Chapter Four

Miranda always feared someone would come out of the blue and take away her son. The birth mother who changes her mind or the biological father who reappears to assert his parental rights–these were her nightmares. However, after all these years, the likelihood of this seemed remote.

This account of Ryan’s birth, though…she could not get her head around it. There were legal ramifications. Then there was her mother. What was she thinking?

“Mrs. Perry,” Doctor Pullman-Batista said, “Believe me, I am only realizing the extent of this issue as we speak. I am not even sure what to make of it.”

The story was long but eventually Miranda had it straight. A young girl came to Eugenia Pullman, the doctor’s mother, in labor. Someone had told her Eugenia would be able to help. Carolyn Tyron happened to be present since she often assisted Eugenia with health related services to the African-American community. The girl was deeply distressed, and appeared mentally ill. She rambled on about a curse, and feared for her baby’s life.

“My mother became convinced the girl was possessed.” The doctor mouthed the last word, and looked around to make sure she was not overheard by her colleagues. “My mother is a trained medical professional, Mrs. Perry, yet she has always held onto the folklore practices and healing skills of our family ancestors, specifically a favorite aunt.”

Carolyn Tryon continued the story. “Miranda, at first, I didn’t believe it for a second. After that…quite frankly, it was chilling.”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Doctor Pullman-Batista said. “Twins were born, and the mother died horribly giving birth. One twin also died, but the other survived, though he was injured in the process. The scar on Ryan’s back is that injury. I was pregnant with my daughter at the time, newly married, and home for a visit before starting medical school. I saw the whole thing.”

Miranda waited, expecting more.

“I needed to save the life of that baby. I knew you wanted badly to have a child, Miranda. I gave him to you,” Carolyn said, barely above a whisper.

Miranda leaned against the glass door of Ryan’s exam room in the ER. Competing responses flooded her mind. Why wasn’t she told about this? Were they saying that somehow these past events were impacting Ryan now? Mostly, “What the hell were you people thinking?” wanted to jump from her lips. She suppressed the urge though, knowing that challenging their course of action would put everyone on the defensive and not address the immediate concern. With a sense of irony, she realized this was how Phil would be thinking if he were here.

Miranda pushed herself off the glass and took a step or two away from her mother and the physician before turning to face them. “I’m too overwhelmed to think clearly at the moment. I don’t…I don’t know what to make about all this…let alone know what I should communicate to Ryan.” She turned to Doctor Pullman-Batista. “His problems…the falls…the visions…could there be something wrong…I mean, an illness…” She couldn’t put her fears into words.

The doctor exhaled slowly before she responded. “Yes, it could. There’s always drug abuse, neurological or psychological concerns…Look, when was his last physical exam?”

“Last summer.”

“I think we can ease some of your worries. He’s going to need a check-up for school, I think. Let’s start there. I’m not a pediatrician, but I know a few who have a skill for working with teenagers. Do you need a referral?”

“God yes, please.” Miranda felt some initial relief. At least this was a step in the right direction.

“Hold on a second.” Doctor Pullman-Batista excused herself and walked off while digging a cell phone out of her white-coat pocket. She left Miranda and her mother alone. They were silent for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry Miranda. I should have said something.”

Miranda looked at her mother, and realized that she wasn’t angry with her. After all, who could have anticipated something bizarre like this? If she had known any of these facts would it have changed the course of their history?

Miranda recalled the afternoon she received the phone call from her mother. She was home working on her second book illustration. It was late winter and snowing heavily, and she remembered standing and leaning her butt against her desk and looking outside when she answered. For the longest time, she couldn’t understand what her mother was proposing. She kept repeating, “Mom, wait, what are you saying?” Then, it hit her like a thunderclap, and she nearly fell to her knees.

A baby? We can adopt a baby?

There were some minor hysterics. She called Phil at the office. He was intrigued.

He left the office early, but it still took him forever to make it home because of the snow. They discussed the opportunity. The entire idea was novel to them because they never considered adoption. Then there were the issues like no crib, no clothes, when would they ever find the time…

Of course Phil started asking the nuts-and-bolts questions. Is the adoption legal? What were the birth parents like? Have the birth parents consented? Always practical, that was Phil, but with each question, he was clearly growing excited too.

The birth parents would not be a problem. They’d abandoned the baby.

The situation was unusual for sure, but this solution would be best for all…

Not really adequate responses by any stretch of the imagination, but they could overlook them…

A boy. A baby boy.

Milwaukee’s airport was shut down until the next day due to the snowfall. Waiting to catch the flight to Charleston seemed like an eternity. When they finally arrived, they had generated a number of to-do lists for what was needed, so they felt somewhat in control of what was going to happen next. That sense of control didn’t last long once they had Ryan home and the day to day realities set in. At the time, though, the sense of control was important to them.

Miranda burst into tears when she took Ryan in her arms after walking into her parents’ house. Even Phil shed a few. Her mother was ecstatic, and her father had the biggest grin on his face she had ever seen.

On top of everything, Ryan was absolutely beautiful.

No, thinking back, if she had known the facts it wouldn’t have mattered. She wouldn’t change anything.

“No, Mom. I’m not sure you should have told us. Maybe your decision not to was the best thing. You had no way of knowing.”

Carolyn nodded, trying to blink away tears.

“We’ll just take this a step at a time, and consider all the options for sorting this out.” Just what Phil would say, she thought again.

Ten minutes later, the doctor returned. “Sorry for the delay. Doctor Renee Barrington.” She handed Miranda a computer generated appointment slip. “I went to Med School with her. She is a great colleague. It just so happened she had a cancellation at noon tomorrow, and I took the liberty of making an appointment for Ryan.”

Miranda was impressed. She wondered whether Doctor Barrington really scheduled patients for noon or if Doctor Pullman-Batista pulled a few strings. “Thank you very much for doing this. I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. You have your hands full. Renee is my daughter’s pediatrician, so she comes highly recommended. She’ll be a good fit for Ryan.”

* * * *

He had seen the doctor leave and then come back and hand his mother a piece of paper. When his mother returned to the room, he immediately started his questions.

“So, what was that all about? What did Grandma mean? What were you talking about?”

“Ryan, easy, calm down.”

“Wait…”

“Ryan, honey.” She rubbed his good forearm. “Shhh. My mind is going in a million different directions, and I need to process everything. I can’t talk about it right now. I will though, I promise. Give me a little time.”

Then she dropped the bombshell. “I have an appointment for you to see the doctor tomorrow. For a physical. Her name is Doctor Barrington. The ER doctor highly recommends her.”

“What? Oh crap.” He groaned loudly. “Why do I need to see another doctor? What more are they going to check?”

“Ryan, I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you want to do, but you need a physical and we need to rule out certain things. We don’t know what is causing you to have these dreams.”

“They’re not dreams,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I am not imagining it. I saw that kid.” He closed his mouth tightly and pressed his lips together. He was determined not to speak to her until he felt good and ready.

He maintained his silence while he was released and his mother signed all kinds of papers. When they entered the car, he resumed his interrogation.

“C’mon, Mom, what’d they say?”

His grandmother left the hospital before they did so she could prepare something for all of them to eat. He was astonished to find himself starving as usual.

“Ryan, let’s give it a rest for now. Please don’t ask me again.”

“Mom, it’s my life, don’t you think I ought to know?” How much time did she need to process things?

“Ryan…” Her tone took on an edge. “If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in your room without your laptop, cell phone, or any other electronic devices, you better stop right now.”

“This sucks,’ he said under his breath. Ryan knew when to quit, and this was it. Still, he slumped in the seat and sulked. What did she mean when she said she was there when I was born? He saw the doctor and his grandmother working hard to convince his mother of something. Their facial expressions said urgency. He heard his mother say, “Absolutely not!” at least two or three times. What next step or course of action was she “absolutely not” going to allow?

Lunch was quiet by their standards. The two women made small talk about chores or shopping, but it was all surface stuff. Ryan sensed the reluctance to talk, and counted his blessings. The awkwardness kept the pressure off him for the time being. There were no probing questions about how he felt and what he was thinking. While he resented their badgering, he knew something really odd was happening to him. Two nights in a row of seeing and experiencing strange visions, falling and getting really hurt…

The pounding on the door last night…how could he imagine that? The blood running from his scar… which had burst open. He saw it… and felt it. Yet…yet…it was just gone…seconds later there was no blood…it was gone. He couldn’t just make that up. He couldn’t have been dreaming it.

No…no, dammit…I was awake…that was no dream, man… that…that thing…that shitty thing did something to me…

He recalled the doctor asking about psychiatric history…was he crazy…would he be hospitalized…was he a danger to himself? What would it be like talking to a shrink? How would people react if they found out? God, he would never have any friends.

“Sweetheart, you look tired. Do you want to clean up and take a rest?”

“Yeah,” he replied truthfully. “I do feel grimy.”

* * * *

Miranda sat on the edge of her bed listening to the shower run. She kept having images of Ryan slipping in the tub and hurting himself again. The past forty-eight hours contained non-stop excitement of the worst kind, with most of it involving streams of blood flowing from her son’s head. As they were eating lunch she caught whiffs of sweat and urine, and she knew he needed a shower. They couldn’t get the stitches wet for twenty-four hours, so she considered alternative means of cleaning his hair and face.

“I’ve got an idea,” she told him as they walked up the stairs together. A stained-glass window situated on the staircase landing provided a swath of color to his face which seconds before had looked pale and gaunt. “I can wash your hair in the sink…I think the faucet is high enough for you to get your head under. I’ll have you hold a hand towel over your face to protect the stitches, especially the new ones over here.” She pointed to the left side of his face. “The dressings will help protect them too.”

The plan worked well. She helped him take off his shirt, careful not to catch anything on the stitches. She widened the arm-hole as much as she could to get the shirt over his cast which started on his forearm and ended midway up his palm. He leaned over the sink, and she was very careful not to send water cascading over the towel. She massaged his hair with shampoo as best she could without hurting him, and watched the rust colored water flow down the drain.

When Ryan stood up, he arched his back slightly to compensate for leaning over the sink for so long. She knew it must have hurt, but he didn’t say a word. She helped him pat his hair dry, and then took a fresh washcloth, wet it and applied a small amount of soap. She very carefully washed his face. He stood silently, and Miranda observed he now stood a little taller than her. His eyes, a light brown in color, did not leave her face. They appeared as big as silver dollars, and Miranda realized with tremendous guilt that the boy was deeply afraid. She would need to sit down and talk to him.

“That feels so much better, Mom. Thanks.”

“Remember, you can’t get you head wet when you go in the shower, and you can’t get your cast wet either.”

“Okay.”

“One second, I’ve got another idea.” She opened a narrow closet adjacent to the shower and searched. Within moments, she pulled out a plastic bag from the grocery store.

“We can place this over your arm, and keep it attached with this.” She opened a drawer in the vanity and found a black elastic hair band. “Put this on the upper part of the cast, not on your arm. Otherwise you might cut off the circulation…make sense?”

“Yeah.”

“Still, try and keep it out the water anyway.” She paused, and then asked, “Would you want me to stay in here to help you?”

“No, that’s okay. Can you get me some clean clothes though?”

“Of course.” She went to his room and found a few items. As she was about to leave, she stopped and returned the T-shirt she picked out. In its place, she pulled a button down short sleeved shirt which might be easier to get on over the cast. Ryan approved of her choices, so she left the bathroom. She stood outside the door just in case – of what, she wasn’t sure. After a few moments and against her better judgment she called through the door, “Is everything okay? Need any help?” She prepared herself for a snotty adolescent response. Instead she heard…

“I think I’ll be all right, Mom. Honest. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

She moved to her bedroom and waited for him to finish. Ryan actually took about ten minutes, which was long for him. She sensed activity from behind the door, and also heard him swear quietly to himself. She resisted the urge to move to the door.

“Mom?”

“Yes, honey?” She forced herself to move at a deliberate pace. “Everything okay?’

“Yeah, but could you help me for a second?”

She knocked quietly, and then entered. He had managed to get his underwear and shorts on, but he obviously had been struggling. He sat on the closed toilet lid, and she helped him work on the shirt, with her doing the buttons.

Ryan looked up at her and whispered, “Thanks.” His face crumpled, and tears spilled down his cheeks. Then he was in her arms, head bent down into the crook of her neck. “Mom, I’m so scared.”

“I know.” The intensity of his emotional reaction surprised her. Then, he had been pretty distressed at the hospital and during the ride home, and his behavior was so unlike him. His pouting in the car was quite a throwback to when he was five, a nearly perfect imitation of bygone days. She held him silently, and gave him all the time he needed.

He composed himself rather quickly. “I’m sorry for being a pain in the butt, Mom.” He sniffed.

“Sweetheart, you’re not. You’re having a rough time. I’m sorry I have been grouchy with you,” Miranda finally said as Ryan pulled away. “Your dressings are a little wet. Why don’t we change them, and I will tell you what I know.”

* * * *

Agent Lund sat on a bench in the park outside the Tryon house. A horse-driven carriage loaded with tourists had just left his field of vision, so the tour guide’s commentary and clip-clop sounds of the horse were fading.

This was the second time today waiting outside the house. He came earlier after leaving the crime scene and sat on this same bench trying to get a feel for the neighborhood before knocking on the door. Just as he was ready to stand, a car pulled in the Tryon driveway. He was shocked to see a battered Ryan Perry gingerly step out of the car. Lund had been surprised a few times over the years while working on cases, but this image really pulled the rug out from under him. The boy looked as if he had been worked over by a gorilla. Before he talked with the kid, Lund would need to find out what the hell happened to him.

“I’m not hearing a convincing argument why I should disclose privileged patient information, Agent Lund.” Doctor Pullman-Batista stood with her hands on her hips. They were adjacent to the physician and nurse bullpen in the emergency room. The doctor was near the end of her shift and had just entered some notes into a computer when Lund approached her.

“Doctor, I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with you. This is a murder investigation. Two recent college grads were slaughtered just a few miles from here–”

“I’m aware of that, Agent Lund, but–”

“Your patient was seen running from the scene within twenty-four hours of their murder. He was terrified. Just a little while ago when I show up at his grandmother’s house to interview him, I spot him leaving a car looking like he was thrown from an airplane without a parachute. Are you trying to tell me all of these things occurring within, what, forty-eight hours wouldn’t raise any red flags with you if you were in my position? Give me a break.” Lund’s voice remained calm and conversational, but his gaze was intense. The doctor was unfazed, however.

Lund was frustrated, so he tried a different angle. “Look, I am convinced the kid was not involved with the murders. The timing is all wrong. Still, my hunch tells me something happened to him out on that road. Please, how did he get his injuries?”

Doctor Pullman-Batista sighed. She appeared torn between various courses of action. Finally, she relented. She knew nothing about the Old Bay Road incident. Ryan hadn’t said a word about that. She did relate Ryan’s accounts of his experiences with his “twin”, and how he was injured.

Lund had the impression the doctor expected him to blow off Ryan’s stories as a kid’s overly active imagination, but he didn’t–and that encouraged the doctor a bit more in her report. For his part, Lund realized he was embarking on something horrifying, a trip down a darkened road containing nightmares and madness. Unbeknownst to any but a handful of people, Lund felt increasingly positive he had a clear image of what they all were looking for. The one thought that kept echoing in his mind was, Oh God, not again.

“Hey, mister, is that a real gun?”

Lund looked up from his smart phone where he searched the agency’s database to find a chubby boy of about nine standing before him. Running stains of purple and red down the front of a pale yellow T-shirt suggested the boy had been eating rapidly melting Popsicles–at least two judging by the artificial colors. Hidden behind the boy was another one around six who was just barely peeking around the older kid and sporting his own running colors. Judging from his chubby face and assorted stains, Lund guessed this was the speaker’s younger brother.

“What, this?” Lund lifted his arm slightly so the shoulder harness and weapon was slightly more visible. He noticed a middle aged couple scurrying towards him. These were the parents, he surmised. Body fat rippled in T-shirts stretched taut over their bodies as they moved. Lund saw combinations of environmental factors and genetics playing a role in the growth of their children.

Both boys nodded their heads vigorously.

For the benefit of the anxious parents, Lund stalled for a few seconds so they heard what was going on.

“Yep, it’s real. I need it for my job.” The parents were now in earshot, and Lund saw the mother ready to take action if necessary.

“Teddy,” the mom said loudly, but with an attempt at sounding casual. “You can’t just walk up to people and start talking.” The father’s eyes were riveted to the gun. They were clearly tourists, possibly coming into town to break up the monotony of being on the beach.

“Mommy, it’s a real gun,” Teddy announced. “He has it for his job.”

Lund kind of shrugged for the parents’ benefit, as if to say, “Kids. What’re you going to do?”

“Are you a policeman?” Teddy asked. His sibling had now come out from behind his big brother.

“Sort of…can you read this?” Lund held out his identification and badge.

“FBI…wow. Do you see that Dad?”

Dad nodded, a little nervous as most people tended to be in his presence.

“Okay you guys,” Mom announced, “it’s time to go back to our tour. We can’t keep bothering this man.”

The kids groaned, and Lund added, “You need to listen to your mom, now.”

“Ahh, darn. Hold on, are you trying to solve a case?”

“Yep, but the case is top secret so I can’t talk about it.” Lund’s voice faded to a whisper.

“Okay,” Teddy whispered in reply. He looked to his mother who jerked her head in a “let’s go” manner. “It was nice to meet you.” Teddy held out a sticky hand, which Lund shook. Seeing the situation was safe, the little brother did the same. Lund ended up with a booger on the heel of his hand. He waited till the family left and then wiped his hand with a tissue. Lund had two kids of his own, so he was relatively familiar with the dangers of hand to hand contact with children.

Lund prepped himself for approaching the Tryon house, and especially the boy inside who was his main concern. He would readily admit being troubled by the fact that another adolescent was the focal point of these events. Likewise, he would be the first to acknowledge his personal experiences sensitized him to this reaction.

The pattern of the attack on the young couple demonstrated some agonizingly similar characteristics to Lund’s other unsolved murders. There were claw-like gouges and scratches, means of dismemberment were comparable, along with a bizarre set of physical evidence. Human hair and skin scrapings were found, but the quality was not good. That was because they were contaminated by physical evidence suggesting the involvement of an animal or animals.

Even though the cases he was interested in dated back at least five years, Lund suspected there may be pockets of others around the country. Over that time period, there was another frustrating feature that was becoming clear to him because he had the temporal context. The evidence suggested the animal was changing, or maturing. Or molting.

While these types of attacks were infrequent and occurred mostly, if not exclusively, in the summer, some geographical centers had been identified. One was South Carolina, which didn’t surprise him.

Son, if anything strange happens here—and I do mean “strange”—I want you to come and talk to me.

Lund thought of calling his wife to see how the day had gone, but decided it was too early. Hannah fully understood the nature of his work. She had a home-based web design company which made his leaving at the drop of a hat a manageable event. That meant she was home when the kids returned from school, and provided the stability his work didn’t permit.

Neither one was thrilled with the setup, but both saw he couldn’t up and quit. He had a talent for this work, and since it sometimes involved the protection and rescue of children, they both knew he couldn’t desert his position. Who could do this, if not him? There were some, but not many.

Lund met Hannah while attending the University of South Carolina. He noticed her in his economics class junior year, and then later saw her working out in the gym. When their eyes connected and she smiled in the weight machine area, he thought, what the hell, and talked with her. Turned out she knew his name–as she had done her own investigation of him— and they began dating the next weekend. When their relationship went to the next level involving sex and discussions of marriage, Lund was faced with a terrifying dilemma. Should he stay with vague accounts of his background and upbringing or tell her the difficult and virtually unbelievable truth? His anguish disrupted his sleep, his studying, and his interactions with Hannah. Finally, he decided it had to be done.

While taking a walk on a beautiful fall Sunday afternoon on campus, he sat her down in the shade to tell his story. Where to start the tale was difficult, and he stumbled in his initial attempts to structure his account. Almost immediately he saw Hannah was spellbound, and he hadn’t even disclosed any facts. He needed a starting point, however. So, he recalled deciding on the moment his current life began which was right before he turned thirteen.

After finishing the account, he waited in trepidation for Hannah’s reaction. He couldn’t even look at her, fully anticipating some form of dismissal. Tears flooded his eyes, but these didn’t spill…until she lifted his face to look directly at her. Her face radiated the warmth of the first spring day. “You’re an incredible man.”

They’d been together ever since.

Lund stood up and walked to the Tryon house. He had a strong sense of what Ryan Perry must be experiencing.

* * * *

“Okay, so…wait… I had a twin?”

They were sitting in the kitchen while his mother was replacing the wet gauze and bandages from his face. He felt like a dope for crying in his mother’s arms like a little kid, but she dealt with it pretty well by not making a big deal out of it–which was cool. They also adjusted his sling to help elevate his arm.

“I don’t think you could consider him your twin, Ryan,” his grandmother interjected. She had joined the conversation at the table while his mother worked on the dressing. While he was showering, his grandmother had gone to the bookstore and bought him two new nonfiction books about baseball which looked interesting.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

He got the part about the girl in trouble, how she died giving birth (it was hard for him to get past the fact this was his biological mother) and that the twin died too. The stuff about possession and a curse and a twin who wasn’t a twin, well that was creeping him out.

“How did this girl find you? Where did she come from?”

“I don’t have an answer for the second question, but I do know she really found Mrs. Pullman, not me.”

“She’s that lady doctor’s mother, huh?”

“Yes, she and I used to work closely together.”

“You don’t want me to talk to her.” This remark was directed at Ryan’s mother. The issue of talking with Mrs. Pullman was the source of the “absolutely not” commentary on his mother’s part.

The doorbell rang. Ryan saw his grandmother look relieved. His mother on the other hand looked to be struggling with something.

“Ryan, I just don’t know if following up with all of this will do any good. In fact, it may be rather upsetting. Some people who live in the Low country are steeped in superstition and folklore–things we don’t even consider in our day-to-day life.”

Ryan heard his grandmother talking to someone at the door. The timbre of the voice indicated it was a man.

“Does it scare you?” Ryan asked.

“Yes, maybe, I just don’t understand it. I do think there are more real-life things that are more frightening.”

Ryan nodded. He thought he understood. The superstitions were scary, but look at all the other crap that has happened to them in the past year.

“Miranda…” Ryan turned to see his grandmother walking into the kitchen, followed by some guy he had never seen before. He was wearing light blue pants, along with a shirt and a tie. He didn’t have a jacket on because of the heat, and Ryan clearly saw the shoulder holster and hand gun. A badge was clipped to his shirt pocket. “This is Agent Lund from the FBI. He would like to talk to Ryan.”

“Me?” Ryan actually squeaked. He felt his face flush. His mother looked at him expectantly as if he could offer an immediate explanation.

“This is my daughter, Miranda. This is Ryan.”

Ryan almost blurted out, but I didn’t do anything! The guy actually chuckled, probably in response to his shocked expression.

“Easy, Ryan, I just want to chat. You may be able to help me.” He took out a small notebook from a back pocket and tossed it on the kitchen table, right in the midst of the old dressing and bandages.

“May I sit?” He extended his hand to a vacant chair at the table.

“Of course, please,” Ryan’s grandmother replied. “Let me remove this mess.” She scooped up the debris.

“Oh, no bother.”

Still, his grandmother finished cleaning the scraps. She used a plastic bag from a pharmacy that had been tossed on the counter to collect the gauze, bandages and tape. She tied the handle together and placed the bag in the trash.

“How can we help you, Agent Lund?” His mother looked unsure of herself, “We’ve had a difficult time of late.” Her last comment made no sense to Ryan. What did that have to do with anything?

“Yes, I can see. You head must really hurt, and the arm, too. Man.”

Lund leaned about a foot closer to Ryan and pointed to his own face. Ryan felt himself moving back in response, and made a concerted effort to stop.

“See this…and this?” Lund had one scar right above his eyebrow and another on his cheekbone in exactly the same area as Ryan. “My brother did this to me, pushed a door open right into my face. I was probably around your age. To this day, he claims he didn’t know I was there. Don’t fret though, the scars will make you look tough.” Then he motioned Ryan to lean closer to him by wagging his index finger. “Chick magnet, too. Girls will love it.”

Ryan smiled in spite of himself. The agent was young, but not that young–maybe in his thirties. He didn’t look like cops he saw back in Wisconsin, who tended to have bellies sagging over their belts. This guy looked like he worked out, and could probably beat the shit out of anyone.

“So agent, how can we help you?” his mother asked again. Ryan thought she sounded a little peeved.

Lund turned his attention to his mother, all business again. “I wanted to talk to Ryan about his run into the woods on Old Bay Road two days ago.”

How does he know about that?

His mother also looked at him with an expression that asked what haven’t you told me?

“What about it?” Right off the bat Ryan knew he sounded defensive.

“You had quite a scare.”

“Ryan what is this about?”

“Nothing…I…oh, shoot…I don’t want you to get all weird on me.” This last part he said directly to his mother.

“Agent Lund,” his grandmother said. “Maybe if you provided us with some context…” She was not seated with the rest of them, but stood next to the sink.

“Ryan…” Lund was insistent, ignoring the two women.

“I think…” Ryan closed his eyes and shuddered. “I think there were two kids after me.”

“Ryan, who?” His mother was practically out of her seat.

“What is this about, please?” his grandmother added almost at the same time.

Lund held up his hand to both his mother and grandmother to ask for silence. “Ryan, what did you see?”

Ryan told them about the kids he saw and how they ended up chasing him.

“When I turned around to protect myself, they were gone.”

“Oh, Ryan, honey, why didn’t you tell us?”

“What was I supposed to say,” he yelled back suddenly. “There was nothing there! I thought maybe I was dehydrated. I wasn’t feeling well when I finally got back home.”

Ryan turned to Lund. “How did you know I was there?”

“You ran into Mister Beaumont.” At the sound of his name, Ryan thought he saw his grandmother tense just a little bit.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Who is Mister Beaumont?” his mother asked.

“A high school teacher,” his grandmother replied.

“Biology,” Ryan added.

“He said that you came running out of there like you were scared out of your mind.”

“I guess I was…it was…weird.”

“Can you describe the kids?”

“Nah, it happened so quickly, and I never really had a good look. Although,” Ryan paused as he thought about it. “I don’t think they had any clothes on.”

“Did you see anything else? Any other people? Strange cars you haven’t seen before?”

“They’re all strange,” Ryan said. “We just moved here.”

“Good point.”

His mother was still staring at him. Whether she was mad or afraid, he couldn’t tell.

“Agent Lund, what is going on?” his grandmother asked again.

Lund slid his notebook across the table toward him. He never took any notes. Ryan guessed that was a good sign.

“A young couple disappeared from the area three days ago.”

“I remember hearing something about that,” his mother said. “We just arrived in town so I never really followed the story.”

“Neither have I, actually,” his grandmother said. “Has something happened?”

“Yes, their bodies were found, or parts of them anyway. In the area where Ryan was running the other day.” His mother tensed, and Lund added, “Sorry for sounding insensitive. It happened early yesterday, when a Boy Scout troop was picking up litter. One of the kids literally stumbled upon the bodies.’

Lund looked to Ryan, and reached into his shirt pocket behind his badge. “If you think of anything, or if anything strange happens, anything at all, no matter how insignificant it may seem, please call me. Here is my card.” He started to hand it to Ryan, but then pulled it back. He took out a pen and wrote something. “I’ve included my cell number. Feel free to call that. Understand?”

Ryan took the card and nodded.

* * * *

The day had been intense, both physically and emotionally, for Ryan. Miranda wanted to keep the dinner and the evening relatively stress free. She asked Ryan if there was anything he wanted to watch on TV, hoping he would rest. He did mention there was a baseball game on ESPN, or one of those sports networks, and that it was the Brewers. She hoped that would be the choice of the evening.

Miranda watched Ryan eat his dinner. His appetite was voracious, so it appeared at least that aspect of his functioning had not been impacted by his mishaps. He had finished his salmon, rice, and salad before she and her mother had a handful of bites.

“Can I have seconds?”

“Of course, dear. You can have as much as you like.” Her mother was of the generation that food cured all ills.

“Thanks, Grandma.” Ryan nearly spilled a glass of milk in his eagerness to obtain additional portions.

Miranda was amazed at his resilience. She was still shaken from the hair-raising beginning of the day, not to mention the visit from the FBI agent. Ryan, however, rebounded when he learned the details and gained information. She realized now that withholding facts from him earlier in the day was the cruelest course of action she could have taken from his perspective, which only served to increase her guilt about how she has handled the morning.

“Hey Grandma?” Ryan said around a mouthful of food. “What did you think of the FBI agent?”

“I didn’t understand a thing you said, Ryan. Why don’t you swallow and ask me again?”

Ryan nodded as if this was a reasonable request. If I had said it, he’d have rolled his eyes and glared, Miranda thought. At least the two of them had a comfortable relationship. She wondered how her mother was feeling about having another growing boy in the house. She had to feel a little cautious, after the heartache she experienced with Charlie— and was still facing, more than likely. Then again, who knows? Ryan might be a real gift for her.

Ryan finally swallowed his mouthful, and adopted a stiff posture in his effort to mimic upper class snobbery, as if table manners were the exclusive right of the upper crust. When he opened his mouth, he was trying to fake a British accent, but not too successfully.

“So, Mrs. Tryon. Your opinion on the FBI agent, if you would be so kind.”

Miranda knew her mother enjoyed his antics and expected her to play it straight.

“He was a pleasant enough fellow, but I wish he could have been more forthcoming earlier in the sequence of events. I didn’t like the way he kept us in the dark initially.”

“Really? Huh.” Ryan considered that. “Yeah, I guess he did do that, didn’t he. I don’t know, maybe he has to keep things secret.”

“Hmmm. I do believe he was a southern gentleman, though,” she responded.

“I thought I heard something in his accent, but it was very faint,” Miranda said.

“Yes, it was there. I have a feeling most of his accent was probably washed out by all the riff-raff in northern Virginia.”

“Riff-raff.” Ryan scoffed, and then laughed. He took a few final mouthfuls, finished chewing, swallowed and then made his next point. “I don’t know. I think working for the FBI might be cool.”

“Oh, dear. You would need to work all those horrible crime scenes, and interact with very unpleasant people.”

“Those are just the northern Virginians,” Miranda inserted.

Ryan guffawed. Miranda was heartened to see him having a good time.

“Solving those crimes, though,” Ryan said when his laughter subsided, “that would be exciting. Man, that would be cool. Plus, I bet you meet a lot of hot girls. You can have one hanging on each arm. That would be sweet.”

“Hot girls, indeed. I don’t think Agent Lund has too many.”

“Grandma, how do you know he doesn’t?”

“He’s married.”

“But, wait…how?”

“He was wearing a wedding ring,” Miranda informed him. “Your grandmother is actually quite observant.”

“Huh. I didn’t see that.” He thought for a second. “I bet he married a hot one, though.”

After dinner was over and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, they retired to the den to watch TV. Ryan was the main beneficiary, watching his former home team, the Brewers, play the Cardinals. Miranda watched with him on the couch, but also spent time considering some illustration work. Her heart wasn’t in the work so she gave up and spent the evening reading magazines piled on the coffee table. Her mother was of the same mind, thumbing through most of the same magazines. Occasionally, she would recommend an article for Miranda, and leave the magazine propped open to a particular page. By the fifth inning, her mother called it a night and went to her room. Miranda stayed up to the end of the game. The Brewers won, which made Ryan happy.

“What do you say, kid, it’s been a long day. Bedtime?”

“Yeah, I’m tired. I hope early mornings in the emergency room don’t become a habit.”

“I doubt they will. Tonight will be different. Get a good night’s rest.”

“Okay.” He leaned over to her on the couch and placed his good arm over her shoulder. He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight Mom.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” she responded, but not before Ryan fled from the room and bounded up the stairs.

Miranda tossed the magazines into the recycling bin, completed her bedtime bathroom routines and retired to bed. She opened a novel she had started the previous day and began to read. After less than a paragraph she knew this was hopeless, closed the novel and turned out the light.

When she awoke sometime later, she checked her clock and saw it was sometime after four. That jolted her since she knew it was around this time Ryan had his visits with his twin the past two mornings.

Had she heard a noise? Did something wake her?

Miranda was instantly haunted with horrifying images of an injured Ryan. She was out of bed and rushing the door before she consciously made the decision. In the hallway, she scanned both directions expecting to see Ryan in a heap, but nothing was amiss. Approaching his door, she paused only for a second out of respect for his privacy, but she thought the risk of finding him engaged in something highly personal was unlikely at this hour. She entered as quietly as she could.

Ryan was sound asleep in his bed. Her mother had placed one of the hallway nightlights in his room yesterday afternoon after the previous incidents so he wouldn’t feel disoriented if he woke up at night. Surprisingly, Ryan was fine with the idea.

The light was rather faint with a bluish tint, but Miranda saw her son clearly. Ryan was on his side with his arms and legs spread out to one side. His hair was askew, and Miranda was reminded of a golden retriever puppy. Her breath caught with tenderness. She felt her eyes welling up, but blinked the tears away and chided herself for being foolish. Nonetheless, the sight his him looking peaceful and innocent was somehow overwhelming.

Gently, Miranda moved his desk chair close to his bed. She did not want to leave just yet. Sitting by the head of his bed, she cautiously reached his disheveled hair and patted it down. He reacted to her touch, mumbling something and then resuming his relaxed breathing.

Miranda was typically cold at night, whether from winter drafts or air-conditioning in the summer. Ryan was the exact opposite. He had always been a warm sleeper. When he was a preschooler, she referred to him as her “little heater”. He never liked covers, so he always kicked them off, and slept in his boxers. This pattern started when he was eight, and it took years for Miranda to get used to the idea that he wasn’t going to freeze to death while he slept.

Ryan turned over to his back, and shifted the broken arm rather abruptly. The weight of the cast made the movement cumbersome and off balance. Miranda was concerned he might hit the wall on the other side of the bed, but his arm collapsed by his side just shy of impact. Still, the awkwardness of repositioning roused him slightly, and he lifted his head and shoulders.

“Mom?” He was barely conscious.

“Shhh, honey.” She gently touched his chest to ease him back down. “You’re okay, I was just checking on you. Go back to sleep”

“Okay.” He was instantly asleep again and snoring lightly.

Miranda let her hand linger on his chest for a minute more, feeling his heart beat beneath his skin. The clock read nearly five and she felt confident this night would pass safely. She stood from the chair, but not before kissing Ryan’s forehead.

The curtains were parted slightly on the window at the foot of Ryan’s bed. Miranda tiptoed over to close them so the sunrise would not flood the room. While drawing the curtains together, she thought she glimpsed someone standing on the sidewalk below near a streetlamp. She spread the curtains back open quickly to double check, but not a soul was present. The entire street was deathly quiet and deserted. She tried to shrug it off as a trick of her imagination, but felt uneasy. She could have sworn a boy of around Ryan’s age or younger was positioned just below on the sidewalk and staring intently up at his window.