Mother (64 page)

“I’d say she’s suffered some kind of trauma and has … well, checked out.”

“Checked out?” His voice sounded high and thin.
 

Stephanie put a hand to Claire’s face, peeled back one of her eyelids. She frowned, felt Claire’s forehead, then lifted her arm and checked her pulse. “There’s something else going on here.”

“What do you mean?”

For the first time, Steffie looked at Jason. “Her pupils are dilated, for one thing. I think she’s on something.”

“
On
something? On what?”

Steffie shrugged. “I’d imagine Priscilla has drugged her.”

“That fucking bitch.” Jason spoke under his breath. He palmed his wife’s face, kissed her cheeks, his own tears brimming. “Claire,” he said. “Talk to me. Please, baby, talk to me.”

In the distant reaches of her mind, Claire thought she heard Jason’s voice, but it dissolved before she was able to wrap herself around it.

She was with Timothy. He spoke to her in such low, quiet tones that she had trouble making out his words. Behind his voice, she kept hearing a distant tinkle of sound - music - and occasionally she saw flashes of a tiny plastic ballerina, arms overhead, turning a slow circle.

“... the truth …” Tim’s voice insisted. “You have to know the truth.”

Claire tried to find him, tried to
see
him, but the world was black. She wanted to communicate with him, but even here she was voiceless.

“ … the truth … You know it … remember … try to remember ...”

Then another voice. “Please, baby. Talk to me.”
 

Jason?
 

Then the tinkling music came closer.

The plastic ballerina spun faster.

Jason broke down. He let Claire’s arm fall limply to her side and, burying his face in his hands, he wept without shame.

Stephanie leaned toward him, took his hand. “She’ll come out of it, Jason. She will. When a person experiences something traumatic, they sometimes detach temporarily. That’s what this is. I’m almost positive.”

“What am I supposed to
do
?” he asked.

“Just keep talking to her. Tell her she’s safe. Tell her to come back. We need her to come back.”

Jason raised his head but one look at his hollow-eyed wife restarted silent tears. “What did she do to you, Claire? What the hell did she do to you?”

They both talked to her for long minutes. Finally, there was a flutter of eyelid, then Claire blinked.

“Claire?” Jason moved close, taking her hand.

Steffie’s eyes remained fixed on Claire. “Claire, can you hear us? We need you to come back.”

Claire blinked twice more, slowly, then turned her head and looked at Jason. He saw the knowledge, the
awareness,
filtering into her eyes. She blinked again. “My music box. The one Timothy gave me.” Her voice was a dry, papery whisper. “Water.”

Jason turned to lift a full water glass off the desk.

“No,” Steffie said. “Here.” She pulled a bottle of water from her jacket, unscrewed the lid, and put it in Claire’s hands. Claire drank greedily until Steffie gently pulled it away. “Not too much, it’ll give you cramps. You’re very dehydrated.”
 

Claire nodded.

“What?” Jason kissed her face, over and over. “What about your music box, baby?”

“That’s where it is,” said Claire. “In my music box.”
 

She turned and looked at Steffie and, for the first time, smiled. It was like the sun breaking through the blackest clouds Jason had ever seen, warming, and soul-soothing.
 

“Steffie?” Claire asked.

Stephanie smiled back. “In the flesh!” She put an arm around her and they hugged for a long time.
 

 
Claire turned to Jason. “Magic Man. I missed you.” She kissed him, pulled him into an embrace.
 

When he released her, she looked at him, then squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m still having … I’m still seeing things.”

“What?” asked Jason.

“Things.”

“Tell us what you mean.” Stephanie brushed sweat-damp hair off Claire’s forehead.

Claire shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know.” For a long moment, she didn’t move, then she looked up. “My music box, Jason. I need you to go get it.” She paused. “It’s already packed, but it’s still in the apartment.”
 

“But honey, I-”

“It’s important, Jason.”

He looked at Steffie and she nodded at him. “I’ll stay with her. Go.”

Jason kissed his wife one more time, feeling horrible for leaving her but wanting to fulfill her wish, whatever the reason might be.

“It’s in one of the boxes in the bedroom,” said Claire.

“I understand.”

“And don’t let Mother see you, okay? Especially don’t let her see the music box.”

“I won’t.” Jason took off, hurrying for fear she might slip back into whatever state she’d been in before he returned.

Secrets

Earlene Dean and Priscilla Martin were standing off on the Dean lawn like two cats sizing each other up for battle. Their movements were stiff and slow, their postures rigid. Near the house, the twin girls watched, eyes wide, fingers stuffed in their mouths. Half the street was staring.

Father Andy approached, hoping his collar would keep him out of the fray that, in his mind, was about to turn into a cartoon whirlwind of arms and legs. As he neared the women, he imagined he heard them growling and hissing.

“Your children need to be taught a lesson.” Prissy snarled. “They are evil, undisciplined brats and you people don’t belong here.”

“You don’t talk about my kidsss that way, you nosy old bitch. You never talk about my babiesss that way unlesss you want me to kill you.” Earlene Dean’s wandering eye made her appear even fiercer than Priscilla.

“Kill me? I’ll have you arrested for making threats, you inbred good-for-nothing …
 
cunt!”

Andy Pike stopped dead, startled.

“What did you sssay to me?” Earlene’s voice rose. Neighbors gathered.

“Cunt! I said you’re an inbred cunt! And your children are retards!”

Earlene’s face went white. “I am
not
inbred!” she cried.

“You married your brother and you ...
copulated
with him until you created those abominations against God! You are a sinner. Your brother-husband is a sinner! Your blood is tainted and your children should be sacrificed to the Lord to atone for their misbegotten time on this earth!”

“If it was good enough for our parentsss, it’s good enough for usss!”

Their hands curled into tight fists and they approached each other on stiff legs.
 

“Ladies,” Andy called. “Ladies, please!”

“Are they really inbred?” Phyllis Stine gasped, clutching at her pearls and looking around the crowd, making clicking, huffing noises. “Oh, sweet Jesus!” She looked like she might faint, and was quick to light a cigarette, corking it in her mouth like a pacifier.

Earlene stepped close enough to Prissy that their noses nearly touched. “Lisssten to me, you dreadful, horrible woman …”

“No,” said Priscilla, spittle flying like tiny sparks. “
You
listen to
me!
It’s high time everyone knows what you really are! I’ve kept my mouth shut until now, but-”

Andy saw it, but was too late to stop it.

Earlene’s fist shot out and the subsequent
Pop!,
as it connected with Prissy’s mouth sent a collective gasp through the crowd. Phyllis Stine’s cigarette tumbled from her lips. Andy threw himself between the women, but it wasn’t necessary. Prissy flew back, landing ass-over-teakettle on the lawn. She shot up, held a hand to her bleeding mouth, and faced the gaping neighbors.
 

Stan Portendorfer threw his head back and laughed. “Great right hook, Earlene!”

“You all saw that!” Prissy shrieked. “You’re all witnesses! And yes! Earl and Earlene Dean are brother and sister! I’ve known it for years! And their children are the product of this unholy union!”

Another collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
 

Earlene lunged for Prissy but Andy caught her and held her in place. She got an arm free and thrust her finger at Priscilla. “So
you’re
the one who sent the blackmail letters! You!”

Now the crowd was silent.

All eyes shifted to Priscilla.
 

“I think you’ve been given a hallucinogen,” Stephanie told Claire after she described some of the hallucinations she’d been suffering. My guess is LSD.”

“Oh my God!”

“It hasn’t been shown to be harmful to fetuses,” said Steffie. “I’m almost certain your mother has been giving it to you.”

“LSD?” Claire could hardly wrap her mind around it.

“Probably. Somehow, despite how horrible she is, I don’t think she’d want to hurt the baby. But where would she get it?”

Claire stared at Steffie. “Anywhere. She’s got this whole town dancing on her strings, drug dealers included, no doubt. It wouldn’t be hard for her to get. She’s a monster.”

“Yes, she is. When did she leave that glass of water here, do you recall?”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ve had any. I started feeling funny right after dinner. It was passing, and then it got worse again in the middle of the night.”

“But you don’t remember sipping that water?”

“No, but Mother brought me a glass of warm milk around three in the morning.”

“That woman should be in prison,” Stephanie said. “She did the same thing to Tim.”

“Drugged him?”

“I don’t know, but you know he had an alcohol problem, don’t you?”

“I smelled it on him, but I was just a kid. I didn’t think about it until …” Tears streamed down her face. “Until last night, I’d forgotten I found him. You know… In the closet. There was a big bottle of booze sitting there.” She wiped away tears.

Stephanie held her in her arms, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, and let her grieve.

Her mouth hurt, but Prissy stood tall and stared down at the neighbors surrounding her. “Did you see what that inbred cretin did to me?” She touched her bleeding lip. “She assaulted me! Where’s Roddy? Get me Roddy! He needs to arrest her now and take pictures of my mouth!”

“He took off for the police station a while ago,” Bettyanne Crocker said. “He’ll be back soon enough.”
 

Prissy glared at her. “He’d better be, you little sneak-thief! You goddamn klepto!”

Bettyanne looked aghast.
 

“So you’re the asshole who’s been sending us letters!” Nellie Dunworth’s voice rang out as she pushed through the crowd on her scooter, Bertie right behind her. The plump sisters glared at Prissy.

She glared back. “Whores like you shouldn’t live on this street, any more than perversions like
her
!” She pointed at Earlene Dean. Her idiot children peered out from behind her and Andy. “They need to be put down!” Prissy cried. “It’s the Christian thing to do.”

Father Andy straightened his shoulders. “Priscilla-”

“Shut up, you milquetoast minister,” Prissy growled. “You don’t live on this street. Stay out of it.”

Then grizzled old Dave Flannigan appeared next to Andy, saying nothing, just staring at her. She ignored him, and looked around. Nearly all her neighbors were there. She pointed at the Dunworth sisters. “Do you know what Nellie and Bertha Dunworth do?” She glanced around. “Do you?”

“We operate a phone sex business.” Bertie’s voice was strong and defiant and she came closer, fixing her gaze on Prissy.
 

Nellie gunned her scooter and shot forward. “And we’re proud of it!” She looked around. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”

Stan’s laugh rang out. “Hell, no!” Others tittered, but no one objected.

“You are prostitutes who use your mouths instead of your genitals for sex!”

Nellie and Bertie’s faces went blank for a fraction of a second, then both began laughing along with the rest of the neighbors.
 

“Don’t you laugh at me!” Prissy shrieked. “Don’t you
dare
laugh at me! I keep this street running and I know
all
your dirty little secrets! You’ll be sorry!”

Phyllis Stine began sobbing. “I’m not laughing at you, Prissy! You’re my friend!”

“Thank you, Phyllis. What about you, Aida? Are you laughing at me?”

“I’m still seeing things, but not as bad as I was,” said Claire. “Mostly just streaks of colors now. But what I did see …” She shuddered. “It was horrible.”

“The effects of LSD can last up to twelve hours,” said Steffie, “but they usually only last about eight. I’d say you’re coming down right on time.”

“I just can’t believe it. How could she do this?”

“Because, Claire, your mother is a very sick woman. She always has been. To be honest, she’s probably the main reason I became interested in psychiatry. I saw what she put Tim through … and I wanted answers.” She looked at Claire a long moment, tears welling. “I wanted to get you away from her, Claire. I even called Social Services after Tim died. I didn’t know what else to do. I was so young then. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Claire. “I don’t think she was nearly as hard on me as she was on Tim.”

Steffie nodded. “She always seemed to have a preference for boys.” She stared a moment, lost in thought. “I contacted that young woman, Ashley Perkins, the other day.”

“The Facebook girlfriend?” Claire sat forward, eager to hear.

Steffie nodded. “Apparently, ‘Timothy’ and she met about nine months ago.” She made air quotes around his name. “They’d exchanged pictures and talked at length about meeting. It was pretty serious. But then they started talking about their families and upbringing. The way he went on and on about how wonderful his mother was - it turned her off, so she cooled things down; she didn’t want to date a mama’s boy.”

“Did you tell her that … that Tim’s been dead for twenty years … and that my mother … was … posing as him?” The words were hard to say, like glue on her tongue.

“I told her and she was stunned. I felt very sorry for her. She wasn’t sure she believed me at first, and assumed I was a jealous ex or something. But I explained the whole … situation and emailed her Tim’s obituary.”