“Maybe I should take you to the doctor,” Candy said, shaking down the thermometer.
I lay in bed, my head propped up by three pillows. My wife had stripped the comforter away as soon as she took my temperature.
“I don’t feel bad enough to go crying to the doctor,” I lied. The truth was, ever since I returned from mincing the child molester, I was racked with a headache, stomach cramps, and felt as weak as a newborn hamster. I’d parked that damned Mustang around the corner from my house and barely made it to my bed. Candy came home, saw the state I was in, and immediately went into nurse mode.
“Your fever is just over 103. If it goes any higher, I’m taking you no matter what you say. Anything over 104 can be dangerous, honey.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. My throat felt as if I had chugged a glass filled with tiny needles. “You gave me some Tylenol and a washcloth, now all I need is a nap.”
Deep inside, a part of me was screaming. How could I act so relatively normal in the face of what I’d done? I wanted to confess to Candy, but the words wouldn’t come. Every time I wanted to even hint at the hideous acts I’d committed, the room would spin. In my silence, I kept reminding myself of the nature of the two men I had removed from the population. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be. Culling the herd wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as long as wastes of life were the ones getting culled.
She washed my face with the cool, wet cloth.
“I’m keeping a close eye on you,” she said. “I just hope it’s not stress that weakened your immune system. Even when Katie’s not sick, she’s still a carrier from being around all those little snot noses in school.”
Candy smiled and I so wanted to smile with her. The best I could do was pat her hand.
Katie must have heard her name, because she popped into the bedroom. “Hey, Daddy, you wanna see what I won at golf?”
She was carrying a business card. I did my best not to look like a terminal, murdering monster.
Taking the card, I said, “Wow, a free game. You really got a hole-in-one on the eighteenth hole?”
“Uh-huh.”
I looked at Candy. She said, “She did it all by herself. I think we have a little Michelle Wie on our hands. Now, let’s give Daddy some time to rest.”
“Are you sick?” Katie asked.
“Just a little bit,” I replied. Her tiny fingers caressed my cheek.
“I’ll kiss you and make it allll better.” Her lips touched my forehead.
“Thanks, baby. That’s exactly what I needed.”
Candy picked Katie up and said, “I’ll be back to check on you later.” She turned the TV on and lowered the sound. The moment they left the room, I was pulled, as if by some outside force, into a deep, troubled sleep.
* * * * *
When I awoke, it was dark outside. I couldn’t recall any of my dreams, but I was filled with an oppressive foreboding.
“The sleep of the guilty,” I mumbled, sitting up.
On the plus side, my head and stomach felt fine. The sheets were damp with my sweat. Physically, I felt good. I must have burned off whatever infection was trying to take hold.
Was that what this was—a killing virus? Take two pills and just sweat it out. Toss those soaking sheets, and AO, into the washing machine and carry on. It’s not my fault. The virus made me do it.
Making my way downstairs, I saw Katie at the dining room table wearing headphones connected to the iPad. The screen was cracked but it still worked fine. I couldn’t tell what she was watching, but it kept her engrossed enough not to notice me.
“Honey, should you even be up?” Candy said, rushing to me.
I smiled. “I’m okay. I told you, all I needed was a nap.”
She felt my forehead. “I think it was my love and attention that did it.”
“And Katie’s kiss,” I added.
Candy grabbed my hand and walked me to the living room. “I didn’t want Katie to see or hear this.”
Despite her vow to keep away, the news was on. There was a breaking story about a murder in Bridgton. A female reporter stood outside a ramshackle house. The sound was so low, I couldn’t hear what she was saying – not that I needed her commentary.
Candy’s grip on my hand tightened.
“They found the body of a man this afternoon. He’s the father of one of the kids at Katie’s school.”
I thought I was going to pass out. I plopped onto the couch.
“Someone butchered him,’” she said. “I thought things like that didn’t happen up here.”
I could only shake my head. Cops and firemen flitted back and forth behind the reporter.
“What about the boy?” I asked, looking at the TV but replaying what I had done in my mind.
“He ran away,” she said. “They say he watched as his father was killed. The poor kid. I don’t know how a child can ever recover from something like that. I wonder if they’ll cancel school on Monday. I’m just so sick about this, Peter.”
She snuggled close to me. I put my arm around her.
Candy didn’t question how I knew there’d been a boy in the house. She was too wrapped up in the horror of the story. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been, opening my mouth before I thought.
The boy saw my face plain as day. He was probably describing me to the police right now.
As we watched, I wished for another fever to sweep me back out to the sea of nightmares. At least they weren’t real.