F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (59 page)

           
If only you had known. So many
people live their lives with no sense of direction, no firm sense of self,
easily influenced by the latest fashion, allowing themselves to be blown hither
and thither. Life would be so much easier now if Kara had been one of those.

           
But what alternative do you have?
You are stuck with her until other arrangements can be made.

           
"Want me to help you bring some
of those downstairs?" Jill asks, her wide brown eyes looking up at you,
unsure of what she's done wrong, anxious to make amends.

           
But the last thing you need is this
child trailing behind you down to the basement. You cannot let her learn that
you live down there.

           
"No, thank you, dear," you
say as gently as you can. "I can handle this myself."

           
"Okay," she says.

           
You pull a spoon from the drawer.

           
"What's that for?"

           
Another question. You bite down on
your tongue.

           
"Nothing, dear."

           
You start toward the basement but
she's right behind you.

           
"You stay up here, dear. I'll
only be a few minutes."

           
"I don't want to."

           
"Go up to the top floor and
turn on the television. You can watch cartoons on the giant screen."

           
"I don't want to. I don't like
being up there alone. I want to come with you."

           
"Well, you can't."

           
Her lower lip starts to tremble.
Tears begin to rim her dark eyes.

           
"Mommy, I'm scared up
here!"

           
You try, but you can't keep the edge
off your voice.

           
"That's too bad. You'd better
get used to it because you're going to have to stay here alone lots of times,
starting now."

           
You step into the stairwell and
close the door behind you. There's a latch inside the door. You snap it home.

           
As you hurry down the stairs, you
hear her terrified cries as she bangs on the door.

           
You
beast! You bastard! How could you
—

           
"Enough! My patience is frayed.
I can see that your child is going to be a terrible problem. Something will
have to be done about her."

           
Kara's voice is suddenly
conciliatory.

           
She'll
be all right. She's just got to get used to this place. And when she gets into
a school around here she'll be out most of the day. She's no trouble, really.

           
"I'm sure everything will work
out," you say.

           
But privately you know that the
present situation is intolerable. Despite whatever precautions you may take, it
seems inevitable that the child will discover the reason for your multiple
daily trips into the basement. And what about those times when you want to leave
Kara's body and re-enter your own for brief periods, or return to some of the
other bodies that you've used in the past? What will you do then? You will have
to leave Kara in the padded cell in the office. What are you going to do with
the child—hire a babysitter?

           
No, this will never do. You need
complete privacy in your house. Three's a crowd, as the old adage goes. You
must be rid of Jill. Perhaps a private school in another state, a sleepaway
academy during the school year and summer camp the rest of the time. Plenty of
parents do it. That might work. And then again it might not. You need a
solution you can be assured of, a permanent solution.

           
And suddenly you know.

           
Your fondness for the idea grows as
you spoon the cereal into your mouth. Because it might solve the problem with
Kara as well.

           
And it can happen toady. You've
already planned an 'accident'—a fatal one—for Detective Harris. Why not involve
the child in that same accident? A tragic pair of deaths. And as a possible
lagniappe—the breaking of Kara Wade. Witnessing the deaths of her child and her
lover, watching her own hands cause those deaths and being utterly impotent to
do anything to save them will break her will, crush her spirit. It has to.

           
And after the accident, life within
Kara Wade will be much more pleasant, and far more secure. Not only will there
be no police detective sniffing around her, but the child will be gone. You
will have your house all to yourself again. And Kara Wade will have learned to
be a compliant, submissive hostess.

           
Life will be good again.

           
You glance at your watch. Detective
Harris will be here soon. You'd better get upstairs and set the stage.

           
Jill opened the front door for him.
Rob's throat tightened at the sight of her. His voice became husky.

           
"Good—morning, Miss Wade. How
are you today?"

           
"All right, I guess," she
said and turned away.

           
Rob caught her arm and gently pulled
her around to face him.

           
"That was the most unconvincing
'all right' I've ever heard. What's up, Jill?"

           
She sniffed. "I don't like it
here."

           
He went down on one knee beside her
and put his arm around her waist. Touching her gave him a warm feeling like
he'd never known. Her dark hair and complexion—they were his. He could see that
now. Part him was part of her. The realization awed him.

           
"Nobody likes a new place if
they still like the old place, but there's lots of neat stuff here."

           
Rob didn't care if she didn't like
this house in particular, but he wanted her to like New York. Because he wanted
her to live here and be near him.

           
"Too many steps," she
said.

           
"For an energetic girl like
you? Think of what good exercise it'll be for your legs. Why, in no time you'll
be running—"

           
"And Mom's changed."

           
The rest of Rob's words twisted and
tumbled and caught in his throat as a wave of arctic cold seeped into his
spine.

           
"What do you mean, 'changed?'
"

           
"She's not the same. Like she's
a different person."

           
The cold began spreading to the rest
of his body.

           
"When did she change?"

           
"Yesterday. Just like in the
movie. Except yesterday was Thursday."

           
"What movie?"

           
"
Freaky Friday
. I saw it at Aunt Ellen's. It's about a girl who
switches places with her mother."

           
"What kind of switch?"

           
"She winds up in her mother's
body and her mother winds up in her's. Only that didn't happen with Mom. I'm
not in her body. Someone else is."

           
Rob felt himself begin to tremble as
his daughter spoke his worst fears. He could barely form the words.

           
"Why… why would you say
something like that?"

           
"Because she talks different.
And she yells at me."

           
Rob forced himself to relax. Maybe
Jill was feeling the disruption of being moved from place to place the past few
weeks. From the farm to Ellen's, and now to the townhouse. And Kara had been
under tremendous stress, so she might be a little short these days. Stir those
kind of changes into someone at an impressionable age like Jill, add a movie
like
Freaky Friday
or whatever it was
called, and the result was a child who thinks her mother is someone else.

           
A
good explanation
, Rob thought.
Why
doesn't it make me feel any better
?

           
"I'll straighten her out,"
he said, giving Jill an extra squeeze before releasing her. "Where's this
freaky mom of yours, anyway?"

           
"Upstairs. Listening to
music."

           
"Let's go see her."

           
He took his daughter's hand and
together they climbed' toward the top floor. He heard the music long before he
reached her. He stopped on the second floor and listened to the booming basso
males and shrieking falsetto females, all drawing their notes from deep within
the abdomen, maybe as far down as the pelvis.

           
Opera.

           
The wave of cold hit him again.

           
"Your hand's getting all
sweaty, Rob."

           
"Sorry."

           
He wiped his palms on his pants
legs.

           
Your
mother hates opera.

           
Despite the bright sunlight outside,
the third floor was dark. He found Kara lying back in the recliner, the opera
blaring from the six-foot speakers around the room. Her face was relaxed,
peaceful. She could have been asleep. He leaned over and spoke into her ear.

           
"Since when are you an opera
fan?"

           
She opened her eyes and smiled,
reached up with her arms and pulled his head closer. She kissed him on the
lips, long and passionately. Rob began to respond, but he wasn't comfortable
kissing her like this in front of Jill.