What’s this? she asked.
I’m wallowing in poker madness.
No, this.
She pointed to the cards on the wall.
I’m organizing the Jules data.
She walked over to the wall. She looked over my masterpiece. She stood back. She lit a cigarette.
There’s a rule about smoking in the office, I said.
Right, she said, tapping some ashes onto the carpet.
Computers are great, she continued. But sometimes file cards are better.
The screen is bigger, I said.
You can see it all at once.
Right.
Although.
Although?
It still doesn’t speak to me.
Nor me, I said. Except in a whisper.
There’s a whisper?
There is. Keep it up, it says. Keep adding pieces. And if you’re a very good boy, I’ll tell you something. Something good. Something satisfying.
Wow. That’s one hell of a whisper.
I know. I think I’ll keep it on the payroll.
55.
The phone rang. I picked it up.
Redman, I announced with authority.
I was in control. I was ready for battle.
Daddy! Why in Jesus’ name didn’t you wake me up!
I’m sorry, love, I said. I thought maybe you deserved a day off.
Oh God, she said. Oh Daddy. Come home. Come home now.
What’s the matter, precious?
Never mind, Daddy. Just get the hell home, okay?
56.
When I got there it was clear that it was bad. Ambulance. Two squad cars. Flashing lights. Serious faces. A large square cop confronted me, jaw set. He needed a shave.
Can I help you, sir? he asked, with an unhelpful air.
This is my house, I said. What’s going on? Is somebody hurt?
His look relaxed to one of pity and concern.
I’m afraid there’s been an incident, sir, he said.
Incident? What the hell did that mean? My first thought was of Kelly. Was she all right? But she had called me. She hadn’t sounded hurt. Just frightened.
Strange that the obvious thought did not strike me first. That something had happened to Melissa. I can’t explain it, even now.
The square-faced cop escorted me into my own living room. The room was filled with people. People in white, people in blue. People snapping cameras. People taking notes. And there, in the middle of it all, on the couch, Melissa. The same pose as that morning.
Oh God, she’d been gone the whole time. Or going, which was worse.
I’d blithely walked on by, slammed the door, lost in anger and embarrassment. While she lay dying. Right then. Right there. And I had known. Somehow, I had known. God, I had known. And I’d done nothing.
A stabbing pain started in my stomach, shot through my spine, into my teeth and jaw. A disabling pain. I fell to my knees. Nothing made sense. I knew the pain wasn’t physical. It was the pain of loss. Blame. Confusion. Thoughts and fears rampant in my head.
I could feel the people around me, shifting uncomfortably. I had trouble breathing. The pain was in my lungs, my throat. I gasped the words: Melissa. What did you do?
A woman kneeled, put her arm around me. I felt her body against mine, soft beneath the lab coat. It felt good. Real. Corporeal. But not enough. Nothing would be enough. My breathing slowed. The pain began to ebb. But not completely.
I knew that it was there to stay.
The guilt made way for anger. What did you do? What did you do to me? What did you do to Kelly? My God, Kelly! Where was she? I stood up. Where’s my daughter? Before the words were formed I saw her, head in hands, in the armchair across the room. I went to her, leaned over, kissed her forehead. She looked up. Her eyes were red. Her face was swollen, yellow.
The pain came back in force.
To see my angel child in such a state.
57.
They took Melissa away. They took their pictures first. Put bits of things in plastic bags. Marked them up with black indelible pens. Asked me question after question. I answered. I was polite. But I didn’t, don’t, remember one thing I was asked. One thing I said. I was on automatic pilot. I was busy building walls. The only thing I wanted was my Kelly in my arms. They kept taking her away from me. To ask her questions too.
I just wanted them all to leave.
When they finally did, I put my arms around Kelly. We were both too tired and numb to say a thing. I fell into a sleep, as deep and dark as black on black. I did not dream. I did not think.
That’s what nirvana’s like, I think the Buddhists say.
I never wanted it to end.
But of course it did. Light came through the curtains. I woke up. My stomach hurt. Another day to face. I had no choice. I had to face it. For my angel child, if nothing else.
And there was precious little else.
They’d taken Melissa to the morgue. I supposed normal people called their friendly neighborhood funeral director. Or something. Somebody.
I didn’t.
Melissa had no family, no friends to call.
And anyway I didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
I wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.
I slept.
I woke.
Damn it. They were going to cut Melissa up. Cut her into little pieces. Recite her bits and pieces into a handheld tape recorder. Collect them, bag them, test them. Defile them. Put them all back into a pile. Sew it back inside of her.
I couldn’t stand the thought of it.
