Chapter Six
I dragged a protesting Megan and a still whimpering Cassidy inside and fell in a heap in front of the door. Grabbing both of my girls tight, I rocked them and made ‘shushing’ noises. I was trying my hardest not to whimper along with them. Did I really see what I thought I saw? Maybe I was just going crazy. After all, it had been so long ago. What were the chances that I would use the Voice and then see the man from the alley again?
Unless he had been looking for me.
But seriously! What were the chances of that? It was crazy! Lots of people have tattoos. They have tattoos all over their bodies. I was sure that there were hundreds of people around with a spider tattooed on their neck. It was probably a very popular tattoo. Of course, I’d never seen another person with that kind of tattoo, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there. I was just moving in the wrong circles. Or the right circles, depending on how you looked at it.
Far more likely that my subconscious filled in the face, since it was connected in my mind with using my ability. That made way more sense. Boy was I being dramatic! The next thing you know I’d be checking for boogey-men under my bed.
I had been badly scared six years ago and of course that face would stick in my subconscious. Here I was, badly scared again, and being forced to use my ability, so it was only natural that I would imagine the same face.
It was dusk, the car was moving fast, and there was no way I could have gotten a good look at the driver. I felt much better. Okay, not really. But I could pretend that I felt much better.
Megan started making faces at Cassidy to get her to laugh. “Look Cassie! I’m a robutt!” she squealed, walking around with her arms and legs straight out.
“Robot,” I corrected distractedly.
“Robutt,” she said.
I giggled. “I. Am. A. Ro. Bot,” I said in my best metal voice and pretended to chase them.
“No Mommy,” Megan shook her head, “It’s robutt.”
“Okay. Robutt.”
“Be robutt! Be robutt!” Cassie chanted and took off, tears forgotten.
“Hang on a sec.” I snagged both of them. “Let’s talk for a moment here. Do you ever, ever ride your bike into the street?”
“Nope,” said Megan, “’cause a car will come along and squish you.”
“That’s ri—”
“-squish you like a pea. Squish you like a pancake. Squish you flat until you dead.”
“Thank you, Megan, we get the picture.”
“Squish you—”
“Thank you, Megan.”
“Car scary,” Cassie said.
“Yes, cars are scary if you run out in front of them. Never, ever, ride, or walk in the street without holding Mommy’s hand.”
“What about Daddy’s hand?” Megan wanted to know.
“Or Daddy’s hand.”
“What about Granny’s hand?”
“Or any adult’s hand,” I clarified.
“Is Aunt Sarah an adult?” Megan asked.
“Yeees,” I said, not sure where this was going.
“You told Daddy she was a baby.”
“Aunt Sarah is an adult.” I would really have to watch what I said around the little pitchers.
“Is a monkey an adult?”
“No, a monkey is not an adult. Okay!” I clapped my hands, “Let’s play the cleanup game until Daddy gets home!”
By the time Mark got home I had completely convinced myself that I had overreacted. I was able to greet him calmly at the door with a kiss and a hug.
“Daddy’s home!” I called.
Megan and Cassidy came to the front door dressed to the nines. They were both wearing plastic high heel shoes, multiple bracelets, necklaces, and the two identical princess crowns on their heads.
“Hello princesses!” said Mark scooping up each one and kissing them. “Is this Princess Megan and Princess Cassidy?”
“No,” said Megan regally, “I am Cinderella.”
“And who are you?” Mark asked Cassidy.
“Seeping Booty,” she said.
I choked on a laugh, “Who?”
“Seeping Booty,” she said again.
“Are you a Mexican princess?” Mark asked with a straight face.
“Mark!” I smacked him.
He waggled his eyebrows at me, “You know, like Montezuma’s Revenge and Seeping Booty.”
“Mark!” I whacked him again.
“What?” he asked with mock hurt, “They don’t know.”
I rolled my eyes at him.
“How was your day, Daddy?” Megan asked.
“Good honey-bun; how was your day?”
“Cassidy was a bad girl.”
“She was? Were you a bad girl today, Cassidy?”
“Yes,” Cassidy said sadly, “Cars scary.”
“Cassidy ran in the road. Cars can squish you,” Megan said wisely.
“Cars swish you,” Cassidy echoed. “I scared.”
“Cassidy ran in the road?” Mark looked at me.
I laughed nervously. “She was going to run in the road but she stopped when I yelled at her.” I suddenly remembered how guilty I should be feeling about that. I had broken my promise to myself. Did it matter that I had done it to save my daughter? Did that make me any less a monster?
“Oh,” said Mark, relieved, “I thought she ran out in front of a car or something.”
“Ha ha!” my laugh sounded fake. “Nothing that serious.”
Nothing like my stripping away another person’s free will. Nothing like allowing my inner monster to emerge. Nothing like seeing the face I still saw in my nightmares behind the steering wheel of a car that was trying to run my child over. Oh no. Nothing serious at all.
I felt guilty all evening. You would think, after five years of marriage, that I would feel comfortable lying to him, especially about my ability, but I didn’t. I felt awful. On top of that, I was scared. I wanted to pull all the curtains in the house shut. I felt like a fish in a tank with a spotlight pointed at me.
Outside the windows all was dark, but I imagined turning around and seeing a face pressed up against the glass. You can see why I don’t watch horror movies. My imagination is way too creative, all on its own, without adding fresh ideas of things to be scared of.
I was getting totally worked up again over nothing when Mark called me back to the girls’ room. They had just gotten out of the tub. Cassidy was already in her pajamas and Mark was towel drying her hair. He had a pair of Megan’s underwear on his head and both she and Cassie were hysterically giggling.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I propped up the door frame with my shoulder. “About what?”
“My hat.”
“Is not hat, Megan’s unnerwear!” Cassie giggled.
“It’s a hat,” Mark said. “I like this hat.”
“Looks like a hat to me,” I said. “You wear hats on your head.”
Megan was giggling so hard her face was turning red. “You don’t wear underwear on your head!” she gasped.
“But you wear hats on your head, and I’m wearing this on my head, so it must be a hat,” Mark answered with perfect logic.
“Mommy, is that a hat?” Megan asked me.
I grinned, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s my underwear.”
“I think you’re right.” I wrinkled my nose at her. “I think Daddy’s a little crazy.”
“Daddy funny!” Cassie chortled.
I plucked the underwear off his head and tossed it to Megan. “Okay gigglers. It’s almost bedtime.”
“But, Mom!”
“No buts. One story and then it’s lights out.”
An hour later they were finally settling down enough that if a stranger walked in the house he wouldn’t think that there were thirty toddlers having a rave in the back bedroom. I rubbed my eyes wearily. It had been a long day.
Mark walked up behind me and started giving me a massage. “You okay??
??
“Yeah, just tired.”
“You seem . . . I don’t know, worried about something?”
“Worried?”
“Worried. What’s up?”
Oh, the guilt! There was no way he would understand. “I’m fine,” I said firmly.
“You don’t seem fine. Come on, I know you, what’s going on?”
He wasn’t going to let it go. I was tired. The truth would hurt him and our marriage. I have all sorts of excuses. None of them are very good. It was like my ability, once allowed a little free reign, was now stronger than ever. It burst out of my lips before I could stop it.
“I’m fine Mark, just forget about it and let’s watch some TV,” I commanded.
He blinked. “Do you want to watch some TV?” he asked.
I felt my eyes welling up with tears. “Sure, honey,” I answered. “That sounds great.”
Man, did I feel like scum. The worst thing was that Mark had no clue what was going on. I had turned my husband into a zombie. Okay, a little dramatic, but taking away a person’s free will seemed like a horrible invasion.
So, what do you do when you feel guilty and need a way out? You sell your soul to the Devil, of course. In my case, again, not the Devil himself, but one of his evil henchmen. I picked up the phone and called Carolyn.
“Hi, Mom!” I greeted her, hoping the use of a family title would surprise her into being nice to me.
“Who is this?” she asked.
Surprise her, confuse her, what’s the difference?
“It’s me, Piper.”
“Oh.” Flat voice, no emotion. This was going well.
“Soooo, how are you?” Showing an interest in another person’s well-being makes them think you care.
“What do you want, Piper?”
“What?”
“What do you want?” she made her voice sound put-out and tired. “You only call me when you need something. God knows I am always here and willing to help you, and I’ve always tried to be your friend, for Mark’s sake, but you keep pushing me out of your life.” Now she sounded like a martyr. I was totally thrown for a loop. Maybe I did only call her when I needed something. I’d have to think about it later, when I had time to pack an overnight bag for the guilt trip.
I decided to ignore her last comments. “Do you think that you could babysit for Mark and me tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night?” I heard rustling paper and assumed she was checking her calendar. Trust her to show up whenever it was convenient for her and want to spend time with the girls, but if it was convenient for me, forget it. “This is rather late notice, Piper,” she said disapprovingly. “I already have plans.”
I took a breath to answer and was cut off. “However, since you are family,” the word came out painfully, “I will rearrange my life and interests to help you.”
I made a face at the phone and rolled my eyes. “Thank you, Carolyn, could you be here at six?”
She sighed, “Yes, don’t bother microwaving dinner for the girls; I will bring them a home cooked meal. It’s always such a treat for them.”
I seethed inwardly. I am not the greatest cook in the world, and perhaps we do eat more things from the microwave than the oven, but my family was well fed and obviously not starving to death. Outwardly I made another face and said sweetly, “How nice, thank you Carolyn. See you tomorrow!” and hung up.
It’s worth it. I told myself. Babysitters are expensive. Putting up with a little verbal abuse is well worth a free babysitter. I closed my eyes and imagined calling Carolyn, commanding her to babysit at six o’clock and then hanging up the phone. Some people shouldn’t have the benefit of free will. I scolded myself severely. I hadn’t felt the urge to use the Voice on another person in ages and here I was, thinking about using it for the third time today!
Mark was thrilled that we were going to go out without the monkeys. I guess it had been a while. I really should do this more often.