When Darkness Loves Us

The rumbling increased. She suddenly identified it as a growl, and she stopped, heart pounding, as the nastiness spread toward her. The protective growl increased in volume, a warning to stay away, go away, leave it all alone. She took one more step, and a snarl, an open-mouthed, teeth-bared snarl, made her flesh crawl. The thought of teeth biting into her flesh made her shiver; her next thought—of those teeth rending her daughter’s mind—strengthened her. She stepped out again.

Out of the darkness charged a giant animal, yellow eyes bright with fury. Pure-white canine teeth flashed in the light, as foamy saliva flew in all directions. She fell back in surprise, in terror, and the jaws snapped shut on air just a fraction of an inch in front of her.

Fern opened her eyes. She was on her back on the hard wooden floor. Martha was sitting up, staring straight ahead, perspiration standing out on her upper lip. Fern caught her breath and stood up slowly, feeling the bruises already stiffening her back and arms. She sat again on the edge of the bed, and stroked Martha’s hand. It was cool and damp. She gathered the stiff child to her and rocked her back and forth until she could feel Martha relax. Fern laid her back down on the bed, and Martha’s eyes closed. Soon she was softly snoring the sleep of childhood. In fear and wonderment, Fern sat and watched her sleep.

CHAPTER 15

Leon sat on the couch in a sullen pose, arms and legs crossed, chin resting on his chest. He felt like his space had been invaded, like something personally his was being exposed. He didn’t want to share the miracle of Martha with these three strange men who now sat at her kitchen table, along with Martha and Dr. Withins. He felt the situation being taken out of his hands. Shit, that’s what I want, isn’t it? Maybe, maybe not.

The tests they were giving her were stupid. “Tell me what this pattern looks like to you, Martha,” and “Can you describe your mother for me as you remember her?” and “Did you love your father?” and “What was the first thing you noticed the other day when all of a sudden you felt better?” Silly stuff. When she talked about Leon, his face reddened, and he picked at the couch, trying to ignore them. That stuff is private, dammit!

There were only three things she said that interested Leon. Her dreams about the yellow eyes and snapping teeth he thought were a bit bizarre, but maybe she’d been scared by a dog when she was little or something. Once in a while he had dreams of spiders crawling on him. After all, nightmares are normal. He also thought it was interesting that she remembered her mother as being small, when everybody knew that old Fern was as big as a house. She hardly remembered her father at all.

The only other thing she said that impressed Leon was also what made him so nervous, made him fidget as he sat there listening. She said she loved him, and hoped he would stay with her forever. Christ! He didn’t need an old lady to be dependent upon him. He was only twenty-­four years old! He liked her all right, but boy, to be with her for . . . oh Christ. He’d have to talk to her about that. A couple of months, Dr. Withins had said. He could do a couple of months.

They sat at the table, drinking coffee and talking to Martha for almost three hours. When they finally left, Leon walked them to the doctor’s van. One of the doctors, the tallest one, said he’d like to come back to talk with her some more. There appeared, he said, to be some kind of a psychological block that occurred in her childhood, and was just recently removed, restoring her to normalcy. He wanted to find out as much as he could, because it could be of tremendous benefit to the psychiatric community.

Leon couldn’t be less interested. He just nodded, told the doctor to come back anytime, and yawned. It was bedtime.

Then they urged Leon to stay with her, at least until they had a better idea of what happened, both then and now. He agreed, then waved as they drove off.

He went back into the house and went to bed. Martha tidied up the kitchen and joined him. They lay together in silence; then Leon spoke, softly.

“Tell me more about those dreams you have. About the yellow eyes.”

“I don’t have them since you’re here.”

“You mean ‘I haven’t had them since you’ve been here.’ ”

“I haven’t had them since you’ve been here.”

“Sometimes I dream about spiders.”

“Spiders? Spiders are nothing. They’re quiet, they just crawl around. These eyes have jaws that snap and growl and come at me.”

“Hmmm. Well, I’m glad you don’t have them anymore.”

“Me too.”

“Martha?” He looked at her face, silhouetted in profile against the faint starlight outside. “I can’t stay with you forever.”

“I know. I just wish.”

He turned his gaze back to the black expanse that would have been the ceiling if he could have seen it. “I know. I wish sometimes, too.”

“Well, we’ll just do till we don’t.”

He smiled. “Okay. But when I go, you’ll be all right?”