David remembered once getting into a fight with someone much bigger than himself. He was a junior in high school then. Actually, it was the first real fight he had ever had. Like any other boy attending a public school, he had his share of physical confrontations, which consisted mostly of a few pushes and taps. Before his fight in high school, however, he couldn’t recall ever really striking another boy with closed fists. Of course, he had seen other fights and he had been fascinated by violence the way any adolescent is, but his father was not a violent man. From him David had inherited patience and toleration; from his mother he had gotten a faith in the power of reason and intelligence.
He was witty and quick and could usually belittle antagonists sharply enough to come out looking superior and not cowardly. But Billy Potter was too stupid, or rather too abused at home to understand anything but a physical reprimand. The argument was petty; it was over a seat in the lunch room, and David was willing to give it up, making the trophy look insignificant in the process.
Billy was a relatively new student in the school, having attended it for only two years, whereas David had spent all of his academic life there. The other students around him favored him and applauded the way he handled Billy Potter. Potter, frustrated by David’s retreat, even though he didn’t understand, pursued. In his world smaller and weaker people were supposed to grovel, not look and act superior when backing away. This wasn’t backing away; this was something else, some kind of underhanded warfare.
He continued to press David, backing him up with short, sharp punches to the shoulder and chest. The lunch room was crowded and the teacher supervisors were busy in the hallways as students lined up to get their food. None of the other students would come to David’s aid, either: Potter was too big.
When David didn’t respond to the short, sharp punches, Potter began to slap him in the face with an open hand. It was a funny thing about a slap. A punch was obviously more physically detrimental, but a slap carried an insult with it. The quick, snappy sound drew more attention and reddened David’s face. Potter was indeed belittling him.
David never understood from where his temper erupted. But suddenly, without any warning, he swung out instinctively and struck Potter just under the tip of his nose. The blow was dramatic, even though it wasn’t very hard. It produced an instant letting of blood, shocking everyone, including David himself.
Potter responded with some vicious punches, catching David on the shoulder and neck, but David was able to block most of them before the fight was finally over. Potter was the one led off bleeding, even though both of them were taken to the dean for disciplinary action. David recalled the half smile on the dean’s face. It was as though David had finally proved himself to be a normal boy.
Of course, his parents weren’t happy. But during the days that followed, Potter kept his distance and David sensed a new respect from other boys in his class. He was far from ready to accept the violent way as the right way, but well stored in his mind was the memory of the success and the self-respect it had brought.
The memory lay dormant through the years since, waiting like a sleeping beast.
Now Gerald Thompson came toward him, a heavy, discolored shovel in his hand. He paused and let a grin spread across his face. He flung the shovel down, letting it clatter to the floor, and balled his hands into fists. Despite the fact of the shovel, David Oberman found the rage well within him again. Just as soon as Gerald was in range David struck out. The blow caught the big man unaware. He thought David would cower and beg for mercy.
David hit him in the mouth, driving his lower lip into his teeth. Gerald tasted his own blood. Like a vampire driven by the scent and flavor, he went into a rage and rushed forward, striking David hard on the left side of his neck. The punch nearly snapped his neck, whipping him to the side and off the bed.
Gerald brought his left fist down, pounding the floored David and nearly knocking the breath out of him. Then he reached forward to grasp David by the neck and pull him up. The man was everything Gerald was not—polished, wealthy, successful. He would enjoy beating him to a pulp, and then watch as his face collapsed when the shovel shattered his skull. David kicked out with his good leg, but he was unable to make contact.
When David fell over the bed, however, he felt the hammer he had laid there just before lifting the side of the bed to free his wife. His hands closed around the handle and when Gerald bent down again to seize him around the neck, David struck him on the side of the head with the hammer.
The blow was severe enough to send Gerald reeling. He staggered and raised his arm to protect himself from another blow. David flailed out wildly now, and only grazed the big man. The blow was enough to drive Gerald off balance and to his knees beside the bed. He reached up in time to catch the hammer in midair before David could land another blow.
They struggled like that for a few moments, and then Gerald’s foot caught on a bed post and he toppled to the floor. David brought the hammer down quickly onto the hulking man’s head, and when he fell back dazed, David struggled to his feet and limped to the bedside where the chain was hinged, catching his breath first. He heaved the bed up and shoved the chain aside. It scraped across the floor, free. “Quick!” he gasped, to his stunned wife. “Get out!”
“David, hit him again,” she cried hysterically at the figure of Gerald, now gripped with pain on the floor. “He raped me! He raped me!”
David seized her arm, and pushed her toward the door. “Get out now, I’ll take care of this,” he said, waving his arm as she skidded across the mattress to the other side. She looked wild-eyed. Remembering the chain was still clasped to her foot, she reeled the chain in quickly and hurried past David into the hallway before Gerald could regain his senses. David, recovering his breath, began to hop past him, bracing himself against the hall wall as he went.
But before he reached the stairway, Gerald was up again. He reached forward and seized David’s right arm, spinning him around violently. He plucked the hammer from David’s hand with ease and then drove his big fist into the side of David’s face. Stacey was already three-quarters of the way down. She looked up and screamed as David teetered ominously at the top of the long stairway.
Gerald raised the hammer intending to bring it down on David’s skull. His vision of the man’s face collapsing inward returned. Maybe he could use the shovel later to deepen the wound. The hammer would rid him, at the least, of the man for now. And there was always the woman and the girl…A grin spread across his face, and to David it appeared like the grin of death. Stacey screamed again and reached upward as if she could help her husband by merely pointing at Gerald.
Just before Gerald brought the hammer down, Chicky Ross fired his pistol. The bullet struck Gerald in the chest and the impact drove him sideways as David scooted away from him. He leaned against the banister, dazed for a moment, blinking. Then he seemed to lose equilibrium and started to fold backward over the railing.
Actually, no more than a second had passed, but within that tiny, remaining moment of life, Gerald saw his father’s face again. The old man had just put Gerald—Gerald who had tenderly cared for his mad father in his dotage; Gerald who had lovingly buried him in the Thompson mausoleum—into the Bad Box. He could even in that instant remember the incident in his past that had led to the punishment. He had uprooted his mother’s plot of dead irises by accident, as he hoed the ground for a bed of tomatoes the family needed. In fury his father told him in his grating voice that he had shamed his mother, and that he’d have to stay in the box all night. It was a hot July day.
The last image Gerald saw at the moment of his death was his father, grinning in at him, who was sobbing and pleading, as the lid of the Bad Box lowered over him.
David lay on the floor gasping. Stacey, who watched from halfway up the stairs, ran up to him and cradled his head in her lap. Chicky holstered his gun and went over to the sprawled body on the foyer floor to test his pulse. Nothing beat there. He rose, trembling.
He had shot at a man only twice before in his career: once when a burglar shot at him, and once during an attempted robbery of a gas station. Both times the criminals surrendered before much of an exchange ensued. He had fantasized this moment many times in his life, but now that it was here, he didn’t react the way he had envisioned he would. He wasn’t at all as professional or as macho about it as he had hoped. His hands were shaking and he couldn’t take his eyes off the dead body, but he realized there was yet a great deal more to do.
He climbed the stairs and looked at Stacey. She seemed unaware that she was naked as she comforted her dazed husband. She appeared unable to stop herself from gulping deep breaths. Her shoulders heaved up and down and her face was so red she looked as though she might explode from the pressure of the blood that had pumped to the surface of her skin.
“My God,” Chicky said. He stepped forward; “Easy, Mrs. Oberman,” he said. “Easy. It’s over; it’s all over.” He touched her shoulder and then went to the room to find a robe. He returned with the blanket and draped it over her shoulders. She blinked at him and then looked at David.
“I can’t…stop…” she gasped. She began smoothing David’s hair to bring him around.
Chicky saw the chains attached to her ankles. He unlocked them with a key he’d found after rummaging through Gerald’s pockets. They fell away. But as David recouped his senses, Stacey lost hers until she just stared ahead of her.
“Mr. Oberman, what the hell’s going on here?” Chicky said. David didn’t respond. “Mr. Oberman? Are you all right?”
David looked up at him, the realities beginning to sink in. He looked over at Stacey and saw how she sat there staring ahead as if she was hypnotized. Then he tried to stand. Chicky helped him, guiding him to a chair in the bedroom when he saw he was still unsteady. He went back to the hall and led Stacy to the bed where he got her to lie down, then draped the blanket over her.
“Is he dead?” David asked.
“Looks that way, Mr. Oberman.” He stood up. “Can you tell me what went on here?”
“They had my wife…trapped…chained to that bed. He…raped her.” David looked to Stacey for confirmation, but she simply stared ahead.
“Damn. What happened to you?”
“He tried to kill me…threw me down a well…my leg…”
“Yeah, I see. I’ll call for an ambulance.” Chicky looked around the room and shook his head at the boarded windows. What a nightmare, he thought, but at least the man had found his wife and child. The child? “Where’s your little girl, Mr. Oberman? Wasn’t she with your wife?”
The question triggered off both Stacey and David. The daze they were both in as a result of the struggle lifted instantly. Stacey sat up and David rose from the chair.
“Tami? Tami! Tami!” Stacey screamed, the blanket falling away again.
“She was right outside,” David said. “With that…that woman and her child.”
“What woman, Mr. Oberman?” Chicky followed him to the doorway and they both looked into the hall. “What woman, Mr. Oberman?” Chicky repeated. Stacey called to them.
Chicky went back to her while David grabbed up the shovel to use as a crutch and limped down the stairs as best he could. Chicky found her coherent, but very distraught. She directed him to check the rooms upstairs which she recited from memory. They were empty. Chicky went to the head of the stairway. David returned to the bottom of it.
“They’re not down here,” he called up. “Where the hell are they?”
“I’ve got to call for an ambulance and some help,” Chicky said. “Where’s a phone?”
“They don’t have a phone,” Stacey said.
“Jesus.”
“Where’s my daughter?” David limped about in circles like a lunatic unaware that he had been released from a confined cell.
“I’ll go look for her, Mr. Oberman. You look after your wife.”
“She’s crazy,” Stacey said, coming up behind him, the blanket wrapped around her. She was obviously fighting for coherence. “The woman is crazy. She’ll hurt her. She’s crazy.” She took hold of his arm. He pried her fingers away gently, just as he had pried them from the chain to unlock the cuffs.
“All right; all right. Give me a chance to look, Mrs. Oberman. Mr. Oberman, can you look after your wife?” With both of them in such a maddened state, he wondered if he could leave them. He thought it wouldn’t be past them to go off on their own search, even in their badly beaten state.
“Find them!” David screamed. “Hurry.”
“All right,” Chicky said. “I’ll find them. Look to your wife,” he repeated, starting down the stairs. David grabbed him when he reached the bottom.
“She thinks my daughter is someone else. There’s no telling what she’ll do. She’s insane.”
“I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Chicky broke away from him and headed for the back of the house. Those voices, he thought, recalling what he had heard just before he had come into the house, that must have been them going over the hill he spotted. Where was she taking the Oberman child?
“We need Arthur and Arthur needs us,” Irene had said as soon as the fight had begun in the bedroom. A fear glowed in her, and her mind, always weak, teemed feverishly. She felt something that approached logic, and she was impelled to follow it. Twisted and entangled in her mind were thoughts of her dead son and her own fear of being alone. In her most insane moment she was her most sane in recognizing for the first time that her son had passed from this world. “He’s alone. He needs a playmate, too,” she intoned, looking at Shirley. Irene brought her lower lip over her upper and made the sad face. Shirley always understood the sad face and always agreed to whatever she wanted her to agree to whenever she put on that face. Shirley nodded sadly. “You’ve had her long enough anyway,” Irene added breathlessly. “Isn’t that right, dear? Don’t you want to share your friend with Arthur?”
“She’s afraid of Are…thor,” Shirley said. She reached out and grasped Tami’s wrist before Tami could move much farther away. “She’s ascared,” she added and pressed her face up to Tami’s. Tami struggled to break free of the hold, but Shirley’s grip was tight. “Just a scaredy cat. A sissy with a sissy doll,” Shirley added. Now that it looked certain she would lose her playmate, she didn’t mind mocking her in the open. In fact, it made her feel better.
“Well, we’ve got to bring her to him, Shirley. Gerald’s busy,” Irene said, looking toward the bedroom. “He can’t do it. This time we have to do it ourselves. We have to go to Arthur ourselves,” she added, turning to Shirley. “And you know where Arthur is, don’t you? I never asked you before, but I’m afraid I have to ask you now.”
“Uh-huh. I know,” she said with new excitement. Another idea had occurred to her. After all, when they had gone outside at night to see Arthur, where had they heard him just before Gerald called and made them come into the house? They had heard him in the well and they would have gone to him, too, if Gerald hadn’t been so angry. Arthur was probably still in there. It wasn’t the first time she had imagined him to be in there. She would actually see him now.
“Well, then we’d better get started, okay?”
“Okay,” Shirley said. She took back Tami’s wrist, digging her fingernails into the little girl’s skin, and helped take her to the rear door. When Irene reached out to open it, Tami was able to get her hand off her mouth.
“Nooo!” Tami cried. She tried to sit down on the floor to prevent herself from being dragged outside, but Shirley twisted her wrist roughly, sending a stabbing pain up her arm and into her shoulder. She cried out for her father and her mother, but neither could hear her.
“Now is this a way to behave?” Irene asked her. She shook her head. “Arthur won’t like you if you don’t behave.”
“Arthur will like her,” Shirley said. She was eager now to make Tami go. She wanted to put her idea to the test, an idea that would lead to Arthur’s actual appearance, she was convinced. “He told me so,” she added. Tami’s eyes widened in fear.
“Not if she’s like this,” Irene said, and walked ahead of them. But Tami remained immobile. With her mother ten feet away and out of earshot, Shirley turned Tami’s wrist even harder. The tears streamed down Tami’s face, and she gagged on her own sobs.
“Stand straight and walk,” Shirley commanded. “I said walk, Sooey-face.” She ripped the doll from Tami’s other arm and held it away. “Walk or you’ll never get your doll back.”
Tami took a few steps forward, but when she reached out for the doll Shirley continued to hold it away. Finally, she returned it and Tami pressed the doll against her, smothering her tears and sobs in the doll’s face.
Irene stopped and waited for them to catch up. She peered at Tami.
“That’s better,” Irene said. She patted her on the head. “That’s a good girl. Come along, dear.” She took Tami’s other hand. The three of them made their way around the barn. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s find Arthur and show him our new playmate.”
Irene and the two girls had hurried by just before Chicky Ross emerged from the barn. Tami walked between Shirley and her, both of them holding her hands. She looked back longingly, realizing that her father and mother were now together up in that terrible room. Surely they wouldn’t want her to go out with these two.
“I want my mommy and daddy,” she said.
“Oh, boy, is she a sissy,” Shirley said.
“No, she’s not. She’s just a little frightened girl. Isn’t that it, Donna?” Irene asked, her voice so soft and sweet it drew Tami’s sincere nod. “Sure. That’s understandable. We’re all a little frightened when we first meet new people. I was always afraid to meet new people,” Irene went on. “Whenever anyone new came to our house, I hid in my room. My mother would have to come drag me out. Isn’t that terrible?”
She brought her voice up at the end of her question, making it seem more like a funny story. Shirley laughed.
“You shouldn’t laugh, Shirley. You were the same way for a long time. Arthur was different, though,” she added, looking far off, “Arthur was always happy to meet new people. He was eager to meet new people and new people always liked him. That’s why I know you’ll like him when you meet him, Donna.”
“She almost met him, but she got scared.”
“Stop saying those things, Shirley. You’re not making this any easier by saying those things.” Irene glared at her.
“Gerald’s going to be mad I showed you where Arthur is,” she said defiantly. She didn’t like being reprimanded in front of Tami.
“No, he won’t. This is different. He can’t do it, so we have to do it.”
“He told me I shouldn’t tell you where Arthur really is. He made me promise,” she said and she stopped. She let go of Tami’s hand and folded her arms across her chest.
Irene turned on her, spinning Tami around roughly.
“You listen to me, young lady,” she said, glaring down at her. She paused and Shirley waited with interest for the threat to follow. “If you want to keep your playmate in this house, you’d better do just as I asked you to, understand?”
Shirley pressed her lips together, but she didn’t move.
“Understand?”
“Are…thor gets everything he asks for,” she said. “Well, he does.” She turned on Irene.
Irene straightened up and softened her expression.
“He doesn’t get everything, but we’ve got to do whatever we can for him. Poor Arthur,” Irene said. “Poor little Arthur.” Shirley’s face softened. “He’s all alone.” She looked about as though Arthur was lost somewhere on the farm. Shirley brought her arms down and seized Tami’s hand again.
“Keep going straight,” Shirley said.
“Straight?”
“I’ll show you,” Shirley added and started away, pulling Tami along roughly.
The sound of the gunshot within the house turned them around. Irene stared at the house for a moment and then looked down at Tami.
“What was that?” Shirley asked. “It sounded like a firecracker.”
“I don’t know what it was,” Irene said, the glow of fear growing stronger. “It’s not important now. What’s important is for us to see Arthur and introduce him to Donna. Let’s go.”
They continued walking until Shirley paused and pointed to the well.
“Is that where he is?” Irene asked in a loud whisper. “That’s where Gerald said he is?”
“Yes.” Shirley stared at the well. “He’s at the bottom. All the way down at the bottom.” She turned to Tami and pulled her arm. “Come on, scaredy cat or are you going to sit on the ground and scream again?”
“I wanna go back,” Tami said, but Irene didn’t hear her. She moved forward like a somnambulist, her gaze fixed on the well. When she reached it, she let go of Tami’s hand and leaned over the edge to look down into the darkness below. Tami turned to run back to the house, but Shirley grabbed a fist full of her hair and held her in place.
“Yes,” Irene said, listening. “I hear him. He is in the well. I should have realized this is where he would be. His spirit would guard this—Gerald’s father would want that.”
Curious herself, Shirley pulled Tami along and approached the well to listen. Was Arthur really down there? She had heard him scratching away and it did seem to come from the well. Why was it Irene could hear him and she couldn’t? She tried listening harder and then looked to Irene, who was smiling and nodding.
Instinctively, Tami began to back away and struggle against Shirley’s grip. She almost broke free, but Shirley spun around and caught her with both arms.
“She doesn’t want to see him,” she sang. “She doesn’t like Are…thor.”
“Oh, dear Donna, dear, dear Donna. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Arthur’s a little boy, just like you’re a little girl. You’ll see. He’ll teach you things, things no one else can teach you,” Irene added. A sheen of perspiration covered her face. The veins were never so close to the surface of her almost transparent skin. She took Tami’s hand again and gave Shirley a look as if to say, “Now leave it all to me.” Obediently, Shirley released her grip and Tami, still sobbing but holding the sounds back, went to Irene.
Irene embraced her and then lifted her to place her on the well rim.
“Don’t cry anymore, Donna. You’re lucky. You’re going to meet Arthur,” she said. Then she turned slowly.
Shirley drew closer. This was going to be the most interesting thing she had ever seen, and she wanted to see all of it, especially how Arthur would come up the well.
To get a better view, Shirley climbed up on the ledge and sat waiting. Tami, sensing that something dreadful was about to happen to her, began to struggle to get free again. She slid under one of Irene’s arms and dangled, held by her left wrist, and sobbed aloud. Her sobbing turned to cries and pleas.
“Now stop this. Stop this immediately,” Irene commanded. She seized Tami’s other arm and shook her. “You’re making Arthur unhappy and he won’t come up. If you don’t stop crying…” Although she didn’t finish the threat, Tami imagined it would have to be something terrible. She stopped struggling. Almost immediately, Irene smiled approval. “That’s better.”
She lifted her again, this time by holding her firmly at the waist.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s call him together. Arthur,” she began. “Arthur.” She shook Tami and whispered, “Call him. Arthur,” she repeated. “Can you come up and play? Call him.”
“Arthur,” Tami mouthed. “Arthur,” she said when Irene squeezed her.
“Louder,” Irene commanded. “He doesn’t hear you.”
“Arthur,” Tami said, raising her voice just a little. As she looked down the dark well, she was terrified that Arthur would really appear because she was calling.
“Arthur’s coming,” Irene said. “He’s coming, dear. You’ll see him soon.”
Shirley climbed up on the ledge herself. Arthur was really coming. He was coming. But when she looked down, she only saw the dark empty well. She looked at Irene, confused. Irene was acting as though Arthur was indeed coming. She looked as though she saw him, but where was he? Why couldn’t she see him?
Irene released her grip on Tami and the little girl tottered on the well ledge. Shirley looked at her and then down the well again. Then she seized her doll, still clasped in Tami’s arms.
“Arthur wants Sooey first,” she cried; Tami screamed. Irene stepped back and brought her right hand to her cheek, amazed by the scene.
Tami pushed herself back instinctively and she and Shirley began a struggle on the ledge over the doll in Tami’s grasp. “He wants Sooey, he wants Sooey,” she chanted, tugging. But Tami refused to relax her grip and tried to wriggle free. For a few moments Irene was stunned by the struggle.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”
It was at that moment that Stacey screamed. When she first started out of the house toward them, she knew that she had better not give them warning. She thought the woman and the girl might do something erratic. But when she realized what Shirley’s intentions were, she shouted with all her might.
Irene turned to her. “We’re waiting for Arthur,” she said.
Tami began to scream harder and kick at Shirley with her free leg, fighting to save the doll. Shirley stood up on the ledge to put more force in her tug-of-war for the doll.
“Let her go!” Stacey shouted. She was running as fast as she could, clinging to the corners of the blanket so it stayed wrapped around her. All she saw was the straggle at the well’s ledge, and the woman standing back, pale and sickly, watching with her mouth open, gaping.
Out of breath, she reached the group and grabbed hold of Tami’s left wrist, pulling her to her. The wrestling was short-lived. Shirley was no match for Stacey who was now driven by total hysteria.
When Shirley lost her hold on Tami, she also lost her footing on the well ledge and fell backward. Her head struck the well wall about ten feet down and then she turned over twice before striking the bottom. It happened so quickly that for a moment neither Irene nor Stacey realized it. Then Stacey screamed and clasped Tami to her.
Irene turned with a dazed expression on her face and looked over the edge. She was still staring down at Shirley’s crumpled and quiet body below when Chicky Ross arrived. He had seen the final action as he emerged from the house.
Stacey and Tami were seated on the ground, crying and holding one another. Stacey was kissing her daughter’s face and stroking her hair.
The detective lumbered to the ledge and peered down. He saw the dark, twisted form of Shirley’s body and then whirled to face Irene, who had turned toward him, a painted smile on her translucent face. Her wide sullen eyes brimmed with tears of triumph. “It was Shirley,” she said.
Chicky didn’t respond. He looked down at the girl again and then back at Irene. “It was Shirley he wanted,” she continued. “That’s why he didn’t come up. He wanted his sister to be down there with him. Isn’t that wonderful? Now they’ll be together forever.”
Chicky shook his head, certain she was no threat now to anyone. He went to see to Stacey and Tami. For the time being he left Irene standing by the well, mumbling to her dead children.