The Waiting Page 8

  “I doubt it’ll be that strong but you should get duct tape, batteries and candles to be safe.”

  “What’s the duct tape for?”

  “To tape the windows so they don’t shatter. I used to summer in the Keys when I was a kid. We were always getting ready for storms.”

  “Got it. Call me if you need me.”

  The moment he left, Alice went back to the bedroom. She didn’t want to leave her daughter’s side. She opened the Harlan Coben book and picked up where she’d left off.

  Cassandra heard her mother’s voice, but it was so far off. It reminded her of the time she’d taken the pedal boat out too far on the lake when they went to Maine on vacation. She hadn’t realized just how far she’d gone until she detected her mother’s faint voice carried on the gentle wind. She’d been able to see her, a small speck on the sand, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Just like now.

  Why can’t I open my eyes?

  She felt like she should be awake. Was she dreaming? The terrible pain wasn’t stabbing her stomach, so maybe she was asleep.

  But the pain is only gone when I’m in the dark place.

  Mom, can you hear me?

  I want to wake up. I can hear you, Mom.

  I can hear you.

  Something else was holding her prisoner. Something greater and more powerful than the pain.

  Let me go. Please, let me go. I want to wake up. I want to hold my mother. Where’s Brian?

  I remember!

  We’re married. Oh, I was so sick, all through the ceremony and the reception. We had our first dance. I couldn’t touch my dinner. Couldn’t think of putting anything in my stomach.

  They wheeled the cake over.

  “Promise you won’t smash it all over my face.”

  He smiled and there was mischief in those eyes, the eyes she wanted to stare into forever.

  And then the agony.

  Then nothing.

  Fragments of sounds, scraps of memories, and always, the torment.

  I want to wake up!

  It took a lot of cursing and knuckle scraping to get the generator in place. Brian hoped he didn’t have to use it, but he was damned sure to put it together the right way just in case.

  It had set him back five-hundred dollars. It was money he didn’t have to spare, so he put it on the last credit card that had money left on it.

  When he was done, he checked on Cassandra. Her face was covered in sweat and her skin looked so pale. She didn’t have a fever. It almost looked like the kind of sweat you’d work up on a long run. But Cass wasn’t running anywhere.

  He used a damp washcloth to wash her face and changed her sheets to get her more comfortable.

  Alice was working like a line chef in the kitchen.

  “If we lose power, I don’t want this food to go to waste. We’ll eat up tonight and tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t the least bit hungry.

  The weather outside was calm. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the temperature had gone up ten degrees from the day before. All signs that the worst was coming.

  Tomorrow was a Saturday. At least he’d be home when it hit. His school was built to be a bomb shelter, so he doubted they’d close it if it came today. The kids were safer in the gym than their houses.

  “Oh, I picked up the nutmeg you asked for,” he said.

  He grabbed his coat off the wall peg and rooted around his pocket for the bottle.

  His fingers closed around a square of paper. When he pulled his hand out, he saw that it was actually two pieces of yellowed newspaper, folded over many times.

  Carefully unfolding the papers, he watched the smaller one fall to the floor. A NY Daily News headline, dated November 12, 1958, read:

  MERCY KILLING LEAVES POLICE DUMBFOUNDED

  In a bizarre act of love, a nine-year-old Bronx boy turned off his mother’s iron lung. She died shortly thereafter. Mrs. Margaret Thomas had been suffering from polio for the past several years. In the final stages of the disease, she was placed in an iron lung earlier this year. Her son, James Thomas, was overheard by reporters saying, “I didn’t want her to hurt anymore. Can I see her now?” Family members were too distraught for comment, and police have taken young James into custody. A judge will have to decide his fate in what can only be described as an act of mercy gone terribly wrong.

  Brian’s hands trembled as he read the rest of the article. Most of it was speculation on what would happen to the boy. He laid it on the arm of the couch and stooped to pick up the smaller article. It was dated January 5, 1959.

  MORE TRAGEDY FOR BRONX FAMILY

  Nine-year old James Thomas, who came to our attention last November when he disabled his mother’s life support machine, accidentally killing her, has also died at a tragically young age of complications from pneumonia. He had been allowed back in his home after his headline making arrest and subsequent release. The courts deemed him too young to be charged as an adult. The young boy, who only wanted to ease his mother’s suffering, didn’t realize the fatal consequences of his actions. “I hope he’s at peace now, with his mother,” said his father, Daniel Thomas, in a brief and teary statement. James was his only child.

  Brian felt the world slip out from under him. He collapsed onto the couch, holding an article in each hand.

  Where the hell did these come from?

  He looked at Alice in the kitchen, browning sausages in a pan. No, it couldn’t have been her.

  Who else had access to his coat? Was it a teacher in school? But why?

  He was finding it hard to take a breath. He looked back down at the article on James Thomas’s death.

  Oh my God.

  The tragedy occurred at 124 Buckingham Road. Friends and neighbors are in a state of shock at the news of young James’s premature death.

  124 Buckingham Road.

  It happened in this house.

  James is survived by his father, Daniel Thomas, and his uncle and aunt, Paul and Edith Thomas, who reside in the neighboring home.

  Edith Thomas! She must have slipped them in his pocket when he picked her up out of her chair.

  “We brought him back,” Brian said.

  “What’s that honey?” Alice called out from the kitchen.

  “We brought him back and he thinks Cassandra is his mother.”

  He rose from the couch, walking on legs that didn’t feel attached to his body, opened the door and sprinted to Edith’s front door. He rang the bell, knocked loudly, but there was no answer. Every window in the house was dark.

  A loud current of wind whistled down the street, blowing the lid off a metal garbage can in someone’s yard.

  Edith had said all she was going to say.

  It was his job now to stop the boy from repeating the same mistake.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Louisa came in the morning when most people were shuttering themselves up for the day. She gave Cassandra and her life support a thorough examination. Brian sat in the room with her the entire time, wrapped in his own thoughts.

  She noticed the second mattress in the room and was concerned, but knew not to probe.

  When she was finished, Brian said, “Louisa, can I show you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “You might want to take a seat.”

  He handed a pair of old news articles to her. She placed her bag on the floor and opened them up.

  Oh dear.

  When she was done, she felt terrible for not telling him everything about the bhoot. Worse still, she felt sick to her stomach knowing they had something far worse to face than a simple lost soul.

  “Brian, you can’t leave Cassandra’s side, especially not tonight. The storm is full of energy. A bhoot thrives on the power of nature. The boy will be strong tonight. His obsession with Cassandra can be harmful. Because of what James Thomas did to his mother, he can never be reunited with her. He sees your wife as his
mother, all over again. He’s just a boy. He’ll repeat what he did if given the chance. As long as Cassandra remains close to death, she’s vulnerable.”

  Brian rubbed his hands across his face. “What do I do? How do I convince him that she’s not his goddamn mother?”

  Louisa felt pressure around her heart. She reached out to him and said, “You can’t. He won’t listen to you. He wants Cassandra. Right now, she’s in a place that’s not quite life, not quite death. It’s a place where the bhoot can grab hold of her. She’s in his domain. She’s the one person who can fight him off, if she has the spiritual strength.”

  Her words seemed to sap away what little stamina he had left. His mouth hung open and he stared at Cassandra with lost, helpless eyes.

  “Be with her,” she said. “When the boy appears, keep talking to her. Let her know you’re here, waiting for her. Tell her not to be tricked by the boy. Do whatever you can to keep her from slipping away.” She felt hot tears well in the corners of her eyes.

  Brian looked angry, but not at her.

  “None of this seems real,” he said. “A part of me keeps saying it can’t be real. I know that’s just wishful thinking.”

  “Don’t let her go, Brian. When the time comes, bring her back to you.”

  She left him sitting on the bed with his wife, his fingers entwined with hers.

  When she was back in her car, her body shook with chills and her teeth chattered so hard they hurt. She’d told Brian she would be back tomorrow. She prayed they would get through the night.

  The rain came first. The skies went from sunny to pitch black in minutes. Rain lashed against the house in driving buckets.

  “Alice, we have to talk.”

  Brian called her into the bedroom. He sat at the foot of Cassandra’s hospital bed. Alice looked worried.

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  He tried not to sound as bone weary as he felt. If he had to be strong tonight, he would be. And so would his MIL.

  He told her about Edith slipping the articles in his coat and gave them to her. There were tears in her eyes as she read them. He told her what Louisa had said, and how the boy would try to take her from them to ease her suffering, just as he did to his mother.

  “She said that because he had killed his mother, even though it was an accident, he could never be with her in the afterlife. He thinks Cassandra is his second chance. We can’t let that happen.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We keep Cassandra grounded, here. It’s all we can do.”

  The house’s frame popped as a gust of wind slammed into it. They heard the thunk of lawn chairs that had been left unsecured, scattering between narrow alleys.

  Brian said, “We’ll eat in here and make sure she’s never alone. We need to keep our strength up and keep talking to her. That sound like a plan?”

  Alice nodded. “I have to go upstairs and get my Bible. I’ll come back with dinner.”

  Brian heard her sneakers thump up the stairs, and the storm rattled the window.

  He wrapped his hands around Cassandra’s. “I’m with you, baby. It’s Brian. You stay with me, you hear? Just stay with my voice. If you do, I promise to take you to Aruba when this is done. Palm trees, fruity drinks, walks in the sand, you name it. Just…just stay with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Brian forced himself to eat some sausage and peppers, along with a side of pasta and a salad. He noticed Alice tuck more into her dinner, too. They were both preparing.

  The news said the hurricane was expected to hit the Bronx in an hour. It was almost nine o’clock. They had spent the entire day waiting for two forces of nature; one outside, and one inside.

  Howling winds shook the house. So much rain had already fallen, the unfinished basement was beginning to flood. That was the least of his concerns.

  At one point, the blinds shook, making him go rigid with anticipation.

  “It could be the wind,” Alice said, her finger keeping her place in her leather-bound Bible.

  “Yeah, it could be.”

  The local meteorologist was about to tell them when the storm would pass when the TV winked out. A sharp crack hit the shingles outside.

  Brian pulled the blinds back to look but it was too dark, the rain smearing the window, distorting the view. “Well, there goes the cable line. Wind must have snapped it off.”

  Alice turned the knob on the battery-powered radio she’d brought into the room. The news blared to life.

  “I prefer the radio, anyway,” she said.

  The storm shrieked and the house shook like it was caught in a minor earthquake. Brian watched the IV pole shimmy with the vibration. “You’re missing a heck of a storm,” he said to Cassandra. “I know how much you love the rain, especially at night, but this one’s off the charts. I really wish you’d open your eyes so you can see it, too.”

  He kept urging her to wake up, to join them as they sat out the storm. Maybe something would get through to her.

  Rain pelted the window with renewed fury.

  A picture fame fell from the wall. Alice jumped from her chair, the Bible slapping on the floor.

  “That picture was hung with two screws,” she said, biting back panic.

  Brian bent to pick it up, the glass cracked over his and Cassandra’s smiling faces.

  The room went dark.

  Cassandra’s life support machine beeped once, more of a high-pitched scream. Then it quieted down as it switched to the battery power.

  Alice snapped on the palm-sized flashlight she’d kept looped around her wrist.

  “The storm?” she said.

  Brian looked out the window again. He saw lights on in Bill/Bob’s house. Other houses in back of them also had their lights.

  “Just us.” His stomach clenched.

  Alice lit a candle on the night table.

  She shrieked when the infusion pump screeched again, this time fading out as the displays went blank. The radio tuned out as well, the volume getting lower and lower until it too was dead.

  “He’s coming,” Alice said in a trembling whisper.

  Brian could feel it too, like a rush of air that precedes an oncoming train.

  “I have to turn the generator on. Stay with Cass, keep talking to her. I’ll be right back.”

  He stepped over the cable he’d run from the generator to the life support machine, grabbed the handle to the door and steadied himself.

  Be ready for anything on the other side of that door.

  He jerked it open and was relieved to see a dark, empty hallway. He flicked on his flashlight and ran to the basement. He could hear Alice reading to Cassandra from the Bible.

  The water was an inch high in the basement. He’d put the generator on a makeshift table made of old cinderblocks by a louvered ventilation window. His finger hit the ON button and nothing happened. He tried it again. Still nothing.

  Flipping through the manual he kept by the generator, he went through the setup guide to make sure he didn’t do something wrong. But it had worked just fine when he’d tested it this morning.

  With terrible clarity, he realized the generator wouldn’t turn on, no matter what he did.

  Then Alice screamed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brian ran up the stairs and rushed back to the bedroom. Several candles had been lit. Alice stood apart from the bed, her eyes wide, terrified, arms locked at her sides.

  The cream-colored sheet they had draped over Cassandra was being pulled haltingly toward the foot of the bed. Invisible fingers gathered the material, pulling it into a tight bunch as Cass’s atrophied body was revealed inch by inch.

  Time stopped for Brian. He could no longer hear the storm crashing around the house, or Alice’s helpless cries.

  He watched as the sheet slipped over Cassandra’s exposed knees. Her pale flesh broke out in goosebumps. She may have been unconscious, but somehow he knew she could feel the violation of her personal space by t
he unseen hands.

  He gasped when he looked to her face and saw her hair parting along her pillow, as if someone or something was stroking it.

  Alice’s voice cut through the numbness. “Brian, make it stop.”

  Yes! Do something! Take her from it!

  Brian shook his head, breaking the dull haze that enveloped his brain. He reached down to pull Cassandra to him.

  The icy barrier chilled him to his bones. It felt as if Cassandra was immersed in the center of a glacier. The cold was so extreme, it burned.

  Stifling back a cry, he covered her as much as he could with his own body.

  She trembled beneath him, and at first he thought it was the hurricane shuddering the house again. When he glanced at her face, he saw foam dripping from her anemic lips. Her tremors escalated until she convulsed in a full-on seizure.

  “Cass! Cass!” Brian screamed.

  Alice held down Cassandra’s legs while Brian kept her shoulders on the bed. The seizure, though violent, was short-lived. Her mouth hung slack while white, frothy bubbles flowed freely. He wiped them away with a corner of a pillowcase.

  “I’m calling 9-1-1,” Alice said, fumbling for her cell phone.

  “They won’t come out in this storm.”

  “I don’t care. We need help.”

  A shock ran through him when he placed his hand on Cassandra’s chest.

  She’s not breathing!

  Brian placed a hand behind her neck and tilted her chin up. He bent an index finger and scooped it along the inside of her mouth.

  “Brian, what’s wrong?”

  “She’s not breathing,” he replied, panic building in his chest. He probed with his finger. “She didn’t swallow her tongue and nothing’s lodged in her throat that I can see.”

  Cupping his hands together, he started giving her chest compressions. Alice stood beside him, weeping now, waiting for 9-1-1 dispatch to answer the line.