TV. She cleans up the mess and gets a drink of water. October 23, 2005 1:34 a.m.
She leaves Carrie on the couch, sprints through the yards to hide in the stand of trees near Cabel’s house. There’s a light on inside, so she waits. After a while, a car pulls into his driveway. It sits there for five minutes, maybe more. Finally, Cabel gets out and goes inside. When she sees all the lights go out, she deposits herself in the bushes under his window, stepping carefully around the crunchy leaves that insist on falling constantly the past few days.
Luck is on her side when he cracks the window open an inch. She hears him now, and her heart breaks as he sighs and rustles around in the dark. She can hear his bed creak when he lies down, and she can hear him punch his pillow, getting settled for sleep. She wonders what he wears to bed. She is more than tempted to look. But she will wait.
She must wait.
She waits.
2:15 a.m.
He doesn’t snore.
3:04 a.m.
Janie, asleep in the bushes, is jolted awake. Painfully. Her body is paralyzed almost immediately, and she is sucked into his mind. Into his fears. His dream. It lasts two hours.
The same scenes, on an endless loop.
The middle-aged man, spraying lighter fluid, and then flicking a cigarette at Cabel. The monster-man in the kitchen, flinging a knife-pointed chair, hitting the ceiling fan, decapitating the middle-aged man. And a new one. Shay, the rich girl cheerleader, in handcuffs, hooked to a bed. Smiling.
Janie thinks she looks dreadful.
Naked.
As Cabel climbs in bed with her.
And Janie can’t pull herself away.
She feels herself become ill, but she cannot move.
She can’t pound on the window to wake him.
She’s frozen. Paralyzed.
And she thought school was torture.
It’s absolutely the worst dream she’s ever been stuck in. By far. She passes out. Unconscious. Drained. Right before the scene changes. And ends. 6:31 a.m.
She opens her eyes.
On her belly, facedown, in the stones and branches.
She can hardly move.
But she must.
The sun is coming up.
7:11 a.m.
Janie limps home. Ignores the barking dogs.
7:34 a.m.
Janie crawls in the door, closes it, and falls on the carpet next to Carrie, who is still lying on the couch. She sleeps.
8:03 a.m.
Oh, God. She’s in the forest. Again, again, again. So tired.
When they see the boy, bobbing in the water, Stu appears next to Carrie.
The grin.
The struggling.
The plea. Help him.
And Janie can’t help him.
She can never help him.
Stu reaches over the water, but he cannot help either. Stu makes love to Carrie as she is crying for the boy, Carson.
The boy is bloody, lost, gone with the shark.
As always.
Janie cries. For Carson, for Carrie. But mostly for herself. She feels like she’s about a hundred years old.
9:16 a.m.
Carrie nudges Janie.
“I gotta go,” she says.
Janie grunts. Her body aches.
Carrie closes the door softly, and Janie sleeps.
The carpet scratches her face.
11:03 a.m.
There is a soft knock, and a lets-himself-in noise of the door. Janie thinks she’s dreaming. He checks to make sure she is alive, on the floor. Then he sits on the couch and waits. Janie’s mother walks by.
And walks by again, the other way, carrying a tinfoil-covered tray and a glass bottle. 12:20 p.m.
She rolls.
Groans.
Curls up in a ball on her side, clutching her belly.
“Oh, God,” she moans, eyes closed. Her head aches. Her muscles scream every time she moves. She is weak and empty. Light-headed. Exhausted.
And he is there, picking her up. Taking her to her bed. Covering her with blankets. He closes the door.
Sits on the floor, next to her.
12:54 p.m.
He goes to the kitchen. Makes her a cold chicken sandwich. Pours milk. Pours orange juice. Puts it on a plate. Takes it to her room.
Waits.
1:02 p.m.
Until he gets scared because she’s sleeping so much. And he wakes her up. Janie groans and slowly sits up.
She drinks the juice and milk.
Eats the sandwich.
Doesn’t look at
She leaves Carrie on the couch, sprints through the yards to hide in the stand of trees near Cabel’s house. There’s a light on inside, so she waits. After a while, a car pulls into his driveway. It sits there for five minutes, maybe more. Finally, Cabel gets out and goes inside. When she sees all the lights go out, she deposits herself in the bushes under his window, stepping carefully around the crunchy leaves that insist on falling constantly the past few days.
Luck is on her side when he cracks the window open an inch. She hears him now, and her heart breaks as he sighs and rustles around in the dark. She can hear his bed creak when he lies down, and she can hear him punch his pillow, getting settled for sleep. She wonders what he wears to bed. She is more than tempted to look. But she will wait.
She must wait.
She waits.
2:15 a.m.
He doesn’t snore.
3:04 a.m.
Janie, asleep in the bushes, is jolted awake. Painfully. Her body is paralyzed almost immediately, and she is sucked into his mind. Into his fears. His dream. It lasts two hours.
The same scenes, on an endless loop.
The middle-aged man, spraying lighter fluid, and then flicking a cigarette at Cabel. The monster-man in the kitchen, flinging a knife-pointed chair, hitting the ceiling fan, decapitating the middle-aged man. And a new one. Shay, the rich girl cheerleader, in handcuffs, hooked to a bed. Smiling.
Janie thinks she looks dreadful.
Naked.
As Cabel climbs in bed with her.
And Janie can’t pull herself away.
She feels herself become ill, but she cannot move.
She can’t pound on the window to wake him.
She’s frozen. Paralyzed.
And she thought school was torture.
It’s absolutely the worst dream she’s ever been stuck in. By far. She passes out. Unconscious. Drained. Right before the scene changes. And ends. 6:31 a.m.
She opens her eyes.
On her belly, facedown, in the stones and branches.
She can hardly move.
But she must.
The sun is coming up.
7:11 a.m.
Janie limps home. Ignores the barking dogs.
7:34 a.m.
Janie crawls in the door, closes it, and falls on the carpet next to Carrie, who is still lying on the couch. She sleeps.
8:03 a.m.
Oh, God. She’s in the forest. Again, again, again. So tired.
When they see the boy, bobbing in the water, Stu appears next to Carrie.
The grin.
The struggling.
The plea. Help him.
And Janie can’t help him.
She can never help him.
Stu reaches over the water, but he cannot help either. Stu makes love to Carrie as she is crying for the boy, Carson.
The boy is bloody, lost, gone with the shark.
As always.
Janie cries. For Carson, for Carrie. But mostly for herself. She feels like she’s about a hundred years old.
9:16 a.m.
Carrie nudges Janie.
“I gotta go,” she says.
Janie grunts. Her body aches.
Carrie closes the door softly, and Janie sleeps.
The carpet scratches her face.
11:03 a.m.
There is a soft knock, and a lets-himself-in noise of the door. Janie thinks she’s dreaming. He checks to make sure she is alive, on the floor. Then he sits on the couch and waits. Janie’s mother walks by.
And walks by again, the other way, carrying a tinfoil-covered tray and a glass bottle. 12:20 p.m.
She rolls.
Groans.
Curls up in a ball on her side, clutching her belly.
“Oh, God,” she moans, eyes closed. Her head aches. Her muscles scream every time she moves. She is weak and empty. Light-headed. Exhausted.
And he is there, picking her up. Taking her to her bed. Covering her with blankets. He closes the door.
Sits on the floor, next to her.
12:54 p.m.
He goes to the kitchen. Makes her a cold chicken sandwich. Pours milk. Pours orange juice. Puts it on a plate. Takes it to her room.
Waits.
1:02 p.m.
Until he gets scared because she’s sleeping so much. And he wakes her up. Janie groans and slowly sits up.
She drinks the juice and milk.
Eats the sandwich.
Doesn’t look at
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