Comes the Blind Fury

Amanda, holding her by the hand, led her down the stairs and out of the house. It wasn’t until they had reached the studio that Michelle realized she had left her cane behind. But it didn’t matter — Amanda was there for her to lean on.

Besides, her hip didn’t hurt at all. Not at all!

They slipped into the studio, and Michelle knew immediately what to do. It was as if Amanda could talk to her silently, as if Amanda were truly inside her.

She found a sketch pad and set it up on her mother’s easel. She worked quickly, her strokes bold and sure. The picture emerged quickly.

Billy Evans, his small body perched on the top of the backstop, balancing himself precariously. The perspective was strange. He seemed to be very high up, far above the figure of Michelle herself, who stood on the ground, her cane forgotten as she stared helplessly upward.

Near her, clutching the support post, was Amanda, a smile on her face, her empty eyes seeming somehow alive with excitement as Billy started to fall.

Michelle stared at the picture and, in the dimness of the studio, she felt Amanda’s hand in her own. They stood together for a moment in silent closeness. Then, knowing what she must do, Michelle let go of Amanda’s hand, tore the sketch from the pad, and took it to the closet. She found what she was looking for easily, though she had turned on no lights. She took out the canvas, that first canvas she had drawn for Amanda, and left her new sketch — the sketch of Billy Evans, with the one of Susan Peterson.

She set the canvas up on the easel, and picked up June’s palette.

Though the dim light washed the colors on the palette to little more than shades of gray, Michelle knew where to touch the brush to find the hues she wanted.

She worked quickly, her face expressionless. Behind her, watching over her shoulder, her hand lightly resting on her elbow, Michelle could feel Amanda watching in fascination, her milky white eyes fixed on the picture, her expression eager. The picture was telling her the story — soon she would see it all. Michelle would show her everything.

Michelle had no sense of time as she worked. When she finally set the palette aside and stepped back to look at the canvas, she wondered why she didn’t fed tired. But she knew, really — it was Amanda, helping her.

“Is it all right?” she asked shyly.

Amanda nodded, her sightless eyes still fixed on the picture. After a few seconds, she spoke.

“You could have killed her this afternoon,” she said.

Jennifer. Mandy was talking about Jennifer, and she was angry at Michelle.

“I know,” Michelle answered quietly.

“Why didn’t you?” Mandy’s voice, silken but hard, caressed Michelle.

“I–I don’t know,” she whispered.

“You could do it now,” Amanda suggested.

“Now?”

“They’re asleep. They’re all asleep. We could go to the nursery.…” Amanda took Michelle’s hand and led her out of the studio.

As they crossed the lawn toward the house, a cloud drifted across the moon, and the silvery light faded into darkness. But the darkness didn’t matter.

Amanda was leading her.

And the fog was coming in.

The wonderful fog that cuddled Michelle, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving her alone with Amanda. Whatever Amanda wanted, Michelle knew she would do.…

June woke up in the darkness, some maternal sixth sense telling her that something was wrong. She listened for a moment.

A cry.

Muffled, but a cry.

It was coming from the nursery. June got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and crossed the bedroom.

The nursery door was dosed.

She distinctly remembered leaving it open — she always left it open.

She glanced at Cal, but he was sound asleep, his position unchanged.

Then who had closed the door?

She pulled it open and stepped into the nursery, switching on the light as she passed through the door. Michelle was standing by Jennifer’s crib. She looked up, her face puzzled, as the room filled with light.

“Mother?”

“Michelle! What are you doing up?”

“I–I heard Jenny crying, and when I didn’t hear you, I came in to see what was wrong.”

Michelle carefully tucked the little pillow in her hands under Jennifer’s head.

Her crying was muffled!

The thought slashed through June’s mind, but she immediately silenced it.

The door was closed, she told herself. That’s why I couldn’t hear her. The door was closed!

“Michelle,” she said carefully. “Did you close the door between here and our bedroom?”

“No.” Michelle’s voice was uncertain. “It must have been closed when I came in. Maybe that’s why you didn’t hear Jenny.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” But it did matter, and June knew it. Something was happening — something she didn’t want to think about. She went over to the crib, and picked Jenny up. The baby was sleeping now, making little mewling sounds. As she picked her up, Jenny coughed a little, then relaxed in her mother’s arms. June smiled at Michelle. “See? All it takes is a mother’s loving arms.” She looked more closely at Michelle. Her eyes were clear, and she didn’t look as though she’d been asleep only a few minutes ago.”

“Couldn’t you sleep, honey?”

“No. I was just talking to Amanda. Then Jenny started crying, so I came in here.”

“Well, let me get her settled, then we’ll have a little talk, okay?”

Michelle’s eyes clouded over. For a moment June was afraid she was going to refuse. But then Michelle shrugged. “Okay.”

June tucked Jennifer back into the crib, then offered Michelle her arm to lean on. “Where’s your cane?”

“I left it in my room.”

“Well, that’s a good sign,” June said hopefully. But as they went down the hall, it seemed to her that Michelle could barely walk. She said nothing, however, until Michelle was settled in her bed, propped up against the pillows. “Does it hurt badly?” She touched Michelle’s hip gently.

“Sometimes. Now. But sometimes not. When Amanda’s around, it’s better.”

“Amanda,” June repeated the name softly. “Do you know who Amanda is?”

“Not really,” Michelle said. “But I think she used to live here.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“Where does she live now?”

“I’m not sure. I guess she still lives here.”

“Michelle — does Amanda want something?”

Michelle nodded her head. “She wants to see something. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s something Amanda has to see. And I can show it to her.”

“You? How?”

“I–I don’t know. But I know I can help her. And she’s my friend, so I have to help her, don’t I?”

It sounded to June like a plea for reassurance. “Of course you do,” she said. “If she’s truly your friend. But what if she’s not your friend? What if she really wants to hurt you?”

“But she doesn’t,” Michelle said. “I know she doesn’t. Amanda would never hurt me. Never.” As June watched, her daughter’s eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

June sat with her for a long time, holding her hand, and watching her sleep. Then, as the first faint light