Primal (16 page)

Polly tries not to think about what Alison has been through.
It all seems unreal to her. She can, however, see clearly that this woman in
front of her right now is not the same woman she has come to know over the last
nine years. Polly is no longer at ease in Alison’s company. There is no humor
in the home, no contentment. The home feels cold and edgy. She thinks Alison is
like a zombie. Polly continues to show up on her scheduled days. She does her
job and she listens.

“I want to show you how to work the system. It is important
that the system is on constantly. It should never be off. Do you hear? Never.”

“Yes, Alison, never.”

“Every window, every door, inside and out, is wired.”

“Okay.”

“Every day I will change the code.”

“All right.” Polly’s voice sounds heavy. This is all too
much for her.

“When you enter and you hear the little beep you will have
ten seconds to punch in the correct code.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Alison tries to smile because she knows she is
supposed to, she searches around for a smile, but has none. So she spreads her
lips, forces a grin, and shows some teeth. Polly leaves the conversation very
sure now that smiling actually comes from the eyes and has little to do with
the mouth, because Alison just looked scary.

Cautiously, Alison opens the front door and looks out. Seems
fine. She walks quickly to the mailbox. Jessie, who is pulling out of his
driveway, rolls down his window.

“Hey, Alison?” She looks over. She had hoped if she didn’t
lift her eyes he wouldn’t call to her. No such luck. She continues moving
toward the front door.

“Hi, Jessie.”

“Can you and Hank come over for cards this weekend?”

“Nope, sorry. Don’t think we can. Say hi to Pam for me.”

She is at the door and inside. He drives away. She takes the
mail into the kitchen. She flips open her laptop to CNN, and begins to scour
the news not completely certain what she’s searching for.

Later, having decided to work from home that afternoon, Hank
puts his key in the lock and opens the front door. Nine seconds later, as he
steps into the hall closet to hang up his coat, an ear-splitting alarm blasts
followed by floodlights all around the property. Alison rushes into the foyer,
opens the end table drawer, grabs the handgun she’s stashed there and turns it
on Hank. He freezes, confused by the alarm, stunned to see the weapon in his
wife’s hand. Her distant look. She doesn’t see him. Doesn’t know him. She aims.
Polly screams! The scream shakes her and her eyes clear. She sees Hank. She
lowers the gun. She takes a deep breath. Polly and Hank are paralyzed. Alison
walks over to the alarm keypad. She punches in the code, picks up the ringing
telephone, gives the alarm company the password, returns the weapon to the
drawer, and walks back into the kitchen without a word. Shaken, Hank and Polly
look at each other. Tears pool in Polly’s eyes. Neither one of them knew she
had a gun. They realize just how far gone she is.

“Hank…” Polly begins, “I just can’t -”

He will not let her finish, “Polly, please.” His desperation
is so clear, so heartfelt. “Please,” he begs. “I’ll take care of it.” Polly
cannot add to his distress. She nods. He nods. They both turn away. He starts
for the kitchen. She collects her coat by the door and as she leaves.

“I’ll be back Monday.”

His voice cracks with gratitude, “Thank you.”

Once inside the kitchen he hears their car engine. He looks
out the window above the sink and sees Alison driving away. He knows it must be
2:30 and so she is on her way to pick-up Jimmy. With his adrenaline pumping and
his heart pounding, he thinks about her aiming a gun at him and he must face
it: Alison is dangerous, dangerous to him and dangerous to their son. This may
not be something he can wait for her to get over. It may take more than time.
He wonders if there is something contagious about violence, if it’s a virus, if
her brain has caught something she can’t shake. What if violence is infectious
in the same way as laughter? He’s experienced that. He has been in a room where
someone is roaring with laughter and he has begun to laugh having no idea why.
Maybe violence is like that. What should he do? Is he failing to help her? Is
he failing to protect his son? What should he do? Who can help? His misery is
mounting. He goes back to the foyer, pulls out the end table drawer, and
removes the handgun. It is the gun his dad had and Hank inherited when he
passed away. It’s been in the safety deposit box at the bank for ten years. That’s
what they both decided. Neither one of them wanted a weapon in the house. He
stands in the middle of the living room having absolutely no idea what he is
supposed to do.

Alison parks the car in the red zone in front of the
building. The crosswalk guard begins to wave her arms for Alison to move, then
she sees who it is, and she backs off. Everyone has backed off. Some are giving
her the time they know she needs, others fall back as their instincts dictate.
Methodically, Alison scans the front lawn, play area, parking lot. There is too
much to keep within her control. She hates this part of the day. She gets out
of the car and walks up the sidewalk to the front of the school. Jimmy is
standing right there waiting as he has done every day since he returned to
school. She takes him by the hand and leads him quickly back to the car. He
tries not to look around. Many kids in the packed schoolyard stare. He gets
into the car and slumps down in the seat. He’s no superhero this way.

“How was school?” She asks.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

They drive in silence because her vigilant attention is
required to check into every passing car, to peer around every streetlight
post, behind every trash can and mailbox and tree. She runs every yellow and
only stops for a red when necessary. She pulls the car into the driveway. Jimmy
jumps out and runs into the house. His dad is waiting in the kitchen. Angrily,
Jimmy blasts past him without even saying hello and vaults up the stairs
two-at-a-time slamming his bedroom door. Alison enters, closes the door and
hits the code. She turns.

“What happened with Jimmy?”

“Nothing. He’s good.”

“What’s with the alarm?”

“It’s smart to have an alarm. I’ve got a series of codes
worked out we can go over them together at dinner tonight.”

“I don’t want an alarm.”

“I do.”

“It’s an overreaction.”

“It is not.”

“We live in an extremely safe neighborhood.”

“No such thing,”

“Alison, do you even know you pointed a gun at me today?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“The alarm went off and it was actually a good rehearsal for
us.”

“You almost shot me!”

“No I didn’t. I saw you.”

“You haven’t seen anything properly since we got back.”

“I see things in greater detail than I ever have.”

“I don’t want a gun in the house.”

“You don’t want an alarm. You don’t want a gun. Would you
just like us to roll over?”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” It takes enormous effort
not to start yelling. The vein in his neck throbs and he holds his temper. “I’m
going to check on Jimmy; then we’ll talk.”

Hank sees it all descending into madness. He doesn’t know if
he really can continue to negotiate the craziness. Upstairs he knocks on
Jimmy’s door, opens it slowly, and walks in. He closes it behind him. Jimmy is
kicking a stuffed giraffe around the room.

“I’m not going to school anymore. She took my hand - my
hand!”

“Jimmy, your mom does not mean to embarrass you.”

“All the kids are laughing at me. I went from cool to fool
in days.”

“I’m so sorry, kiddo.” Hank can’t stand seeing the
humiliation on his son’s face.

“Why can’t you pick me up or Polly?”

“Okay. I understand. Let me see what I can do.”

The explanation of the alarm system during dinner went
badly. Neither Hank nor Jimmy was in favor of the system, and the skin of
patience they’ve had has been rubbed raw. After an hour of fury-tinged debate,
Alison agreed to leave it off for a few days so they could get used to the
idea.

The tension has not lessened as Hank and Alison get into
their pajamas. The bedroom feels unusually hot and a poison mood hangs in the
air between them. Hank pulls off his T-shirt.

“You have to stop embarrassing Jimmy in front of his
friends.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“It’s not fair to him and it has to stop. Things need to go
back to normal for him.”

“Normal has changed.”

“Normal hasn’t changed - you’ve changed.”

“And you’re not changed? Get serious, Hank.” The sarcastic
tone is new for her.

“Serious? Okay, I’ll get serious. You are scared to death
one hundred percent of the time. You are exhausting yourself and hurting
everyone around you.”

“I’m not scared. I’m ready.”

“For what? Ready for what? We’re home. It’s been three
weeks. We need to get our lives back.”

“We will. When it’s time.”

“Jimmy’s nightmares are less frequent. The therapist says
he’s doing really well but he needs normalcy. You are making things worse for
him, harder for him, harder for all of us.”

“Keeping him safe comes first.”

“Open your eyes! We’re home.”

“It’s not over”

He erupts with aggravation, “Alison!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Hank runs his hands through his hair. It is all he can do to
keep from screaming at her.

“And I’m calling Polly to pick up Jimmy at school. You can’t
do it anymore.”

“No way!”

“I swear to god, Alison, this is going to stop.”

“Polly doesn’t know what to look out for.”

“I will pick up Jimmy for the rest of the week then we’ll
see.”

“Hank, he’s coming back.”

“No.” He bores his eyes into her. “He’s not.” Hank marches
into the bathroom and slams the door. But Alison is sure; she is so very sure
she is right. Surely, she is right. She walks over to take her spot at the
bedroom window. What if? What if I’m not right? For one slippery second she
remembers life before, and then her reflection clarifies in the glass of the
window. She does look different. She asks herself the question: is something
wrong with me? Am I going mad? Hank gets into bed without saying good night,
without a good night kiss. He turns away from her and faces the wall.

When Hank opens his eyes in the morning, his body aches. He
feels chewed up into chunks. Never had a man longed more for normal than Hank.
He was thirsty for an ordinary day. Several nights ago, their neighbor, Jessie,
had called and invited him out to a movie, which they used to enjoy together.
They’d steer clear of the chick flicks and find a great action feature. It
sounded like such a nice little piece of normal Hank accepted. Ten minutes into
the film the gunfire started. Eleven minutes into the film, Hank was gone. How
does he explain to Jessie that this cannot be entertainment for him ever again?
He has lost the ability to disassociate. For everyone else this kind of
violence is imaginary; not for him. He thinks they will probably be spending a
lot of time in Disney movies.

He reaches for the ringing phone, “Hello?”

“Hey, ah…Mr. Kraft? It’s Officer Bill Thomas.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Okay. Detective Crane wanted you and Mrs. Kraft to come
down to the station this morning. I think we have some news you’re gonna like a
lot.”

Hank sits up in bed, “Really? What?”

“Crane wants to tell you.”

“We’re on our way.” He hangs up. “Alison!”

* * *

Waiting at the front door for Alison, Hank watches the last
few leaves stuck to the oak tree in his front yard fall. They float to their
deaths gracefully. It’s so out of character for him to make a morbid
association like this. Alison looks like a wary rabbit as she skittishly exits
the house and darts to the car. Hank has to run to hold the car door for her.
He always holds her car door. He brings her coffee in bed on the weekends, and
he sends her flowers unexpectedly. They cherish these little romantic gestures.
When they’re out with other couples for dinner, and Alison rises to leave the
table, Hank always rises as well, and rises again to pull out her chair when
she returns. It is a chivalrous throwback that makes them feel special to each
other. Other couples smile - a few women kick their own husbands under the
table.

The drive to police headquarters requires scanning and
concentration. There’s a lot for Alison to monitor. She peers out of the
passenger car window and is thwarted by the heavy winter coats and hats that
make identification tricky. Hank and Alison exchange a few forced sentences
about the weather and then have little to say to each other. They sit in
prickly silence. Hank turns on the radio and sings along without his usual
enthusiasm.

They park and walk into the police station. Once in the
lobby, Alison places each individual in a grid in her mind. The security
screener uses the wand on them both and then waves them through. As they walk
down the hall, all of the officers notice her. They exchange looks with each
other after she passes. Hank finds this covert attention irritating and when he
catches them, he punishes them with a look that would freeze blood, but there
is no hiding; she is a known face in law enforcement circles. Somehow, this
little woman killed three of the Burne brothers. After the newspapers and talk
shows abandoned their attempts to interview her, she remained a topic of
discussion among the police, the ATF, and the FBI. After all, it was the Burne
brothers. It was an irreconcilable event, a stunningly unlikely result.

A uniformed officer escorts them to Detective Crane’s
office. Alison sees every person along the way with intensified clarity: the
woman with the big knuckles filling a cup at the coffee dispenser, the Latino
officer with the overly stocky frame and flashy teeth, the two uniformed cops
holding a folder and pretending not to notice her.