The Night Parade(18)

Kathy sighed. “I’m just not sure what to tell you except that, for now, you should respect his wishes and not call anyone.”

“Yeah,” David said, though he wasn’t sure he actually agreed.

“It’s probably an illness. When was the last time you were over at his house?”

“Not for a while.”

“Isn’t he on disability?”

“For falling off scaffolding at a construction site,” David said. “Nothing to do with cancer. Or dementia or anything like that.” Or with a bowlful of blood, was what he wanted to say. “It was so weird, Kath.”

“Then go check on him first thing in the morning. But if the man doesn’t want you prying into his private business, you have to respect that.”

“Do I? I’ve got no responsibility beyond that?”

“No.”

“Even if it is dementia and he doesn’t know what’s good for him? And that he might be putting himself in harm and not even realizing it?”

“You’re hypothesizing. Talk to him tomorrow and figure things out then. He might have a clearer head by then and be ready to talk to you. You’ll have a better picture of what you’re dealing with, too, and can make an informed decision.”

“Spoken like a true therapist,” he said, exhausted.

“That’s what I am,” she said. “Wait till you get my bill.”

He smiled at her. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I was,” he said. “Now, not so much.”

“I was going to go to bed. Would you rather I stay up with you for a while?”

“No, hon. Get some sleep.” He kissed her forehead.

In the kitchen, he began to fix himself a turkey sandwich, but then thought of the geese, and decided to go for some ham and cheese on white bread. It wasn’t that he was hungry, but he knew he had to eat something. After the first bite, his hunger returned, and he not only devoured the whole sandwich, but a handful of Doritos and a Coke, too. Just as he finished, Ellie appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey, Little Spoon,” he said, getting up from the table. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Bad dream,” she said.

“Monsters?”

Solemnly, Ellie nodded.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s tuck you back in.”

The bedsheets were in a ball at the foot of the bed, the comforter on the floor. As Ellie climbed into bed, David gathered up the blankets, then tucked Ellie beneath them. He smoothed back the hair from her forehead, then planted a kiss there.

“You were there,” she said. “In my nightmare.”

“Was I the hero who saved the day?”

She shook her head. “No. You were crying. You were screaming, Daddy.”

He frowned and said, “Hon—”

“You were pulling on my arm and it hurt. But I didn’t want you to stop. I didn’t want you to let go. Because then the monsters would get me.”

He kissed her forehead a second time, then said, “There’s no such thing as monsters, Ellie. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Come on.” She smiled, and he thought—strangely—that it was solely for his sake.

“Yeah,” he said. “Come on.”

When he stood, she said, “Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Little Spoon. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

For the next hour or so, he sat on the couch watching an old movie, though he really wasn’t paying much attention to it. He couldn’t relax. A few times, his gaze drifted away from the TV, settling instead on some dark corner of the room. He saw the blood in Deke’s toilet, watched those tiny bits of blackened fibers in Deke’s sink take on life and begin twisting and jerking furtively in the thick pool of blood. After a while, he found he was sweating profusely.

He got up, shut off the TV, and locked the front door. The gauzy curtains over the bay windows were drawn, but a strange, dancing light beyond them was enough to attract his attention. He went to the windows and swept aside the curtains.

Deke Carmody’s house was on fire. Pillars of flame belched from the windows, and there were black columns of smoke rising up in front of the moon. A number of neighbors stood outside on their lawns, watching. As David stared, two fire trucks turned onto Columbus, sirens wailing.

David was out of the house and running down the street a moment later, the cool night air speckled with rain freezing against his skin. But the soft rain did little to staunch the flames blooming from Deke’s house. A wall of heat struck David halfway down the block, causing his eyes to water as he approached.

“Where is he?” he asked the neighbors who had gathered on the lawns across the street. “Where’s Deke?”

“No one’s seen him,” said Lucy Cartwright, holding her silk robe closed with two hands. She couldn’t peel her eyes off the burning house across the street.

There were police officers here, too, and they waved away the more curious onlookers. David rushed over to one of them and shouted, “The owner of that house—has he been—”

“Step back,” directed the officer.

“There’s a man inside that house!”