The Orphan (7 page)

The first few hours of morning and the last hour of night, that was all she had left.

Many years ago Geri Kavanaugh had thought it would be this way for only a few years, that when Josh grew out of his diapers and started school, she would have more of her waking hours to herself. But then the big round of layoffs came at Croswell-Anderson, their medical device division was sold off to that biotech firm in California (and no, we don’t want your remaining staff, thank you), and her husband Eric lost his engineering job. She had to go back to teaching full-time sooner than she’d planned.

Teaching history to tenth- and eleventh-graders wasn’t the worst job in the world, but it wasn’t easy or often inspiring. Then there was the grading of homework, meetings with parents, faculty meetings, and errands, cooking dinner, cleaning up the house while Eric worked the night shift as a facilities manager in the Quartet Corporate Complex in Broomfield, making sure Josh was fed and bathed and put to bed by nine (when he was still a little boy), then making sure he wasn’t out late doing bad things (when he was, well, ever since he crossed the wicked threshold of puberty).

Where had the years gone? What happened to all her happy days?

It was only a little after six in the morning and Geri had been up for nearly three hours. She had already run two loads of laundry, the only chore she didn’t mind, because she couldn’t stand having piles of dirty clothes laying around and the task required no mental effort. Folding everything was another story, so she left the last batch in the dryer, which had buzzed to a halt around five this morning.

Eric had just come home from his shift and was taking one of his long showers before seeing them off to work and school and then going to sleep. She was on her second ‘defibrillation’, Eric’s name for the huge mugs of latte she brewed for herself. She was reading the
New York Times
at the kitchen table, as much for the tactile and olfactory sensations real newsprint provided as for the content.

Geri didn’t dwell much on the front page, national, global, political, terrorism or financial sections. That swath of the world was too depressing to follow, and so far removed from her interests and ability to influence, it all might as well have been so much palace intrigue on Neptune. She usually skipped straight to the lifestyle, fashion, design, real estate and book review sections. She like reading the longer pieces about entrepreneurs, designers, artists, anyone who’d made the paper for the interesting life they were living, and who might inspire a few small changes in her own.

She fought the urge to look up from her paper and check the clock. She didn’t want to know how many minutes she had left before Eric came down and started talking about all the crap he had to deal with last night, how much he despised his boss, Tim Wheatley, who did nothing except walk around the campus with his clipboard, guzzling energy drinks and checking off tasks on his list. Eric’s morning grumpy was usually her cue to slip upstairs to begin the onerous task of rousing Josh from his vampiric slumber.

The boy was sixteen, hated school, hated mornings, loved his bed, and the twenty-minute ritual of asking, then telling, then ordering, then yelling at him to get up and get ready for school was without question the part of her day she dreaded most. Pretending to be asleep was step one. Step two was trying to hide under his pillows. Steps three through six were reserved for loathing, slander and violence. Occasionally he would throw a shoe at her standing there in his doorway, and more often than not would wind up swearing at her.

‘Lee-me the fuck alone!’ was one of his favorites.

‘Are you seriously this stupid?’ was another.

‘You don’t have to be such a bitch all the time,’ was somehow worse.

Yes, somehow. Somehow fifteen years had gone by and she still couldn’t find a moment to herself, except during the first hours of the morning, and the last hour of night, when dinner was done and she could putter around the house, listen to some music on her headphones, read a book, watch a movie, anything so long as it was private and in some way self-nurturing.

Geri loved her husband. Eric was a reliable partner, even after twenty-seven years. And God knew she loved her son, though Josh had become a young man-child-person who seemed less like her son than some invasive, messy stranger who rarely spoke a sentence not laced with profanity. Problems in school, fights, pot smoking, depression from breaking up with that awful Melanie, who’d done a real number on him, despite Geri’s warnings when she saw the emotional manipulation coming months before it started. Lately sports and girls were out. About the only thing Josh seemed to enjoy anymore was eating, scratching himself, watching unrated Korean movies, and of course sleeping in as late as possible.

Today was their last day of school, and she had half a mind to let him skip it altogether. But no, he could handle one more day. She wanted to stress the importance of finishing what you started. He could sleep in tomorrow and for the rest of the summer, at least until she convinced him to find a part-time job.

Geri looked up. 6:52.

She could hear a shower running upstairs, but she knew it was Eric, not the boy.

She should start knocking on Josh’s door now. Get the ball rolling so they wouldn’t be late for first period.

Geri had already showered and dressed, and applied what little make-up she needed to avoid looking to her students like the tired mother she was. She was dressed in her heather-brown twill pants, black ankle boots, and a cream blouse with a black cowl-neck sweater over it. She felt as ready for the day as she was going to get.

She carried her defib mug to the sink, rinsed it
– thud thud
…
thud thud thud
–
and set it to dry on the rack. She shut the faucet off, cocking one ear.

What was that? She’d heard something while the faucet was running. Had someone knocked on the door? God, she hoped not. Who knocks on your door at seven in the morning? No one you wanted to speak with, that was for sure. She ignored it, hoping she had been mistaken. She went back to the kitchen table and raked up her paper, carrying it to the recycling bin.

Ding-dong
.

Okay. The last time it had been a knock. Now they were ringing the bell.

‘Take a hint,’ Geri said, knowing they wouldn’t.

Jehovah’s Witnesses, she thought, though she hadn’t seen one of those in a long time and maybe things had gotten so bad out there, they’d given up, taken their gospels to the World Wide Web of Idiocy. Was it Girl Scout Cookie season again already? Last year the Nichols family had come by with their precious tyke Sidney, hawking boxes of Thin Mints at seven-fifteen in the morning. Geri had signed up for four boxes just to get them off her porch so she could go back her coffee.

Ding-dong-ding-dong
.

Two in a row. Impatient. Jesus Criminy, already. Might be an emergency of some sort. Something important.

Geri rolled her neck with a sigh and marched around the living room, down the hall, to the entryway. She thought about looking through the window to the side of the door first, but whoever was there would see her checking, and then there wouldn’t be a choice, would there? She’d have to open the door no matter who it was, otherwise they would think her rude. This was such a safe neighborhood, and it was so early in the morning, caution never even crossed her mind. She unlocked and opened the door.

Too late. They were already gone. The porch was empty.

Geri looked up the sidewalk, which curved around the garage, and to the street, but there weren’t any cars parked in front of her house.

Relieved, she shut the door. Probably a solicitor, some kid selling subscriptions to the
Denver Post
. Not a bad paper, but not the
New York Times
, either.

She turned and took the first three steps on the front stairway to go wake up Josh when he startled her from the top of the stairs. He was in his boxer shorts, frowning down at her, wiping the dregs of sleep from one eye.

‘Who was at the door?’

‘What are you doing up?’ This was so rare, her son out of bed of his own volition, it unnerved her more than the prospect of solicitors. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just heard something outside. Who was it?’

‘No one. They were gone.’

Josh stared at her, and she couldn’t read his expression. His legs looked too thin and he was developing a small belly roll. He’d never been tubby, but the kid needed exercise. Another motherly pang of sadness passed through her.

‘What did you hear?’

‘Don’t know. But it was weird. They didn’t sound like they were speaking in, like, a normal language. They sounded like…’

Impatient, Geri gave him a look.
Like what
?

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Like idiots? It was all garbled, but loud enough to come through my window.’

‘Did you see them?’

‘Tried. I got up and looked out the window, ’cause it sounded so dicked up I was like, what is that? I thought my friends were playing a joke or some shit.’

‘Josh. A little early for the potty mouth.’

‘Sorry, they were playing a joke or
something
. But there weren’t any people, just this ugly hunk-of-shit truck with a camper shell on top.’

‘I didn’t see that,’ Geri said, thinking, And we don’t get many beat-up trucks with a camper shell around here.

Josh yawned and turned away, no doubt heading for his bed.

‘You’re getting in the shower, yes?’

‘After Dad. The hot water up in this bitch sucks.’

‘Do not go back to sleep.’

Josh mumbled something and shut his bedroom door.

Geri turned and stepped down the three stairs she had climbed. A draft of cold air caught her from the side and she paused.

The front door was open, and slowly swinging open wider. She must not have pushed it hard enough to latch it. She shouldered the door until it clicked and threw the deadbolt to make sure it stayed closed.

She walked back into the kitchen and saw two people standing in her living room, in front of the fireplace, the TV morning show going on behind them.

Geri screamed shortly before her throat pinched off her voice.

Her vision went hyper-vivid.

Reality got very unreal.

Because they weren’t people. Not people like she had ever seen. They looked like adult-sized babies, too awful to be real, people in costumes, but they were real, they just walked in, and here they were, hideous. Their faces. Oh my God, their faces. Both of them were hairless, with pale white skin stretched and glistening, their eyes dark and lifeless, like cold dabs of chocolate set inside cookie dough. They turned to watch her as she stumbled to one side and backed against the kitchen counter, but they made no sudden movements and didn’t even raise their arms, or speak.

They just stood there.

Plaid flannel shirts of ruined color, dirty black or brown pants, hiking boots. One was shorter than the other, the small one bulky at the waist and back, the taller one lean and stooped, its shoulders folded inward.

Masks, Geri thought, they’re wearing masks, they have to be, even though they look so real. This is a practical joke. Josh’s friends think they’re being cute but this is so not amusing, I’m going to ground his ass for the entire summer.

They stank of smoke, of old human body odor. Vinegar, or urine.

Not masks. Real. Geri was whimpering, breathing was difficult. She’d screamed, hadn’t she? Where was Eric? Still in the shower? She couldn’t hear. Her pulse was pounding and her ears rang with panic. Josh was awake, he must have heard. But did she want her son to come down and get caught in this?

No. Please, God, keep Josh upstairs.

They watched her, swaying stiffly, breathing through their mouths.

A robbery? Were they going to rape her? What the hell was this?

‘You’re in the wrong house,’ Geri managed, but her voice sounded mousy. Mustering as much firmness as she could, she said, ‘Please leave. Now.’

The short one moved first, taking three or four slow steps toward her.

‘At-uhm?’ it said, whatever that meant. Its mouth didn’t work right. It sounded like a boy Geri had had in one of her classes a few years ago, the one with the speech impediment.

‘At-uhm?’ the small one repeated, closer now, tilting its head.

Geri could just make out a pair of low flabby rolls below chest level, maybe breasts? Dear God, was this short one a woman?

The taller one bunched his fists over his thighs and tugged at his pants as if he were getting excited. Geri noticed his hands, the skin there pinker than the white faces, and puckered, like wrinkled newspaper. He kneeled slowly on the kitchen floor and removed something from his pants pocket, a small can about the size of a hockey puck. He groaned as he settled stiffly, and it occurred to Geri that these were not young people or young things, whatever they were. They seemed feeble, almost geriatric. The possibility of them being old and too slow to catch her was of no comfort, however. If anything, their quiet patient nature was out of synch with anything she’d imagined when she thought of home invasion, criminals, perverts. This was somehow worse.

The man unscrewed the cap from the can, produced a faded red handkerchief from another pocket, wrapped it around two or three fingers, and dabbed into the can. He reached forward and wiped the rag across her floor, smearing a band of black until he had drawn a circle.

‘What are you – excuse me, you can’t do that,’ Geri said, but when she moved toward him, the short one stepped in front of her again. Geri stopped, gasping in disbelief as the man ignored her, dabbing more of what had to be shoe polish.

The female moved another step closer and raised one hand. The fingers at the center were fused, a cobbled single branch of flesh where there should have been two or three fingers, and it pointed at her.

‘ADUM,’ she repeated, and Geri realized this might be a name – Adam. But before she could think of anyone by that name, her attention shifted to the floor.