Distance has killed the background music, and now, there is utter silence. She drifts across the dirt and steps over half-buried bones, beginning the short, soundless trek toward the dream goblin’s domain.]
Outside now. She’d led him out the back door, across the dirt lot that made up the backyard.
A breeze broke across her face. Moonlight flooded her vision. She concentrated on the shed, her eyes straining against the visible dark.
“The shed,” a voice whispered in her ear. “The shed.”
“That’s where I last saw him.”
“That’s what you told them,” Terry said, his words whistling through clenched teeth. “That’s what you told the cops, the detectives, and the district attorney.”
“He went back there to play, and…”
“…and?”
“He never came back.”
Terry grabbed her, spun her, and shook her violently.
“I don’t believe you!” he hissed.
[“Ma-me?” asks the boy who is very much William.
Sunlight now fills the yard. It’s warm and comforting and the feeling sinks all the way down into her toes. Looking up at the bright afternoon sky, Angela smiles.
“Ma-me?” William asks as he squeezes her hand.
“Yes, baby?”
“Ma-me.” That’s all he says. That’s all he’ll ever say, so the doctors tell her. “Ma-me?” Terry doesn’t think so. He says the doctors don’t know squat—after all, they’re not fortune-tellers. The boy who is William can snap out of it at any moment or, hell—grow out of it. Doctors don’t know everything.
She doesn’t share the same notions.
She closes her eyes, allowing the sunlight to bathe her before she slips into the darkness the shed provides. “Do you want to play a game?”
“Ma-me.”
She opens the shed door. With a hand on William’s back, she guides him inside.
“Come on, honey. Let’s play a game.”
“Ma-me.”
They walk inside. The shed stands completely empty. Since the house has two garages, there is no need for the extra space.
She closes the door behind them, shutting out the light. The only brightness in the room comes from the lone window opposite the wall from where they had entered. Everywhere else is dark and painted with shadows. “Close your eyes, pumpkin.”
William does as he’s told. Such a good little boy, obedient. Always does as he’s told.
She takes the kitchen knife she’s been lugging around all day, the same weapon that would later be wielded by her husband, the same one that nearly ends her life.
“Keep your eyes closed, baby.” She’s crying now. In her mind, music plays. A sad song. Like the end of a sad movie when the credits are rolling. “Keep your eyes closed for mommy.”
Like the good boy he is, William does as he’s told.
“Ma-me,” he says.
And she brings down the knife.]
“The cops found this knife,” Terry whispered into her ear. “They found the weapon.”
“No DNA,” she said, her voice projecting into the darkness coating the shed’s interior. An endless voice responded with still silence. “No DNA, and no body.”
“Where did you put him?” Terry asked, putting the knife back to her throat. She felt the chalky dust of the sheetrock on her skin. “Please tell me, Angela,” Terry cried. “For the love of God and all that is holy, please tell me what you did with our son, William. Did you give it to them? Did you give it those monsters?”
“He’s safe,” she whispered. “He’s in a safe, safe place.”
[The knife comes down, the metal blade sinking inches into the wooden floorboards. She backs the knife out of the uncovered subfloor and screams with frustration. The noise is loud and bestial, unsettling to human ears. She barely recognizes the sound as her own and she briefly wonders if it was, or if there was something else in the shed with her besides her damaged son.
William only stares blankly at his mother and asks, “Ma-me?”]
“He’s in the Everywhere,” Angela said, turning to her husband, no longer concerned with the knife at her throat. “This whole time we worried that our William is dead. But he’s not. He’s safe. He’s alive, Terry, and he’s safe!”
She recalled the pharmacist and her infinite words of wisdom: “He’s still alive,” she had said, and wondered if the dream goblin had touched the woman from beyond, briefly hijacked her subconscious. In any case, the girl was right.
William was alive.
Somewhere.
[A crowded mall during peak shopping hours. A galley of benches. Angela sits down next to a couple who seems around the same age as she. She stations William between them.
“Thank you for showing up,” the woman says, speaking in a low tone and refusing to glance in her direction. Both strangers sport dark sunglasses. The man has a baseball cap pulled down, the brim shielding the upper half of his face.
The mall is alive with shoppers and their passing conversations are enough to drown out their own.
“No problem,” Angela says, her voice unsteady. She tries to keep her cool. She tries not to lose her shit. Terry has already grown suspicious, she’s certain of it. He’s noticed her odd behavior over the last week. He’s been busy with work, so they haven’t had time to “talk”, but she knows he’ll ask. The what’s-wrong-with-you-nothing-honey conversation is inevitable. “Can we make this quick?”
“Ma-me,” William says.
“He looks precious,” the woman says.
“He’s perfect,” the man concurs.
Angela feels her stomach flip, her insides liquefying. Everything feels like jelly.]
“He’s alive,” Angela said, almost as if she were pleading. “Terry, he’s alive and safe.”
“No, Angela,” her husband said, dropping the knife to his side. “No, he’s gone. And you killed him. You killed him when you lost him. When you gave up on him.”
Angela’s face contorted. “I did not kill my son. I did not. Do you hear me? I DID NOT KILL HIM.”
[Angela kisses her good boy on the top of his head.
With no discernible expression, he looks up at her and says, “Ma-me.”
“May we ask what happened?” the man asks, pointing to his head. “Mentally, I mean.”
Angela keeps her lips pressed against his scalp. She looks at the man, shooting him a sharp glance. “Just born that way. That’s what they told me.”
The woman doesn’t act concerned. “He’s perfect. Our client will be happy.”
“Client. William won’t be… in any danger, will he?”
The strangers shake their heads. The man speaks up first.“No, nothing like that. Our client is a very wealthy woman who enjoys helping those less fortunate. Those with certain mental abilities… they interest her.”