The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(6)

Shaun’s eyes opened into slits, and Evan blinked back a layer of tears, determined not to cry in front of his son again.

“Hi, buddy.”

Shaun smiled, gripping his hand tighter. “Da.”

“How was your day?”

Shaun’s mouth worked, and he licked his lips. After a few moments of struggling, his forehead wrinkled. “Yesh,” he said, and frowned.

“Farah said you did great today. She said you walked a mile.”

Shaun giggled and wiped at his eyes, tried to sit up but only managed to slide down farther into the pillows.

“Here, buddy,” Evan said, hoisting him into a better sitting position. “You can go back to sleep again if you want.”

Shaun shook his head and pointed at the TV. “Tains.”

Evan glanced at the television, where Thomas the Train raced along beside another tank engine.

“Okay, you watch your trains,” Evan said, and tousled his son’s hair, feeling the rough scar tissue on the left side of his scalp.

When he turned, he saw Farah watching them from the kitchen. She moved aside to let him pass, but her eyes remained on the little boy.

“He’s doing so good,” Farah said, finally turning away.

“Yes, he is. I think we’ll try tracing again tonight, if he’s up to it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Well, I should get home to Steve, he’ll be worried, what with the storm. But I whipped up some hot dish, it’s in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” Evan said.

He followed her to the foyer, where she donned a plain set of slip-on boots as well as a light jacket.

“I’ll see you both Monday morning then, bright and early,” Farah said, gripping the door handle. She glanced at Evan and must have seen something flit across his face, because she stopped, her eyes penetrating. “Are you okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah, long day.”

Farah smiled sadly and grasped his arm in her short fingers. “You’re doing splendid, you know?”

“Am I?”


“Yes. When I met you, you were in a terrible place, with challenges most people never even think of, but you and Shaun are strong. You’ve both got stout spirits, as my father used to say.” She squeezed his arm. “You’re doing great.”

He smiled and put his hand over hers. “We wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Farah released her hold and made a batting motion with her hand. “Pah, I just make sure you both don’t starve.” She turned, and pulled the door open to the storm. “I’ll see you Monday,” she said, and was gone in a whirl of wind that spit rain onto the floor before she shut the door.

“Monday,” Evan said, not liking the dead sound of his voice in the empty hall, as thunder rolled in a renewed wave outside.

~

They spent the rest of the evening playing. Evan helped Shaun to the table, holding his son’s hands in his own while Shaun walked in an awkward limp to his chair. After strapping him in, Evan dealt out a game of brightly colored, numbered cards designed to stimulate eye focus and cognitive function. They played for an hour, Shaun’s laughter echoing through the warmth of the house while the rain poured down outside and thunder shook the roof from time to time.

When Evan finally glanced at the clock, he saw that it was eight thirty, a half hour past Shaun’s bedtime. They proceeded through their evening ritual. He helped Shaun go to the bathroom, steadying him on the toilet so he wouldn’t fall off. He brushed his son’s teeth and combed his hair, then carried him into his room, Shaun’s eyes already beginning to close.

“Moon?” Shaun asked, as Evan tucked him beneath his blankets.

“Moon?” Evan smiled. “Goodnight Moon?”

“Moon,” Shaun said. His small face brightened as Evan pulled the ever-present book from the bedside table and began to read.

Before the third page, Shaun’s breathing became deep, his eyelids closed, and an occasional snore drifted out of his open mouth.

“Night, buddy,” Evan said, folding the book closed before returning it to its place. He leaned down and kissed Shaun’s forehead, the boy’s skin soft and cool, always smelling of soap. “We’re going to be okay, son, Daddy’s going to make sure.”

Evan hesitated, his eyes becoming watery again. Without needing to look, he reached to the table and snapped the baby monitor on and stood. The storm had quieted, and now only a light drizzle fell in slithering streams against the windows. He watched Shaun for a moment longer, then moved to the door, swinging it partially shut but not closed.

~

He walks down the hallway, the doors to either side of him bustling and beeping with life and activity, his eyes searching for her room number. He feels flattened inside, ironed by the foreknowledge that something is terribly wrong. There it is—436. He angles inside and sees the doctor with white hair sitting on a stool, one hand on the desk, the other perched on Elle’s knee. Tears on her face, not good ones, the sad kind. She looks up and he knows.

He knows.

~

He came awake, opening his eyes to the darkness of the room, his breath still calm in his chest, his heart not beating too fast. He licked his lips and rolled to the side, Elle’s side—so empty—and checked Shaun’s monitor. The low hiss of white noise and soft breathing came from its speaker. Evan lay back, closing his eyes again, but couldn’t help himself and glanced at the clock: 5:33.