The Lurking Man (21 page)

The flash of anger took away his control.

Emerson stopped pacing and looked at Wilson.

“We had a bit of a falling out,” Emerson said. “She seemed edgy and told me to leave. I came back because I was concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“About what she might do,” Emerson said.

“Come and see. Look at what she's done!”

Wilson stormed out of the bathroom and marched down the hallway; blood stained his hands and clothes.

Emerson backed away from the much smaller man.

“How could you let this happen?” Wilson said.

“I didn't know.”

“You knew enough to come here and check on her?”

“I—”

“I swear, if I find out you had something to do with this, I'll kill you.”

Wilson seethed. This man was just another part of Cailean's problems. He allowed her to do what she wanted and even encouraged it.

He turned to walk away to care for his family. But he noticed the wine bottles that were on the counter were now gone. He looked at Emerson.

“The bottles of wine, what did you do with them?”

“What bottles of wine?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

Wilson screamed out in anger and charged at Emerson. He shoved him back and slammed him into the wall. He held onto his coat and shook him.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about! What did you do with the bottles?”

“All right,” Emerson said and raised his hands in surrender. “I threw them away.”

Wilson loosened his grip. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I'm the one who gave them to her, OK? I didn't mean for this to happen. She was supposed to drink them after Beau left. She wasn't even supposed to drink both of them.”

“Where did you dispose of them?”

“Outside. I threw them in a mound of snow because I don't want to look at them.”

“With that going on in there,” he pointed at the bathroom, “that is what you think of? Covering your tracks?”

“I feel responsible for what happened in there.”

“There's something more to your guilt. Why else would you think to do that? It's in you like it's in Cailean.”

Emerson shook his head. “No, it's in my daughter. I believed if I could fix Cailean, or even understand her, then maybe I could help my daughter.”

“Help your daughter with what?” Wilson said.

“I don't know what it is. That day at the park, the day Beau got hurt, Cailean was drunk, but she didn't do anything wrong except meet me. My daughter shoved your son off of the playground. I think she was showing her anger towards me for talking to another woman when her mother was dead. I'm so confused.”

Emerson's admission immersed Wilson in a whirlwind of many different emotions that he got lost in them. Maybe he was too hard on Cailean, and maybe he should have listened to her more.

“I can't live with that secret anymore,” Emerson said. “I am dead on the inside and you deserve to know the truth before I leave this earth.”

Paramedics rushed into the house.

“Where are they?”

“They're at the end of the hallway, in the bathroom,” Emerson said, and he walked past Wilson. “I'm sorry about everything,” he said, and exited the house.

Chapter 27

 

 

A LIFE UNWORTHY

 

 

Present day.

 

Emerson examined the wall over the doorjamb. He had cut a hole through the sheetrock, slung a rope over the doorframe and wrapped it around the thick supports. A noose that hung in the middle of the doorway swung menacingly, retelling him what he was about to do could not be undone. He dumped a cup of water on the floor directly beneath the snare. Emerson felt like he was standing at the gallows and had the burden of answering whether or not he had any last words to say.

“Please comfort me in my time of need,” he prayed, and wiped the sweat from his brow. His hands were tense and had a steady tremble that made it difficult to handle the rope. He managed to place the noose around his neck and make it as tight as possible.

Placing handcuffs around each wrist, he moved his hands behind his back and joined them together. He tested the restraints by trying to pull his hands apart. The cuffs held tight, digging into his skin. The idea of keeping his hands tethered behind his back in case he panicked came upon him in a dream.

Inhuman things with encouraging voices came to him often and convinced him that his death would be better for everyone. That he was responsible for the bad seed inside of his daughter, for the demise of his wife and Cailean's suffering. When he tried to resist the monsters, they would surround him and growl, their sharp teeth menacing, their breath beating and horrible.

Night after night he was confronted by these things, losing sleep and unable to resist their commands. Last night they had told him that if he was to tie his hands  behind his back he wouldn't be able to undo it and his torment would end.

Now he knew they were right. Everything that happened to him over the past several years had brought him to this moment. The death of his wife, the mental breakdown his child suffered, and the obligation he felt towards Cailean and Beau because of what he saw his daughter do at the park. The way she baited Beau to the top of the playground and shoved him off made him realize he had lost his daughter the same day he lost his wife. When she died, the better part of Stacey left with her, never to return.

For months he tried to live with the repercussions from that day at the park. He tolerated behavior he normally wouldn't stand for, and even became a part of it. But witnessing what his daughter's touch and his own presence had done to Cailean and her family in that bathroom became too painful to bear.

People died because of us. This family is cursed and I can only wonder what sins I've inherited.

Something inside of his daughter was evil and he couldn't understand how to reason with it. Neither could his wife, and they didn't acknowledge it until Stacey was around the age of five. After a year of counseling Stacey's behavior continued to worsen and it had proven to be too much for his wife.

“Christina, bless your heart,” Emerson said. “It wasn't your fault.”

Christina had walked into the family room where he watched television and Stacey played with her dolls.

“You didn't come from me,” Christina had said to Stacey. Immediately after, she stuck a gun in her mouth, her eyes crazed, and she pulled the trigger.

“But I know you're better off,” Emerson said. “That was no way for you to live. And Stacey?”

He smiled.

“You're better off where you are now,” he said. “They will care for you in Sunnyside Capable Care. The institution is known for its extraordinary care, and I have provided them with enough money to care for you over the course of your entire life.”

She appeared to be taking a liking to Doctor Anna Lee. He noticed the bond that had been formed at the park.
That was the first time she allowed anyone to get that close to her since her mother's death.
 

Emerson was glad they were able to take her to the park, but was saddened by the outcome. He couldn't get himself to tell Doctor Lee what had happened or show her the picture he took. It was the one of Stacey holding Beau's hand and leading him around the playground. When he first examined the picture and saw his daughter looking back at him with pure evil he didn't know what to do.

He hid the picture and didn't look at it again until today. Compelled to make fifty copies, he taped them all over the walls.

The time for reminiscing had come to an end.

“I now understand why you ended your life, Christina,” he said. “I saw what you must've seen and I cannot live with that.”

He clamped his eyes shut, and said, “Forgive me for what I must do.”

He dropped to his knees and all three hundred pounds of him stopped with a forceful jerk. The noose cinched around his neck and the rope whined. The flesh tore and oozed blood and an immense amount of pressure on the inside of his head made it feel as though his eyes were being pushed out of their sockets.

The instinct to survive took over and he struggled to find his footing, but his feet slipped on the wet floor. He tried to lift his hands, but the handcuffs kept his wrists bound behind his back. He tried to draw breath but couldn't.

 

 

Sariel had seen enough. He reached his hand out and dragged his fingernails across the rope. It frayed and snapped. Emerson fell to the floor with a heavy thump. The noose remained tight around his neck and he gurgled as he tried to breathe in.

“Yes,” Sariel said. “This is going to be a long and painful death for you.”

Emerson's soul reached for Sariel, desperate to part from its failing vessel.

“No, I won't take this away from her,” Sariel said. “Twenty-four hours and Cailean will come for you. I want to make sure you are the first soul she escorts to the door. Although she won't recognize you, you will beg her for forgiveness for what you have done to her family.”

Chapter 28

 

 

A MIRACLE

 

 

Present day.

 

Wilson rested his elbows on his knees and watched the steady rise and fall of Beau's chest tucked firmly beneath the bed sheets. A machine monitored his vitals like a relentless guard keeping constant vigil over his frail son. The beeping sounds were a welcomed distraction. Often he found himself staring at the display of the beating heart that showed the steady rhythm of Beau's pulse.

Though Beau was very pale and clammy, he had shown great improvement over the past twelve hours. Wilson remained optimistic that his son would emerge from his brush with death with no lasting effects.

Tubes and wires that were hooked to his small body took away waste and fed him intravenously. Purple bruises surrounded his closed eyes. The doctor said it was from the broken nose he suffered when Cailean landed on top of him.

Wilson reached out and took hold of Beau's cold, limp hand. Welts stained the skin on his forearm and the top of his hand. What Wilson saw implored his scrutiny.

Beau's fingernails were split and oozing—a direct sign of his struggle to free himself.

Wilson couldn't help but imagine the horror his son went through as his mother fell on top of him and pinned him to the floor. Wilson kept mentally placing himself beneath Cailean's weight to try to comprehend what he might have gone through.

A surge of anger came over him and he stifled a scream.

“I couldn't imagine what you were thinking,” he said, and squeezed Beau's hand. “I could only imagine how horrible that must have been for you.”

He surmised that Beau pushed and clawed at the floor as he tried to get himself out from beneath someone many
times heavier than his own body weight. The thing that bothered Wilson the most was that Beau didn't have the
use of his legs to help gain leverage and increase his chance of escaping.
 

“I should never have given in to my desire to have us all back together as a happy, functioning family again. I knew I needed to keep her away from you, but for my own selfish reasons even I don't understand, I risked placing you in harm's way.”

When he was outside with Cailean after she showed up uninvited, deep down inside his sense of right and wrong screamed at him. It told him not to allow her anywhere near Beau, that she couldn't be trusted. But the idea that he could save her from the ghosts of her past and instill a moral compass for her to steer by had become his own addiction.

“Please,” Wilson prayed. “He has been through so much.”

The memory of the treating physician was murky because of shock and disbelief, and yet he remembered the look of concern that poked through his professional demeanor, and that unnerved Wilson.

“I am uncertain as to the long-term effects this will have on your son,” the doctor had said. “I want you to understand that he was oxygen deprived for a long time. But right now I need to focus my efforts on keeping him stable.”

Cailean had arrived at the hospital around the same time as Beau, barely clinging to life. He knew very little about her current condition. The head trauma she suffered had been gruesome and difficult to look at. He didn't need a doctor to tell him how bad it was.

“My life for his,” Wilson said, and felt the offer was reasonable. He closed his eyes and hoped with all of his being that the sincerity of his request meant something. He squeezed Beau's hand again.

“Please, God, I'm begging you to show your mercy. I believe in you and the miracles you can make happen.”

 

Beau opened his eyes and struggled to focus on a soundless television perched high on the wall. He was lying
on his back in a soft bed and heavy blankets covered him. A bright overhead light shined down on him and hurt his eyes.
 

“My life for his.”

The voice that just uttered those words sounded so sad. A gentle, desperate squeeze on his right hand made him fight against the incredible heaviness that settled in his head and he managed to look at his father.

“Please, I'm begging you to show your mercy,” his father said. “I believe in you and the miracles you can make happen.”

Beau licked his lips and drew a deep breath. His chest was sore, but the heart that beat beneath the bruises longed to comfort the man that loved and cared for him unconditionally.

“Dad?” Beau said and the strain made him cough.

Wilson stood up fast, his face bright with surprise and doubt. He stared at Beau, wordless.

“Who are you talking to?” Beau said.

“I've been speaking to God and to you,” he said and tears brightened his eyes. His face threw off messages of pure delight and a moment later, pure confusion.