The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [60]
He retreated to the bathroom until he heard her close the bedroom door behind her. He could hear her voice in the hallway, the words muffled by the door but the tone reassuring. The boy had stopped wailing, but he was demanding to know what was happening in a loud tearful voice. After a moment, Keller heard the door of the boy’s bedroom close and the voices were cut off.
Keller exited the bathroom and quickly gathered up his clothes. He dressed himself and stumbled to the door. As he passed by the doorway to the boy’s bedroom, he could hear the soft sounds of Marie singing a lullaby. He paused for a moment to listen. He rested his head against the door and reached up to touch it lightly with the fingers of one hand. Then he straightened up and walked down the hallway to the front door.
Once outside, he paused a moment to take a deep breath of the soggy air. He realized he was trembling. He sat down on the front stoop to gather himself. He ran his hands over his face as if trying to scrape something away.
He heard the front door open behind him. He knew it was Marie, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He was afraid of what he might see in her eyes: disgust, fear, or worst of all, pity. He felt her sit on the step above him. There was a brief pause, then she leaned against him from behind. Her arms went around his chest and hugged him tightly.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It was just a nightmare.”
Keller shook his head angrily. “I tried to--I mean I could have--and I scared the kid. I’m sorry.”
Another pressure of her arms around him. “He’s already asleep again,” she said. “It’ll be fine.” Keller said nothing, made no response to her embrace. After a moment, she released him and straightened up. “Come on back to bed,” she said. “It’s late.”
“No,” he said. “You’re right. I can’t stay the night. It’s not right with the kid--with Ben there.”
“Yeah,” she said. Her voice was puzzled and hurt. “Okay. I wasn’t talking about the whole night, but--okay.” He didn’t hear her move away. There was another long pause. Finally, she said, “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Jack.” He didn’t respond. He heard the door close. He turned around as if to say something but stopped as he heard the solid snick of the deadbolt. It was a loud as the slam of a cell door. He stood up and walked down the driveway to his car. When he got there, he picked up the cell phone and looked at it. He dialed a number he hadn’t dialed in years, but it was a number he knew as well as his own.
After a few rings, a deep voice, furred with sleep, answered. “H’lo?”
“It’s Jack Keller,” Keller said.
“Jack?” the voice said. “Jesus Christ, man, it’ s three-thirty in the goddamn morning.”
“I know,” Keller said. “I’m sorry to wake you up. I need to talk to you again.”
“Then call my office and make a goddamn appointment--okay, sorry. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“The dreams are back. And they’re worse.”
“How bad?” the voice said gently.
Keller took a deep breath. “I almost hurt somebody.”
The voice sharpened. “Did you actually hurt anybody? Is anybody in any danger right now?”
Keller looked at the closed door and shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m gone.”
“How about you?” the voice said. “You feel like hurting yourself?”
Keller thought about that. “No,” he said finally. “So I guess it can wait.”
“But not long,” the voice said. “Call my office first thing. I’ll be in by 8:30. Someone else can