the voice whispered.

And then June appeared at the nursery door. “Michelle? Michelle, what’s happening?”

It was as if a switch had been turned. The voice in Michelle’s head was gone. She stared first at her mother, then down into Jennifer’s face. She realized she was squeezing the baby, squeezing it so hard, she was hurting it. She relaxed the pressure. Jennifer suddenly stopped crying and gasped a little. The slight bluish cast to her skin faded, and her eyes seemed to ease back to a normal position. “I—I heard her crying,” Michelle said. “When you didn’t come up, I came in to see what was wrong. All I did was pick her up …”

June took Jenny, who had once more begun to sob, and cuddled her against her breast.

“I was out in the studio. I couldn’t hear her. But it’s all right now.” She stroked the crying Jennifer, and made soothing noises. “I’ll take care of her,” she told Michelle. “You go on back to your room. Okay?”

For a moment, Michelle hesitated. She didn’t want to go back to her room. She wanted to stay here, with her mother and her sister.

Amanda’s voice came back to her, reminding her that Jennifer was not her sister. And this woman was not her mother. Not
really
. Her mind filled with confused images and thoughts, Michelle limped out of the nursery, made her way down the hall to her room.

She lay on the bed, cradling her doll in her arms, staring at the ceiling.

It was all starting to make sense to her now.…

Amanda was right.

She was alone.

Except for Amanda.

Amanda was her friend.

“I love you,” she whispered to the doll. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

When Cal came home that afternoon June was sitting in the kitchen, holding Jennifer on her lap, gazing out at the sea. He paused at the kitchen door, and watched them. The indirect light of the afternoon cast a soft glow over them, and for a moment Cal was overwhelmed by the beauty of the scene—the mother and child,
his
wife and daughter, with the window and the cove beyond framing them almost like a halo. But when June turned to face him, his feeling of well-being was shattered.

“Sit down, Cal. I have to talk to you.” He didn’t need to be told that she wanted to talk about Michelle.

“Something’s wrong,” June began. “It’s more than her limp, and God knows that’s bad enough. Something happened at school today, or after school. She wouldn’t tell me what, but it frightened her.”

“Well, it was her first day back—” Cal began, but June didn’t let him finish.

“There’s more. I was out in the studio this afternoon,
working. I heard Jenny crying, and when I went up to take care of her, Michelle was there. She was holding Jenny, and she had the strangest look on her face. As if she wasn’t aware of what was going on. And she was squeezing Jenny.…” Her voice trailed off, the memory of the afternoon still vivid in her mind.

Cal remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained.

“What are you trying to say? You think something’s wrong with Michelle?”

“We know something’s wrong with her,” June began, but this time Cal didn’t let her finish.

“She fell, and she got bruised, and she’s missed some school. But she’s getting better every day.”

“She’s not getting better. You wish she were, but if you’d spend some time with her, you’d see that she’s not the same girl she used to be.” Against her will, June’s voice began to rise. “Something’s happening to her, Cal. She’s turning into a recluse, spending all her time by herself with that damned doll, and I want to know why. And as for you, you’re going to spend some time with her, Cal. You’re going to go with me when I take her to school tomorrow, and you’re going to go with me when I pick her up. And in the evenings, you’re going to stop burying yourself in Jenny and your journals, and start paying some attention to Michelle, Is that clear?”

Cal stood up, his face dark, his eyes brooding. “Let me handle my life my own way, all right?”

“It’s not your life,” June shot back. “It’s my life, and Michelle’s life, and Jenny’s life, tool I’m sorry about everything that’s happened, and I wish I could help you. But my God, Cal, what about Michelle? She’s
a little girl and she needs us. We have to be there for her. Both of us!”

But Cal didn’t hear her last words. He had already left the kitchen, hurrying down the hall to the living room, where he closed the door behind him, poured himself a drink, and tried to shut out his wife’s words, accusing him, forever accusing him.

But the words would not be shut out.

He would have to prove her wrong.

Prove to her, and to himself, that everything was fine, that Michelle was all right. That
he
was all right.

That evening, after dinner, Michelle appeared in the living room, her chess set tucked under her arm. “Daddy?”

Cal was sitting in his chair, reading a journal, while June sat opposite him, knitting. He made himself smile at his daughter. “Hmmm?”

“Want to play a game?” She rattled the box of chessmen.

Cal was about to beg off, when June shot him a look of warning. “Okay,” he said without enthusiasm. “Set it up while I get a drink.”

Michelle carefully lowered herself to the floor, her left leg sticking out awkwardly, and began setting up the chessboard. By the time her father returned, she had already made her first move. Cal settled himself on the floor.

Michelle waited.

He seemed to be studying the board, but Michelle wasn’t sure. Finally, she spoke.

“It’s your move, Daddy.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Automatically, Cal reached out to counter Michelle’s opening. She frowned slightly and
wondered what was wrong with her father’s game. Tentatively, she began setting him up for a fool’s mate.

Again, Cal sat silently staring at the board, sipping his drink, until Michelle reminded him that it was his move. When he made his play, Michelle looked up at him in astonishment Didn’t he see what she was up to? He’d never let her get away with this before. She advanced her queen.

June put her knitting aside, and came to look at the board. Seeing Michelle’s strategy, she winked at her daughter, then waited for Cal to spoil the gambit. But Cal didn’t seem aware of what was happening.

“Cal? It’s your move.”

He made no response.

“I don’t think he cares,” Michelle said quietly. Cal didn’t appear to hear her. “Daddy,” she said, “if you don’t want to play, you don’t have to.”

“What?” Cal came out of his reverie, and reached out to make a move. Michelle, tempted by his lack of concentration, quickly set her trap and waited for her father to slip out of it. He’d been baiting her, she was sure of it. Now he’d come up with something smart, and the real fight would begin. She began to look forward to the rest of the game.

But Cal only drained his drink, listlessly made a useless move, and shrugged as Michelle slid her queen into position and announced the checkmate. “Set ’em up, and we’ll do it again,” he offered.

“Why?” Michelle asked. She stared at her father, her eyes stormy. “It isn’t any fun if you aren’t even going to try!” Quickly, she tossed the chessmen back in the box, struggled to her feet, and went upstairs.

As soon as she was gone, June spoke. “I suppose I
should give you credit for trying. Even if you didn’t look at her, talk to her, or react to her, at least you sat across from her. How did it feel?”

Cal made no reply.

CHAPTER 15

Cal sat in his car for a long time after Michelle had disappeared into the school building. He watched the other children arriving, sturdy, healthy children, skipping through the autumn morning, laughing among themselves.

Or were they laughing at him?

He could see them glancing over at him every now and then. Sally Carstairs even waved to him. But then they would turn away, giggling and whispering among themselves, as if they somehow knew how frightened he was of them. But they couldn’t know. They were only children, and he was a doctor. Someone to be trusted, and admired.

It was a sham, all of it. He neither trusted nor admired himself, and he was sure they knew it; he knew all about children’s instincts—their ability to pick up the vibrations around them. Even tiny babies, carefully shielded from reality, react to tension between their parents. These children, the children whose
health he was supposed to be responsible for—what did they think of him? Did they know what he was really like?

Did they know he was afraid of them?

Did they know that fear was turning to hatred?

He was sure they did.

A car pulled into the parking lot next to the school, and Cal saw Lisa Hartwick get out, glance at him, wave, then follow the last of the stragglers up the steps. He twisted the key in the ignition, put the car in gear, and was about to pull away when he saw a man waving to him. Lisa’s father, apparently. Cal put the car in neutral, and waited.

“Dr. Pendleton?” Tim Hartwick was leaning down on the passenger side of Cal’s car, his hand poking in through the window. “I’m Tim Hartwick.”

Cal forced himself to smile genially and take the outstretched hand. “Of course. Lisa’s father. You have a wonderful daughter.”

“Even when she lies about being sick?”

“They all do it,” Cal replied. “Even Michelle did her best to stay in bed a few extra days.”

“But there was something wrong with Michelle,” Tim reminded him. “Lisa was out-and-out faking. Thanks for not letting her get away with it.”

Cal shrugged. “Actually, she owned up to it herself. I was about to stick a tongue depressor in her mouth, and she decided the truth was better than choking on the lie.”

“How’s Michelle getting along?” The question caught Cal off guard, and he hesitated for a second. Then, too quickly:

“Fine. She’s doing just fine.”

Tim Hartwick’s brow furrowed. “I’m glad to hear it.

Corinne—Miss Hatcher, Michelle’s teacher—was a little worried. Said something about yesterday being hard for Michelle. I thought I might have a chat with her.”

“With Michelle? Why?”

“Well, I’m the psychologist for the school, and if one of the kids is having a problem—”

“Your own kid is the problem, Mr. Hartwick. She lies, remember? As for Michelle, she’s fine. Just fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some appointments waiting for me.” Without waiting for a reply, he put the car in gear and drove away.

Tim Hartwick stood thoughtfully on the sidewalk, watching Cal’s car disappear down the street. Obviously, the man was under strain. Too much strain. If Michelle was, indeed, having problems, Tim was sure he knew where they were rooted. He made a mental note to talk to Corinne about it, and, if necessary, Michelle’s mother.

It was even worse today. Michelle felt like an outsider, a freak, and by the time the last bell rang, she was glad that her parents were coming to get her.

She made her way slowly down the hall. When she reached the front steps, all her classmates had disappeared. She halted at the top of the stairs and looked around.

There was still a group of little girls, the third-graders, playing with a jump rope. With her parents nowhere in sight, Michelle settled on the top step to watch them. Suddenly one of the little girls left the group, came to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up at Michelle.

“Do you want to play with us?”

Michelle frowned at the child. “I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I can’t jump anymore.”

The little girl appeared to consider this bit of information. Then she brightened.

“Well, you could turn the rope, couldn’t you? That way I’d have more turns.”