The Keening, Page 2

in a brave way. “It’s okay. I know. You forget lots of things.”

  Robert’s mind rebelled at the thought. To forget his own daughter? What was the alternative? That he was having some sort of delusion, or seeing some confused ghost? He refused to believe either of those.

  When you woke up, you didn’t even know where you were.

  The shape of her face and the thick-lashed almond-shaped eyes were familiar, like a photo of an unknown relative staring back from the sepia mirror of the past.

  He searched back into his memory for her face, pushing at the misty edges that might have been the shroud of the drugs and found … an empty space. There was a hole in his memory, and when he probed it, there was a longing.

  The little girl’s eyes settled on the poker in his hand. She took a nervous half-step.

  Robert, embarrassed, knelt down and set the poker on the floor. He reached out, half-fearing his hand would pass through her, but he felt the tingle of her warm face right at the tips of his fingers.

  “You’re…” He pushed at the longing again, hunted the echo of a name.

  The little girl’s eyes turned downcast, and her mouth quivered.

  He felt a tingling, the slow melt of the permafrost of his memory. “Gabrielle?”

  Her face lit up with delight. “Daddy! You ‘membered!” she whispered.

  Gabrielle … his daughter. Her dark eyes pulled at him with a powerful need. He wanted to remember her. Visions flickered through his memory but eluded the grasp of conscious thought like a melody whose words he couldn’t recall or the after image of a candle blown out. They stared at each other for a long moment, until she looked away.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  He remembered the noise that woke him. “Did you cry earlier? Are you … are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, daddy. I was hungry,” she said. “I’m sorry I cried.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “Do you want me to get you something? Something to eat?”

  She looked right into him. It felt like she was looking right at the spot in his head where he was thinking.

  “Daddy,” she said, “Can we go back to the city?”

  “Back to the city?” Had she lived with them, in the city? Memory was a painful blur for Robert right now. He wanted to remember, but he didn’t want to know how much he had forgotten.

  “Yes,” she said. “There’s lots of different things there, to eat. Why can’t we go, daddy?”

  “Did we—” he started, then paused, worrying over how to say this to her so she wouldn’t know he couldn’t remember. “Did you like going to the restaurants, in the city?”

  Gabrielle shrugged in a lazy way and started sucking her thumb.

  “You were probably too young to remember, huh?”

  “Robert? Who’s there?”

  Bonnie stood at the top of the stairs, blinking away sleep.

  “Gabrielle couldn’t sleep, Bon,” he said, standing and walking towards Bonnie. “I came up to put her to bed.”

  Bonnie frowned. “Who, now?”

  “Gabrielle,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bonnie moved towards him, then hesitated when she saw the poker on the floor next to him.

  “Robert, have you been taking your pills?”

  Her eyes were narrow and accusing, as if he was a stranger, a burglar confronted in the night. He ached to be normal, to be himself. He took a breath, tried to form a smile. “That’s probably why I couldn’t sleep, the stupid pills. I heard a noise. Crying.”

  Bonnie looked around him. “What crying?”

  “It was Gabrielle.”

  Bonnie looked at him blankly.

  “Our daughter,” he said.

  “Oh, God…” Bonnie pressed her face into her hands.

  “What’s the matter?” He reached out to her, but she slipped away from him.

  “No, Rob. It’s gotten worse.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We don’t have a daughter,” she said, glaring at him.

  Rob felt dizzy, reached out and leaned hard against the wall next to him. Of course they had a daughter. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t seeing things. Or maybe this was a dream and he would wake up now. He wanted to wake up now. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up.

  Then, he heard a whisper behind him.

  “She doesn’t ‘member me.”

  He turned. The shaft of light behind him was empty but for the motes floating in it.

  Bonnie touched his shoulder.

  “Robert … let’s just go take your pill. We’ll call Doctor Rozelle in the morning.”

  “She was here,” he insisted. “She was standing right here.”

  “The doctor said something like this could happen.”

  “Dammit, Bonnie. I’m not crazy.”

  Bonnie glared at him. She stepped around him, into the light, sending the motes careening around in the air. She turned and Robert could hear the effort it took to keep her voice controlled. “Rob, I want you to get better.”

  Somewhere in the emptiness, Rob heard a soft, strident cry.

  “Did you hear that? She’s crying.”

  Bonnie stood in the pool of moonlight, eyes dark and determined. She didn’t seem to notice the motes, turning in the air around her. They began to spin faster, sparkling like fireflies.

  Bonnie’s eyes widened in confusion. “Rob, what is going on?”

  There were more and more of them, glowing, pulsing with the white, cold light of the moon. Bonnie tried to move forward, out of the light, but the motes spun faster, pulled her into the center of their whirlwind, a chaotic dance of shimmering white.

  Bonnie cried out, struggling against the white light that was washing her away. Rob reached out to grab her, couldn’t penetrate the light. He grabbed the poker from the floor, thrusting it towards the boiling wall of light. There was a crackling jolt and Rob was thrown backwards. He crashed to the floor, unconscious.

  When he opened his eyes, Gabrielle stood over him. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was pressed shut in a tiny smile. She hummed a quiet, keening melody.

  With a final breath she finished her song, opened her eyes, and looked at him.

  “Please take me to the city, daddy,” she said. “I’m hungry.”

  ***

  ###

  About the author:

  Keith Gapinski is a new, independent author in the process of figuring out who he is as a writer. He’s interested in fantasy, science fiction, and fantastic realism. He lives with his wife and three cats in central Florida.

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  Twitter: @keithgapinski

  Google+: Keith Gapinski

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