The Haunted

Six

Julian had the Dream again, the first time in over a year, and he awoke sweaty and disoriented, not sure for a moment where he was. Then the shadowed features of the room resolved themselves into recognizable shapes—dresser, lamp, picture, chair—and he realized that he was in their bedroom, in their new house, and Claire was lying next to him. He quickly glanced over at her, and was relieved to see that she hadn’t awakened. Last time she had, and when she’d questioned him, he’d been forced to invent a fake nightmare to describe.

He had never told her about the Dream.

Julian carefully pulled the covers from on top of him and slid out of bed, padding over to the bathroom. Closing the door, he turned on the light, staring at himself in the mirror. He looked as wrecked as he felt, and he took a still-damp washcloth from the towel rack and used it to wipe the sweat from his face. His heart was thumping wildly, and he was grateful that this time the fear had overpowered the sadness. For the sadness generated by the Dream was almost more than he could bear, a deep despair that negated everything good that had happened in his life, that wiped out the joy of his wife and his children and brought him back emotionally to that dark, dark day.

The fear was bad, but it was far preferable.

He experienced that fear now, an emotional vestige of the Dream even more lasting than the nightmare images that remained in his head. It was terror and panic and impotence and frustration, all knotted together in a single overwhelming feeling that would not go away. It was the way he’d actually felt on that day, and though it was something he’d never forgotten, something that was never very far from his mind, the Dream always brought it into crystal-clear focus and made him relive it all over again.

His mouth was dry, and he picked up the plastic tumbler next to his electric toothbrush and got a drink of water from the faucet. He didn’t like drinking bathroom water, which always seemed suspect to him, but he was grateful for it now.

Switching off the light and poking his head back into the bedroom, he saw that Claire was still asleep. He would not be able to sleep for a while, maybe not for the rest of the night, and, not wanting to disturb her, he crept through the bedroom and walked out to the living room, where he turned on the television, hoping for something to distract him. News was good, and he switched the channel to CNN. But there was no real news, only an in-depth update on a fame-seeking woman who had gained notoriety for having a lot of children. He flipped through other channels and ended up watching a documentary about ice fishing for twenty minutes or so before shutting off the TV.

Still wide-awake, he decided to go upstairs and check on the kids: a habit left over from their early childhood that still gave him comfort. At the top of the steps, he heard murmuring from Megan’s room and smiled. She often talked in her sleep, one-sided conversations of several sentences, and while more often than not the words were gibberish, the sentences nonsense, occasionally he or Claire had been able to make out individual phrases that, when repeated to their daughter in the morning, jogged her memory and helped her recall her dreams. He moved quietly down the hall, careful not to wake either her or her brother.

The talking continued, and Julian frowned as he drew closer. That didn’t sound like Megan’s voice. It didn’t even sound like a girl’s voice.

It sounded like a man’s voice.

He sprinted the last few feet to his daughter’s bedroom and, frantic, panicked, pushed open the door.

She was asleep, in bed, alone. Enough light shone in from the hallway for him to see that there was no one else in the room, but just to make sure, he walked around to the other side of her bed and even crouched down on the floor to look under it. The talking had stopped, and he wondered whether he had imagined it. Probably not. Megan was a sleep talker. But some fearful part of his brain, stimulated perhaps by the Dream, had no doubt lowered her voice a few registers in his mind and given him the impression that a man was in her room.

Moving quietly, he opened her closet and moved his hands through her clothes, feeling along the wall to make sure no one was hiding there. No one was. And the windows, when he checked them, were closed.

Megan was safe and sound.

He bent over her sleeping form and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. If she’d awakened at that moment, she would have recoiled and told him to go away, frowning in disgust. He felt a small twinge of sadness as he recalled how she used to like him to kiss her, especially before she went to sleep at night. He missed that younger Megan and wished, not for the first time, that she never had to grow up and would remain his little girl forever.

He patted her back, then went over to James’s room to check on his son. The boy had kicked off his blanket and was sprawled out on his bed in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. Julian drew the blanket back up and kissed his son on the forehead. James wasn’t big on kissing, either, although right now he didn’t mind hugs. It was going to be sad when that changed.

Just in case, he searched James’s room for an intruder, too. And though there was no way anyone could have passed by in the hall without his seeing it, he looked through his office and the bathroom as well.

The upstairs was clear, all was safe, and Julian went back down the steps, returned to his bedroom, crawled in bed next to Claire and, though he expected to remain awake for at least another hour, promptly fell asleep.

In the morning, he woke late, although it was a summer Saturday and so didn’t much matter. Claire was already up, her side of the bed cold, and the aroma of toasted blueberry bagel permeated the house. Julian pushed off the covers, put on his bathrobe and headed out to the kitchen, where he was greeted by empty plates in an empty breakfast nook. Through the windows, he could see Claire, still in her robe and slippers, checking out her herb garden. The kids, he assumed, were in their bedrooms getting dressed or in the family room watching TV.

The package of precut bagels was still open on the counter, and he pulled two apart and popped them into the toaster oven, pouring himself some orange juice from a carton he took out of the refrigerator. As he waited for the bagels, he glanced over at the Nature Conservancy calendar Claire had tacked up on the wall next to the door. Beneath the July photo of a mother and baby coyote was a red X marking the date on which they’d moved into the house. It had been more than three weeks already, and he realized that they had yet to meet a single one of their neighbors. There’d been no welcome wagon when they’d arrived, no one had come over to say hello, and though Claire had made an effort to stop by the houses on both sides that first week, no one had been home. Things had been so hectic ever since, what with the unpacking and settling in, that they’d kind of forgotten about introducing themselves to the neighbors.

Julian thought about the Willet boy and his skate-punk friends in their old neighborhood and decided that they really should try to get off on the right foot here. Today was as good a day as any, since they had no plans and would all be home. The toaster rang; he took out his bagels, buttered them, put them on a plate and walked barefoot into the backyard to discuss his thoughts with Claire. She, too, thought it would be a good idea to meet the neighbors, and they decided to visit the houses to either side of them around ten o’clock. It was a civilized hour, not too early, not too late.

Before taking a shower, Julian told both kids the plan, warning them not to go anywhere, and though they each moaned and complained in their own unique ways, there was no real resistance, and he could tell that they were curious about the neighbors as well. There didn’t seem to be any kids on the street—a good thing, as far as he was concerned—but these days who could tell? The surrounding houses might be filled with boys and girls who spent their days bent over their DSs or playing with their Wiis or Xboxes, never seeing sunlight. In a way, he hoped that was the case. Especially for James’s sake. It would be nice for the boy to have a friend next door.

Shortly after ten, all four of them walked over to the house on the north side of theirs, a single-story structure with an unimaginative but well-maintained lawn and an impressive picture window in the front. There was no vehicle in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the neighbors weren’t home. Maybe they parked their car in the garage. Or maybe the husband or the wife had gone to the store, and the remaining spouse was still at home. Or maybe they had a teenage son or daughter who had borrowed the family car to go somewhere with his or her friends.

Thinking over the possibilities, Julian was struck not just by how little he knew about their neighbors but by how pathetically unobservant he was. They could be living next to a ninety-year-old widow, or a twenty-five-year-old bachelor, or a gay couple or an extended family of Chinese immigrants, and he wouldn’t know—even though he worked at home and was there almost all the time. It was embarrassing, really, and he vowed in the future to be a little more aware and try to pay attention to his surroundings.

He let James ring the doorbell, and as they waited for someone to answer, Julian tried to peek through the picture window. The drapes were open, but it was dark inside the house and hard to see. He could make out a pale couch and a generic-looking lamp atop an unseen table.

“I don’t think anyone’s home,” Claire said.

Megan turned away. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute.” Julian knocked on the door—loudly, in case the bell didn’t work and the residents were in the back of the house—then knocked again, but after several moments it became obvious that Claire was right. There was no one home.

“Other neighbors,” Julian announced, and led the way back up the footpath to the sidewalk. The house on the other side of theirs did have a car in the driveway, he saw as they approached. A silver Toyota sedan that told him virtually nothing about the owners. He looked over the house. It was two stories and similar in style to theirs, the only other home on this eclectic block that appeared to have been built by the same contractor.

Claire and the kids followed Julian as he strode up to the front door. Before he could even knock or ring the bell, the door was opened by a smiling bearded man his age or a little younger who was standing slightly in front of a short, chubby woman who was obviously his wife. The two must have seen them coming up the walk.

“Hello,” the man said, extending a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Bob Ribiero and this is my wife, Elise. I know you moved in next door, and we’ve seen you around, but we didn’t want to bother you, wanted to give you a chance to settle in first.”

Julian was slightly thrown off by the man’s earnestness, but he shook the proffered hand. “I’m Julian Perry. This is my wife, Claire, my daughter, Megan, and my son, James.”

Bob remained where he was, and though he smiled and said hello to each member of the family, repeating their names as he did so, he made no effort to invite them in. His wife moved forward next to him, said hello as well, but it seemed to Julian that she had stepped up not to meet them but to block the doorway. Maybe it was nothing; maybe the house was just messy and they didn’t want visitors to see, but Julian felt awkward, and it was a struggle to keep a conversation going. He told them that he was a Web designer and Claire was a lawyer, found out that Bob ran a nonemergency medical transport service (“Basically, I drive old people to and from the doctor”) and that Elise did not work but volunteered a lot at their church. He also learned that the Ribieros had lived here for the past ten years, ever since they’d moved to Jardine from Alamogordo.

Megan and James were getting fidgety, and Julian used them as an excuse to leave. Everyone said good-bye, promising that they’d get together soon, and Julian and Claire headed back home, the kids running ahead, grateful to be free.

“They seem nice,” Claire said finally.

Julian nodded. They did seem nice.

But …

But blocking the doorway was strange. And there was a reserve about everything Bob and Elise had said. It was almost as if they were hiding something, and he couldn’t help wondering what that something might be.

Julian sat in his office, shades pulled against the setting sun, although orange light continued to seep between the cracks, striping the furniture and the opposite wall of the room with cinematically noirish bars. He was supposed to be working on a new project for an upscale retailer in Santa Fe, but for the past twenty minutes he’d been staring at the screen saver on his computer—twisting, multicolored, geometric designs—and zoning out. He sometimes got good ideas when allowing his mind to wander or go blank, but not today, and as the angle of the sun shifted, causing one of the orange light bars to cut across his field of vision, he thought that he might as well just call it a day. Claire’s parents were coming over tonight, along with her sister’s family, and he should probably head downstairs anyway.

He was dreading the visit. It was a social obligation, one of those things they had to do, although as far as he was concerned, Claire’s parents had already come over and taken a tour of the house, as had Diane and her family, and that was good enough. Claire, however, had insisted on inviting everyone for dinner, and he was going to have to put on his best face and make nice.

That was easier said than done. Her mom was all right, but her dad was an angry, hostile man who never had a good word to say about anyone, especially Julian (although, to his credit, he did seem to genuinely like his grandchildren). And Diane’s husband, Rob, was a redneck jerk. Julian liked Diane, but he had never been able to figure out how she’d ended up with such a loser.

Maybe he should stay up here until they left, pretend that he had a lot of work to do and a rapidly approaching deadline to meet. Moving the mouse, he disrupted his screen saver to display a very sketchy prototype of a Web site.

Moments later, James came in quietly—as usual— entering the office as unobtrusively as possible. Neither Julian nor Claire had ever been the sort of parents to make their children knock before entering a room. Such a thing seemed too formal and distancing. But, on his own, James had developed the habit of coming into the office silently, so as not to disturb his father, waiting patiently until he was noticed.

Julian popped in a disk and saved what little work he’d done this afternoon, swiveling around to face his son. “Hey, James.”

“I’m sorry to bother you. …”

“Knock off that craziness. Just be normal.”

James smiled, moving next to him. “Okay. Sorry.”

Julian took out the disk and switched off his computer, standing up.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

James looked at him with utter seriousness. “Is it okay if I don’t like sports?”

That had come out of nowhere. But it was obvious from the expression on his face that it was something that greatly concerned the boy, and Julian, touched, put an arm around his son’s shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “What would make you ask something like that?”

“Megan said you think I’m a wuss and you’re ashamed of me. She said it’s because I don’t like to play sports.”

Julian suppressed a smile. “Don’t listen to your sister,” he told James. “You know she just says things like that to annoy you.” He turned the boy to face him, putting one hand on each shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. “You are who you are. And whatever you like or don’t like is fine with me. Everyone’s different. As my grandma used to tell me, ‘It takes all kinds to make a world.’”

James looked relieved.

Julian smiled kindly. “You’re my son. I love you no matter what.” His smile broadened. “Besides, if I didn’t know by now that you hate PE and like playing video games, I’d be a real moron.”

James grinned. “Well …”

He gave his son a hug, grateful once again that the boy still allowed him to do so.

“We’d better go downstairs,” Julian said. “Your grandma and grandpa will be here pretty soon.”

“Can I just stay with them tonight? I don’t want to play with Mike and Terry.”

Julian understood and sympathized. Like their father, James’s cousins were wild and obnoxious. But as he explained to his son, he was closer in age to them than Megan, and a boy, and since they were coming over to his house, it was his job to be a good host and entertain them. “Tell you what, though,” he said. “You don’t have to stay in your room with them. I’ll let you guys hang out in the living room and watch TV. Put on anything you want. Cartoons. That should keep them occupied.”

“And Grandma and Grandpa can stay with us!”

“If they want to.”

That seemed to satisfy him, and the two of them headed downstairs together.

Their guests began arriving soon after: Claire’s parents first, then her sister’s family ten minutes later. As always, they ended up separating into groups, women in the kitchen, men in the living room, and Julian saw James shoot him a look of anger and betrayal as Claire herded the kids upstairs. He vowed to make it up to his son after dinner and rescue him, allowing James to hang out with the adults and letting the bratty cousins fend for themselves.

Claire’s dad criticized the furniture arrangement, then complained about the comfort level of the chair he settled into, and Julian turned on the television, switching to an Albuquerque newscast, hoping the weather or sports or whatever was on would lead to a more general discussion. He would much rather have been in the kitchen with the women—their conversation was sure to be more interesting—but he was stuck here and knew he had to make the best of it.

On the television, a reporter was standing in front of a pueblo, talking to a Zuni spokesman about recent vandalism at one of the tribe’s sacred sites.

“Don’t even get me started on those Indians,” Rob said.

This was not a subject Julian wanted to pursue, but Claire’s dad took the bait. “What happened?”

“This college boy who’s working for us found some pieces of pottery with his backhoe, so he went and told someone, and now the entire site’s shut down for two weeks until they can dig up all that Indian crap. Meanwhile, we got a whole crew’s not getting paid.”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “Those college boys are nothing but trouble. People should never try to get a higher education. It only leads to problems.”

Rob’s face turned red, though from anger or embarrassment, Julian couldn’t tell. Claire shot him a warning glance from the kitchen doorway, and Julian knew he’d better keep his opinions to himself for the remainder of the evening.

Which he did, as hard as it was.

After dinner, Megan immediately went back upstairs to hide in her room. Diane told her two boys they could go play, but before James could finish pushing out his chair and dejectedly follow them, Julian told his son that he could stay if he wanted or watch something in the living room. James shot him a grateful look that made it almost worth putting up with everything else.

Almost.

Luckily, everyone left early, with mutual assurances that they’d had a wonderful time, and after putting the kids to bed, Julian helped Claire with the dishes and both of them retired to the living room. “Long day,” Julian said, settling onto the couch and flipping through channels on the television. He stopped on a rerun of the original Star Trek.

“Thank you,” Claire told him, sitting down to his left.

“For what?”

“Putting up with them.” She patted her lap, motioning for him to lie down and use it for a pillow. It was something they used to do a lot but had done less and less frequently over the years. When they were first married, they would watch movies this way, Blockbuster rentals, and sometimes, after a hard day at work, he would even fall asleep with her running her fingers gently through his hair, although, generally, it was a prelude to sex.

Laying his head on her lap now, he could smell her arousal, a heavy, musky odor that permeated the crotch of her jeans. The scent of her made him aroused, and he turned his head to the side, pressing his face into her and breathing deeply. Neither of them had to say a word after that. Julian sat up, then stood, and both of them walked down the hall to the bedroom, where they closed the door, locked it and got undressed.

He was already naked when Claire took off her panties, rubbing them gently in his face. He could feel their dampness.

“I bet your mama doesn’t know you do that,” he said.

“No one does.” She bent over the side of the bed, presenting herself to him, and he took her roughly from behind as she screamed her pleasure into the thick quilted comforter so the kids wouldn’t hear.