She's Lost Control Page 3

  “Wait! Please, I can’t tell you how I know, but I know.”

  There is a sniff and a sigh from the other end of the line. “We’ve gotten over two thousand tips. You don’t wanna give me your name?”

  “No. Are you going to send someone to the cave?”

  “I’ll add your tip for review. Thank you for your support. To help more, please go to the Bring Luca Home site to donate.”

  Click.

  FUCK.

  I go back into the house and think about sneaking a cup of coffee. As I consider the pot Josh nibbles at my neck. I stiffen.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine. Just miss caffeine.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call out? I got plenty of leave banked.”

  “You’re not using a day until the baby’s here.” I force a smile and tap his nose.

  It takes a while, but I convince Josh to go to work.

  After his Toyota disappears from view, I change out of my pajamas into yoga pants and a tee-shirt. I grab a flashlight and check the batteries. I scan Josh’s tools wondering what I’ll need. Screwdriver? Hammer? Side rule? I select the tool belt, a headlamp, rope, and after a moment’s thought, the hammer.

  Josh has a gun locked away in a safe. I don’t know where he keeps the key and I don’t want to waste time looking for it. Besides, I don’t know how to shoot. I do know how to hammer.

  I write a note for Josh and leave it on the kitchen table. My writing is shaky, and the note doesn’t make sense. I pray I make it back before he can read it. I grab water and queue up directions to Wonder Caves.

  The trip takes forty-five minutes. Each time the memory of yesterday’s promise to save Luca drops like a stone in my belly, and I grip the wheel tighter. I worry about our baby. Last night I almost lost her, and today I’m putting her at risk. Still, I swore an oath at the hospital. In my core, I know breaking that promise is as dangerous as what I’m planning. The sky is cloudless and the sun flames overhead. Despite my AC being on full blast, sweat trickles down my back.

  Though it’s been abandoned for years, the Wonder Caves sign still stands. The paint has faded, and bullet holes puncture the O and A. I park and put on the tool belt, holstering the hammer on my right, the rope on my left. I put on the head lamp. I look ridiculous, but there’s no one here to see. Even as doubt creeps into my mind, I know that this is where Luca wanted me to go.

  I shut off my phone and leave it in the car. It won’t work in the cave, and even if it did, I don’t want Vince texting me. I grab a bottle of water and the flashlight, thinking only of going into the cave. I can’t think about what’s down there. Not yet.

  A chain-link fence blocks the entrance to the cave. Luckily, someone’s cut an opening that I squeeze through, the sharp metal raking along my back as if in warning. Empty cans of beer and broken Boone’s Farm bottles litter the way.

  There’s a movement in my belly, urging me to go on. With sweat-slick hands, I turn on the headlamp and flashlight. When I came here as a kid, spotlights illuminated the caverns. Now the dark comes fast and black as I follow the old path, gripping the loose railing. The air is much cooler here. I remember the tour guide explaining that the cave held a consistent temperature of 68 degrees year round. I wish I’d brought a sweater.

  A black splotch flies across my vision, and I drop the flashlight. It rolls with clattering echoes as it descends into the pit. Bats scatter around me. I duck, covering my head and wait for quiet to return. When it does, I see that my flashlight beam is now a faraway pinprick. Shit.

  I swallow and adjust my headlamp. Covering the ceiling of the cave are daggers of dripstone and gypsum that weep blood during dream ceremonies. I stick to the catwalk and move carefully; the headlamp helps me see ahead but not below. The dreams take place in a large chamber near a cave pool. When I hear a distant dripping, I follow the sound into the bowels of the mountain.

  The rusted catwalk ends at an iron staircase so steep that I have to climb down it like a ladder. Having my back exposed to the darkness makes me nauseous, and I almost lose my grip. Blood pounds in my head and I wonder what the hell I’m doing when I hear a soft moan. I get to the bottom and pull the hammer—my only weapon—from the tool belt. I don’t know what the creatures are, Vince says they’re demons and Luca calls them monsters. The truth is that they’re too evil to have a name. In the dreams, they are many, quick and vicious.

  My knuckles blanch against the smooth wooden handle. It may be dark but its day, and I have to believe that I have the upper hand. “Luca?” I call my voice bouncing off of stone and water.

  “Momma?”

  “Stay where you are, Luca. You’ll be home soon.”

  “Momma, Momma, Momma,” he cries. I follow the sound. The light beam reflects across the motionless black pond. This is the place. I remove the headlamp and hold it out in front of me and scan the area.

  On the far edge of the pond, a kidney shaped shelf-stone appears to float on the water. On top of the black rock is a wisp of a boy. Luca flinches when my light falls on him. “Monsters,” he croaks. I glance around. We are alone.

  “I’m coming.” But how? I study the pond until I see the way to Luca’s stone: A thin lip of rock that edges along the water. It’s slick to the touch. I fasten my rope to a nearby column and tie the other end around my waist. If I fall into the pond . . . I swallow the thought and stomp my boots on the ground, hoping to add grit to the soles for traction. When I go to put the hammer back in its holster, I miss the loop. Icy water splashes on me, and the tool sinks.

  So close now, and I’m unarmed. A bat swoops overhead. My stomach roils. I put my hands on my belly and breathe. I don’t have the luxury of panicking. I tighten the headlamp and step out on to the ledge. I take each step slowly, one hand out for balance and the other sliding along the slime-coated wall.

  When I reach Luca, he’s barely conscious. I put my water bottle to his lips, but he won’t drink. I untie the rope and retie it with the boy around my middle. Halfway back, my foot slips and we nearly tumble into the water. Waiting to regain my composure, I stand near the center of the ledge with Luca’s arms wrapped around my neck, our heartbeats pounding as one.

  No monsters or demons or nameless creatures surface from the water. Except for a few bats, nothing follows us out of the cave. It all feels too easy, and my wariness builds with every unimpeded step. When I stumble into the daylight, Luca is sleeping soundly against my chest. I could leave him at a rest stop and call 9-1-1, but he’s been through so much. I can’t abandon him. Josh and I have solid alibis, so I decide to take Luca to the nearest hospital and worry about what the police and my husband will think later. I’ve faced worse.

  ***

  The sconces are lit in the dream cave.

  I can’t be here. It’s too soon.

  All the other times there was a few months respite between rituals, but I suppose that the last was never completed. Vince isn’t here yet. The shelf-stone is an altar again. I squint. It looks like there’s a pink blob laying on the surface. I inhale the sulfuric air and approach. A light flashes rapidly at the center of the membrane. I lean over, and my breath catches. It’s a womb. A diaphanous baby curls at the core, her heart a flickering beacon calling to me. I press my palms to my empty stomach.

  Oh God, oh God.

  “Heidi?” Vince’s whisper echoes from the far wall of the cave. I cannot look away. My girl is sucking her thumb. So this is how they’ll punish me for taking Luca. A chill fills the air. The rats flee. The monsters are coming. I grip the edges of the altar.

  “Heidi!” Vince hisses behind me. I don’t look back. I won’t leave my baby. In front of me, the black pond ripples and tar bubbles boil and pop. When the first clawed tentacle slithers out of the muck, I hover over my womb. I’ll protect her until I can’t.

  “What the fuck! Heidi, they’re coming!”

  “My baby,” I whisper. Countless sets of burning eyes rise from the pond like comets piercing the blackness.


  Vince is beside me now. “She’s beautiful,” he says as he pulls my arm away and carefully scoops up the womb. Her heart glows brighter than the fire-eyed demons. Vince places the warm bundle in my arms. I hold her and our hearts beat in unison.

  “Get back.”

  “What are you doing, Vince?”

  “I’m sick of being scared all the time.” He pulls himself onto the altar as the creatures emerge. “You’re going to be a great mom,” he says as he lies down on the stone.

  A cyclone of pincers, teeth, and limbs encircles the altar. High-pitched hissing fills the cave, echoing off the rocks and my brother gasps with pain but he does not scream. The tentacles whip in the air and shred flesh and bone with equal ease.

  One of the monsters meets my eyes and grins.

  I don’t look away.

  When there is nothing left of Vince, all light extinguishes.

  ***

  3:47 a.m. the paralysis keeps me from screaming.

  3:48 a.m.: a quiver in my belly. He saved her.

  3:49 a.m. the tears come hot and fast.

  Josh wakes. “The baby?” he asks the panic clear in his voice.

  “No, she’s fine. Vince . . . ” I can’t say it.

  “Sweetheart, it was a dream.”

  Wobs leaps on to the nightstand. She watches my phone, waiting for it to ring, but all is quiet.

  BAKE SALE

  Sydney J. Watson

  ON THE DAY of my son’s school bake sale, I woke up with a smile on my face. It was early in the morning, a bit earlier than I usually got up, but that was okay, because I had several recipes to make, and I’d finally have some breathing room. My boss, the kind, understanding woman that she was, had given me the day off because she understood how dedicated I was to making sure that my son had the best, did the best, and learned the best. Plus, business had been slow lately, ever since I’d had my little panic attack last week. But having the chance to unwind with my favorite pastime would surely help with everything that was going on, right? Everything that happened was just stress.

  I took a nice long, hot shower and took care to use my favorite scented soap. Today was going to be fun. I was going to relax. It was just stress, and what better cure for stress than letting the water relax my trembling, overtaxed muscles and wash away my worries? I got out and put on some lotion, taking care to rub it into my hands, then to flex my fingers. I filed my nails and brushed my hair until it fell smooth and straight to my shoulders like a crimson waterfall. I got dressed, putting on my favorite, comfiest clothes in just the right order—underwear, soft sports bra, jeans, shirt, cardigan, socks, house shoes—and began to hum to cover the tapping at the window. I wasn’t letting anything ruin this day. My humming woke my husband, who got up and gave me the strangest look.

  “What’s wrong, monkey?” I asked him, smiling my most peaceful sort of smile.

  He looked away, searching our nightstand busily for his watch.

  “Nothing, Evie. Just a funny dream.”

  I almost skipped to the kitchen, where everything I needed had been laid out the night before. I gathered up my bowls and was picking through my recipe notebook to find a recipe I wanted to start with when my husband came into the kitchen.

  “Remember your keys, monkey,” I reminded him, still flipping pages while he gathered up his jacket and wallet.

  “Okay.”

  I decided on a recipe, impatiently swiping a large cockroach off the title, then reaching up to pick the giant stickbug out of my hair. It was several seconds before I realized that he was still standing there behind me, staring silently.

  “What is it, honey?”

  His eyes were wide and he was completely ignoring the insistent knocking from under the kitchen table.

  “Are you okay, Evie?” he asked very quietly, almost cautiously.

  “Of course I’m okay, Richard. I get to spend the whole day working with chocolate and cookie dough, and licking all the bowls. I’m quite happy, actually,” I giggled, crossing the room to bang on the table to stop the knocking.

  “You’re just acting a little . . . ”

  “A little what?” I moved back to the counter and measured out some flour, checking and double-checking the amount in my book as I smoothed each cup and tipped it into the bowl. A few fleas, but that was added protein.

  “Well . . . a little sick, to be honest. Maybe we ought to take you to see a doctor, Eve.”

  I looked at him, raising one eyebrow. He never called me Eve unless he was really worried.

  “Are you still on about my panic attack last week?”

  “Eve, that wasn’t just a panic attack, that was . . . ”

  I moved over to him, taking his face in my hands.

  “Baby, I’m okay. That was all just stress. I just need a little time to myself. Carol gave me the day off to work on the bake sale and have a little fun, so that’s what I’m going to do. Okay? A little rest and I’ll be back to normal. I promise.”

  He hesitated then nodded, and I gave him a brief kiss. He hugged me, shaking, and I hugged him a little tighter. I always thought that it was sweet how worried he got about me.

  “Now, make sure you remember your keys.”

  “Oh, I probably won’t need them. I’m in the carpool today.”

  “Well, you’ll need to let yourself in. I might not be home to come to the door. Remember, the bake sale is today. I’ll need to be at the school by noon, and I’ll probably be there until five, so you’ll be home before I am.”

  He gave me another one of those odd looks.

  “Evie, wasn’t the bake sale next week?”

  “No, Richard, it’s today.”

  “I just could have sworn I saw in the paper that it was next week.”

  “Well, the paper must have been wrong. I’m absolutely sure that it’s today. They better not have changed it, because I put all this stuff out!” I laughed, sweeping a spider off his shoulder.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled weakly and moved away from me, toward the living room where I heard him rustle around a bit more and bid our son goodbye. I heard the front door close as Jacob came into the kitchen to gather up his lunch. He must have already gotten his breakfast, because he didn’t eat anything, just scooped some dinner leftovers into a Tupperware container and grabbed a bottle of water.

  “I’ll see you at the bake sale today.”

  “Okay, Mom. Wait . . . ”

  “Hmm?”

  I turned, and he was standing there, looking so much like his father, with the very same confused look on his face.

  “Wasn’t it next week?”

  “No, honey, it’s today.”

  “Umm . . . Okay. Just thought . . . Never mind.”

  He started toward the door, and I went back to measuring each ingredient, picking the stickbug out of my hair again.

  “Damn bugs,” I grunted.

  I heard Jacob pause at the door, draw in breath like he was about to say something, then keep going. He called a goodbye as he left, and I returned it, then began to beat eggs into the batter.

  ***

  The day wore on. Peanut butter cookies, caramel poke cakes, and endless sweets crossed my counter. The whole time I hummed doggedly, forcing a smile back onto my face every time the pounding on the wall started up again. They aren’t going to take this from me, I thought as I pulled the damn stickbug out of my hair and crushing it for what must have been the fifteenth time. I’m going to be there for my son and his school, and damn them if they show up there too. Finally, it came to the part I was most looking forward to: my famous chocolate cupcakes. These, I knew, would bring in the most sales. Everyone in town loved them, and they never ate just one, not even those skinny, fake-tan bitches whose gaze rested a little too long on my pimples and thick thighs.

  Two cups of sugar. Half cup of oil. One and three-quarters of a cup of flour. Two teaspoons of vanilla. Three quarters of a cup of cocoa powder. My secret weapon, one cup of hot coffee. Ingre
dient by ingredient, I measured, mixed, cracked and poured until the first batch was done. The howling, tapping, knocking, and pounding rose to a fever pitch around me, and countless insects burrowed deeper and deeper into my hair, tangling what I had worked so hard to smooth. I smiled so wide it hurt my face, and I clenched my hands into fists until my nails dug into my palms and drew blood. I took a deep breath and picked up the bowl of batter, pouring it into each cupcake liner, precisely halfway and not a drop more, because they tended to rise to at least half again what I poured. The blood from my hands dripped into the batter, but that was okay. The chocolate flavor was strong enough to mask it, and everyone needed some extra iron in their diet.

  The noise was hurting my ears, but still I held my smile, forcing myself to think of Jason. Wait, no, Jacob. He needed his mum today. His school needed me to raise money to fund it. I had to help to make sure it was the best. My Jacob needed the best, he had to have the best. I hadn’t pushed his big-ass head out of me for him to fail before he even had a chance.

  It was so loud that my vision was starting to fade. Strange how that works, isn’t it? Funny the things our brains do.

  The bowl slipped out of my bloody hands and hit the edge of the pan, which flipped off the counter and hit the floor, splattering batter everywhere. I huffed, only allowing myself to express that much anger, and looked down at myself. I was covered in batter and blood and spiders and those damn stickbugs and ants and leeches, and when was I in water with leeches last? Hadn’t it been last summer, going swimming in the river with Richard and James—dammit—Jacob? I simply must not have noticed until now. No wonder I was feeling strange. I must surely have anemia. I made a mental note to go to the clinic after the bake sale before I looked back at the floor, a slick mess of cupcake liners and chocolate and blood, so much blood. Where was all that blood coming from? I shrugged, plastering the smile back on my face. Oh well. I’d just have to get cleaned up. I’d made a mess when I’d had my panic attack last week too, and getting cleaned up had made me feel so much better.

  I made my way back to my bathroom, picking leeches off of me and taking off my clothes in order. Shoes, socks, cardigan, shirt, pants, bra, underwear. I dodged around grabbing hands and opened the shower door, turning both faucets as high as they would go. Might as well plug up the drain too, put some bubble bath in. Relax a little before cleaning up and starting the recipe over. I couldn’t find my loofah, though. Where was my loofah? I’d thrown out my last one, and hadn’t gotten a new one from the box. Where had I seen the loofahs . . . on top of our dresser. That must be it. Richard always did put things away in funny places. I walked into our bedroom to look on the dresser before seeing movement out of the window.