The Gate 2 Part 5

"And if she walks?"

His father shrugged. "Then that's what it's gotta be."

He knew his father was right-he always was-but that didn't make the issue any easier on him. He couldn't envision a life without Sammie, even if she was different. Still, he knew things had to change for the better soon. Jimmy had started asking him questions about her appearance. He might've been little, but he was no dummy. Dwight couldn't bring himself to tell his son the truth. Something had to be done.

On an evening when Sammie walked into the house well past midnight, Dwight was waiting for her in the living room. He told her they needed to talk. Her eyes were half-closed and her blond hair looked like dried hay.

"What about?" she asked, emotionless.

"You've got a problem."

She brought her boney finger to her nose and gave a loud snort. "Yeah? Took you long enough to notice."

"I've known for a while. I just thought you were going through some weird phase, that you'd snap out of it."

"There's nothing to snap out of."

"I mean, I know you're unhappy," he continued. "I thought if I gave you some s.p.a.ce things would somehow go back to normal. I just didn't think you'd..." He couldn't finish the sentence. His guilt pounded him in his gut. He closed his eyes and counted to three, willing himself to be strong.

"You need help," Dwight finally said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "Seriously, I want you to check into rehab."

Sammie stared at him with dead eyes. She sniffled loudly and rubbed her jaw. "Yeah? What if I don't want to go?"

"If you won't go, then you can't be around Jimmy and me anymore."

"And you're serious?"

Dwight nodded.

She continued to stare at him, no emotion to be found on her pale face. She shrugged her bone-thin shoulders. "I want a divorce," was all she said to him before she left the house. She never looked back or said goodbye.

Dwight sat in his chair, drinking a beer. The memory of Sammie left a bitter taste in his mouth. There were times he wondered what she was up to, but he knew she was probably dead somewhere. It wasn't a pleasant thought, and it hurt, but it was probably the truth. He didn't wish it and he certainly didn't hate her, but he was angry that she had abandoned them. He was also angry with himself for not doing anything sooner.

During the divorce, Sammie didn't want money. She didn't even want to fight for custody or visitation rights. She simply wanted out. Jimmy took it hard at first, but he was a bright kid. He knew that Mommy wasn't herself and needed help. For a while he would ask Dwight if he thought she would get better and come back. He didn't lie and tell him she would, nor did he tell him the truth and say she wouldn't. He simply said he didn't know.

Those questions came with less and less frequency each pa.s.sing day.

Even though she was gone, Sammie was never that far from his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to forget her, there she was. Whenever he thought of her, he'd put the blame on himself. He knew he should've tried harder. He should've confronted her at the first sign of a problem, but that's how life goes. Even when the warning signs are there, sometimes people are still afraid to fess up.

A loud banging at the front door startled him. Dwight jumped up from his chair, nearly dropping his beer. "Jesus!" he moaned. It was a violent chain of thuds, and in between each of them he heard a whiney voice call out his name.

"Oh G.o.d," he said. "Not this again."

He wiped the beer from his lips and set the can down. At the door he found an excited Mrs. Hendrickson.

"Really? I have no time for this," he groaned.

"I've found them!"

"Found what?"

"Zombies! I found the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! I said I would, and you told me to come back if I did!"

Another exhausted moan. Dwight brought his hands to his face. "Mrs. Hendrickson, it's really, really late." He looked back up at her with pleading eyes. "Why don't you go home and get some rest, yeah? I'm sure you'll forget all of this zombie business in the morning."

"Nonsense!" she said, stomping her foot into the ground. "I have to show you! Everybody in this G.o.dforsaken neighborhood thinks I'm losing my mind, but I ain't losing a d.a.m.ned thing! You have to come and see for yourself!"

Dwight heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Daddy?"

"It's okay Jimmy," he said. "Go on back to bed." He looked at Mrs. Hendrickson and shook his head. "I can't go anywhere right now. n.o.body's here to keep an eye on Jimmy."

"Bring him with you!" She smiled at Jimmy. "How would you like to see some zombies, young lad?"

"Daddy says they don't exist."

"Hogwas.h.!.+ Even more reason you should come with me right now. You need your eyes opened, the both of you!"

Dwight rubbed his temples and shook his head once more. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips at the realization that Mrs. Hendrickson was adamant about them going with her and wouldn't leave until they agreed. At least it wasn't a school night. Maybe it was better they went with her so he could keep a close eye on her. The last thing Dwight needed was the thought of Mrs. Hendrickson attacking some homeless guy while screaming, "Zombie! Zombie!"

"Fine, we'll go and check it out." He looked at Jimmy. "You okay with going?

Jimmy nodded, slowly.

"It'll be okay," Dwight told him. "Go get your coat and shoes."

"And baseball bats!" Mrs. Hendrickson suggested.

Dwight shook his head. "No bats."

"Fine, but don't' come cryin' to me when a zombie is munching on your skull."

Another sigh, and Dwight told her to wait while they got ready. When he turned he saw Jimmy wearing his red Mighty Power Fighters jacket. The boy shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet.

"Don't worry," Dwight said. "We're not going to see any zombies, but we're going with Mrs. Hendrickson so she doesn't do anything foolish."

"I'm scared."

"There's no need." He looked at the jacket and smiled. "Be brave, like a Mighty Power Fighter. Zombies wouldn't scare them, now would they?"

A grin spread across Jimmy's little face. "Nothing scares the Mighty Power Fighters."

Dwight laughed and rubbed Jimmy's hair. "Of course not. They're fearless, just like you."

When they were ready, Dwight opened the door and the two of them followed Mrs. Hendrickson as she marched through the neighborhood like a proud general going to war. Dwight walked with his hands in his pockets while randomly mumbling to himself under his breath. Jimmy asked him a few times what he was saying, but he just shook him off.

"You guys better keep up!" Mrs. Hendrickson said.

Dwight grumbled and shook his head.

"Dad, do you really think we'll see zombies?"

He didn't answer, patting Jimmy on the shoulder and giving him a smile, saying that everything was going to be okay without words.

They continued to walk for blocks while the sky above grew dark. It seemed like they were the only ones out, which was kind of eerie. It had all of the right ingredients for a cla.s.sic horror movie-a crazed woman leading a father and son through an abandoned neighborhood to face the terror lurking somewhere in the shadows. Were there really zombies? Could that be possible? Dwight shook his head and silently scolded himself for even considering such a ludicrous thought. They were only humoring Mrs. Hendrickson and keeping an eye on her.

They finally came to a halt when Mrs. Hendrickson pointed to the neighborhood park in front of them. "There! They're over there!"

It took Dwight a moment to figure out what she was pointing at, and then he saw the two teenagers sitting on swings. They were pale and skinny, but they certainly weren't zombies...though they did appear to be a bit out of sorts. The one on the right gazed up at the sky while dragging his feet along the gravel. The boy on the left stared down at the ground, wiping his nose every now and then with his sleeve. Their resemblance to Sammie hit him almost instantly, and at that point he wished they really were zombies. The truth of it was worse. He felt something wrap around him, and when he looked down he saw that it was Jimmy hugging him from behind.

Mrs. Hendrickson placed her bony hands around her mouth, forming a cup. "We know what you are! You ain't fooling us for a second! You go away now, you no good zombies! You won't be eating my brains tonight, that's for d.a.m.n sure!"

The two stoned teenagers slowly looked up and blinked, then began to laugh hysterically. One of the kids even slid out of his swing and fell to the ground, holding his knees, saliva dripping from his mouth with each guffaw. The other covered his eyes, drool clinging to his lips as he snickered.

Dwight tapped Mrs. Hendrickson on the shoulder. "I think it's time that we go now."

"Go? I told you they're zombies! We have to do something!"

"They're not going to hurt anybody tonight. Really, we need to leave." He took her by the hand and started to walk away from the park, with Jimmy following. Mrs. Hendrickson protested, but Dwight a.s.sured her that it would be okay and that he would call somebody when he got home. She wouldn't give up on the zombie angle, but Dwight was too drained to explain what they really were.

When they returned, Dwight told Jimmy to go on inside while he took Mrs. Hendrickson back to her house.

"I can find my own d.a.m.n house, thank you very much," she spat.

"Humor me, and let me walk you home."

Along the way, Mrs. Hendrickson kept going on about how they needed to do something before the zombies attacked the neighborhood, and again Dwight told her that he would take care of it. She needed to go home where it was safe, he explained. He kept repeating this all the way to her house. When she finally went inside he headed home, certain she would stay put.

He stood in his darkened living room, staring out the window as if the trees outside would offer some sort of an answer. He didn't know what to do. He supposed he should call the police and let them know that drugged-out teens were hanging around the neighborhood. He also supposed he should figure out what to do about Mrs. Hendrickson, although he didn't know any of her relatives that he could call. Her delusions were becoming worse, and he was positive the day would come when she'd either hurt herself or someone else.

Dwight didn't do anything but stand in a silent trance.

"Dad," he heard Jimmy say. He didn't turn around. Even when his son was standing right by his side, he didn't move. "Dad, are they really zombies?"

"I guess in a way they are," Dwight whispered. He wished they never followed Mrs. Hendrickson to that G.o.dforsaken park. It brought back too many bad memories and feelings.

Jimmy hugged him. "They're nothing but dead things, Dad. Don't worry, I'll protect you from them."

Dwight smiled for the first time that night. A feeling washed over him, one he wished would never disappear.

- Michael Crane is the sick and twisted author of Lessons and Other Morbid Drabbles, In Decline (stories), and A Gnome Problem (a novelette). He went to Columbia College Chicago where he earned a BA in Fiction Writing. He currently lives in Illinois where he continues to write and drink way too many Red Bulls.

DOES LAURA LIKE ELEPHANTS?.

by Steven Pirie.

It's late Friday evening in the pub, and Laura's in her wheelchair too close to the fire in the hearth. The heat burns her leg and stings tears under her eyelids. Her world spins sideways when her head lolls to her shoulder. She feels spittle on her chin, and phlegm in her throat. She gags, but no one notices. She's been gagging all evening, but Pete and the others are good at not noticing. And her thighs are still chaffed from Pete f.u.c.king her earlier. Or was it Don? Since the incident, anybody could be f.u.c.king her and she'd not know.

And Pete says: "I hear there's a two-for-one offer on entrance to the zoo."

"I'm not surprised," says Maureen. "The zoo's c.r.a.p. I've been, and I counted just the one bored-looking penguin last time."

"They have got a new elephant," says Don.

Pete grins. "A new old elephant. I heard it was one Whipsnade didn't want any more. Maybe it was a defective one."

"Laura used to like the elephants," says Don. He sighs. "And the lemurs."

They turn toward Laura, and she twitches in her wheelchair, feeling their stares upon her as harsh as any fire in the hearth. She feels her eyeb.a.l.l.s flicking in their sockets.

Maureen laughs. "Now she can't tell them apart, eh?" She leans forward, turning Laura's ear toward her. Laura's world spins once more. "Do you know the difference between an elephant and a lemur, Laura?" She taps Laura's head, and inside the sound booms like in an empty chamber. "Is it the sort of thing you think about alone in there all day?"

"Don't," says Don. "You shouldn't be laughing at Laura."

"Then again," says Maureen, "maybe we should go to the zoo, Pete. You could take Laura. It'll be nice for her to be amongst the moth-eaten animals, seeing as she's defective herself. It'll be like she's with equals. Maybe you can swap her for a smarter looking chimp when no one's looking."

Don downs his pint. "That's not fair," he says. His face has reddened. "Laura can't help the way she is, and you shouldn't be mocking her."

"It's true Laura did like animals, though," says Pete. "Back when she was compos mentis, I mean, back before the incident. Perhaps a day out in the fresh air will do her some good."

"Then it's settled," says Maureen. "Tomorrow, after lunch, we'll all have an afternoon at the zoo, and if we can tell Laura apart from the gibbons, intellectually, then the coffees are on me."

Later, back home, it's cold and dark downstairs alone. Laura can't s.h.i.+ver, not since her brain and muscle and sinew all but parted company, and when Pete's p.i.s.sed-up, when he can't be bothered carrying her upstairs to bed, he leaves her in the wheelchair downstairs in the corner by the fish tank. It's safer that way, he says, in case he falls backward on the stairs. As if Laura would mind snapping her neck as she tumbled. Sometimes he leaves her down when Maureen slips away from Don and comes back for a nightcap.

Laura knows each fish by name; even the dead ones Pete forgets to flush. The tank heater rumbles and gurgles, and the bubbles from the fish-s.h.i.+t encrusted diver ripple dull rainbows on the living room ceiling. The s.h.i.+fting colours are hypnotic. Beyond the gla.s.s the fish bob aimlessly, sluggish and directionless like the stray thoughts in Laura's head.

Did she ever like elephants? She doesn't think so. But then, she's not sure it's she who stinks of puke and urine since Pete's not bothered changing her bag since lunch time. When you're not sure of that, how can you be sure of anything?

The tank thermostat trips and the heater switches off. The fish s.h.i.+ft, startled by the silence, like they do the dozen times an hour the heater starts and stops. And somewhere, in the dark depths of Laura's brain, as if triggered by the sudden quiet, a neuron fires. A second answers it, and a third, and Laura knows there'll be a storm soon. It's the only way her mind works these days, by unleas.h.i.+ng raging torrents of activity. It's only by letting axons burn freely can she think.

Do I like elephants? she asks herself.

She feels lightning streak in her head and hears the rush of wind in her ears. The colours on the ceiling deepen to a painful hue. A dull ache grows behind her eyes. Her limbs don't move, yet in her mind she sees them thras.h.i.+ng against her wheelchair. But by morning she'll know the answer. She'll know if she likes elephants, and in some small way that's one more step toward knowing herself once more.

And lemurs, she adds, what about lemurs?

It's warm, Sat.u.r.day morning. Laura's slumped in her wheelchair outside in the garden to the rear by the bins. Out of the way, Pete says, while he trundles the Vax over the carpet by the fish tank. The carpet by the fish tank is threadbare by Pete's Vax.