Alex (2 page)
"And you're right, you can't imagine it."
Justin had two kids, and his marriage was steady.
He was better than Ian in that way, too.
He clapped a hand on Ian's shoulder.
"We'll do what we can.
I just need to know you're
trying.
You know?"
If I wasn't trying, I wouldn't even be here, you jackass.
He nodded, and Justin finally turned him loose.
Their meeting cost him ten minutes of his lunch break.
On the way home he stopped at Best Buy, browsed the 3-D TVs and the XBox 360 games.
The walls shimmered with canned football replays, because all red-blooded American men loved football.
Before Alex was born, Ian had always stopped here on Fridays after work.
He wasn't red-blooded enough to enjoy football, but perusing the merchandise had always felt like it granted him some measure of sovereignty.
He was married, sure, but he wasn't
tied down
: he could still stop and check out the week's releases without calling his wife.
When Alex came along, he'd ended the little visits.
Getting home had felt too urgent.
The baby had been a remarkable burden: inscrutable and enormous.
He didn't want to make Alina handle it alone.
He wanted to be a good husband.
He wanted to be a good father.
He'd pined after these lost moments of solitude for years, but now that he had them again, they tasted like ash.
As he got into his car, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
-Could use u tnght.
Tanklicious cancelld.-
Derek, probably the only real friend he still had, trying to get him back into online gaming.
There was another thing that had once seemed really important.
-Cant.
Thx tho-
He thumbed out the response, hovered over Send as he considered it.
It might be nice to see some old online friends again.
To spend a little time in a place where he didn't have to be himself.
The phone buzzed again.
-Bring comp over here.
I have beer.-
Ian almost smiled.
The idea was appealing.
But he knew he'd just end up crashing Derek's night, probably quitting the game early, and feeling like an ass.
So he hit Send and drove home.
When he opened the front door, he heard Alex playing in his room.
He froze, listening.
He'd heard his son playing in the morning several times now, but he hadn't admitted it to himself yet.
He'd never
seen
anything, so he'd told himself it was just his memories, his overactive imagination.
Okay, yes, a part of his thoughts had whispered it was more than that - maybe it was actually the first symptoms of schizophrenia.
But he'd smothered those worries.
It only happened in the morning, after all.
He strained to hear, the door still open behind him, a spray of pale light from the streetlamp frozen on the entry rug.
Nothing.
It was gone.
He let out a sigh and closed the door.
"Jesus," he hissed.
He felt like he'd nearly been hit by a bus.
His hand trembled as he reached for the light.
"Daddy!
You're home!"
Vertigo assailed him; his stomach roiled.
Jesus.
He froze again, unwilling to believe what he'd heard.
That was real.
It was clear as a bell.
No.
Jesus.
He flipped on the light, peered across the living room toward the short hall that led to the bedrooms.
It was all still, all quiet, draped in shadow.
Jesus.
He seemed incapable of thinking anything else.
"Daddy!
You're home!"
The call was identical to the first: the same one he had heard nearly every day Alina had gotten home with Alex first.
But it wasn't the same, it
wasn't,
because the boy was supposed to come bursting around the corner now, grinning ear to ear, ecstatic to see his father.
Ian was supposed to be hugging him now, patting his rump, returning his grin and saying
Hey kiddo!
, fighting to get a word in edgewise as Alex launched into endless repetitive tales about his day, and his friends, and his play, and his learning.
"
Alex?
" he shouted, and bounded around the sharp corner that led to his son's room.
The room was dark, but Ian saw his son as clearly as if he were standing beneath the noon sun: his hair mussed because he'd just taken his hat off, his lips sticky and purple from the sucker Alina always let him have in the car.
He was grinning, just like he was supposed to.
"Alex!" Ian shouted again.
A geyser of need burst in his chest.
He pounced forward, exclaiming, flipped on the light.
But there were only boxes.
"Hello?"
"Hey.
Derek."
"Ian!
You raiding tonight?
We still have a spot."
"No.
I told you."
A heartbeat.
"All right."
Another.
"What's going on?"
In the background, Ian heard a keyboard clacking:
tick-a-tick, tick, tick-tick.
"I just... do you have a minute?"
A second's pause.
"Of course."
Tick-tick-tick.
Tick.
"I think something's wrong."
Pause.
"What do you mean?"
"I think - I saw Alex tonight."
Pause.
"
What?
What do you mean?"
The typing stopped.
"I saw him.
In his room.
It was dark, but I could see him."
"What do you mean?" Derek said again.
"Is he there?
What happened?"
"No.
No, he's not here.
I saw him, but... he's gone now."
A chair creaked as Derek straightened.
"Ian, you're not making any sense.
Was he at the house?
How can that be?
Did the police make a mistake?"
"No.
I don't know.
I don't think he was really here.
I just... saw him."
Derek was quiet.
"It was just for a second.
I don't..."
Saying the words, he realized exactly how terrible they were; what they portended.
"I just thought I saw him, for a second.
Obviously he wasn't really there, but... god, it was hard.
For a second I really thought he was here."
Derek let out a long breath, said nothing.
What the hell do you say to that?
Ian wondered.
"I'm not going crazy, if that's what you're thinking.
I didn't mean to freak you out."
"No."
Derek scoffed.
"Come on, don't worry about it.
You just need to get your mind off it.
You've been in that house alone for what?
Three months now?
Come on, come over, have a beer.
You don't have to play."
Don't worry about it.
Don't worry about your dead son, who was found with his face blasted off in a ditch.
It's cool, don't worry about it.
"Not tonight."
He sat in the living room, all the lights on, watching TV.
Women hawking necklaces -
flip -
a teen mom -
flip -
Linda Blair's head turning all the way around.
He put it on Spike and saw some crazy Japanese guy trying to jump from one suspended ball to another.
Stupid commentary was being dubbed in.
Alex would've laughed.
He was supposed to call Alina back, and he wanted to, but he was scared he would talk about what he'd seen earlier.
Or thought he'd seen.
All he knew is he didn't want to sound like a madman on the phone with her, and he wasn't sure he knew how to stop himself.
So he waited, and watched stupid TV, and tried to convince himself that he might be hallucinating, but that didn't necessarily mean he was going crazy.
Did it?
It had to be normal.
He went to his computer in the basement and Googled "hallucinations grief".
It did happen sometimes.
People reported hearing their lost loved ones, sometimes even whole words.
Catching glimpses of them from the corner of their eyes.
There was even an article in Scientific American.
He returned to the couch upstairs, mollified but still uneasy.
He hadn't caught a glimpse of Alex from the corner of his eye.
He had
seen him.
But maybe the experience was different for everyone.
He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he heard his son shriek.
"
Daddy!
"
Ian bolted upright, every nerve screaming.
"
Daddy!
"
It was aggrieved, horrified, on the verge of panic.
"
Alex?
"
The cry was coming from his throat, echoing off the walls, before he was even awake.
As he became aware of his surroundings, he was already careening around the corner to his son's room.
Alex looked at him.
"Donnie went off the
road
," he whined.
He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt.
Ian's jaw hung slack, his heart hammering.
"Donnie went off the
road,
" Alex repeated.
His toy car - the red one.
He named them all.
The red one was Donnie.
It was there, at Alex's feet.
His first thought was reflexive.
You woke me up for that?
You sounded like you were getting killed.
"Alex?" he breathed.
Am I dreaming?
Is this a dream?
"Daddy, Donnie went off the
road,
" Alex said again, growing impatient.
Well, you better help him.
This response, too, was reflexive.
Ian could give it in his sleep.
He and Alex had played this game more times than he could count.
His son's eyes gleamed.
He knelt and retrieved the toy.
"Don't worry, Donnie.
I'll help you."
His voice lowered an octave.
"Thank you!
I was so scared."
He used his normal voice again.
"Oh.
But that's okay."
He looked at Ian.
"Right, Dad?"
He said it "Dod."
He did that sometimes, to be silly.
Now he gave Ian a crafty grin, daring him to challenge his pronunciation.
Ian put a hand to the wall, leaned against it heavily.
"But one other car went off the road!
Daddy, there's
two
cars!"
Another part of the game.
He was supposed to respond,
Oh no!
Two cars!