Alex

  Alex

  Adam J Nicolai

  Alex

  Adam J Nicolai

  Second Edition

  Published by Adam J Nicolai for Amazon Kindle

  Copyright 2011 Adam J Nicolai

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from Adam J Nicolai, except for brief, properly credited quotations.

  Cover Design by Jason Godfrey and Adam J Nicolai

  Cover Image © 2011 Adam J Nicolai

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0-9849264-0-2

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9849264-0-4

  For my children, who changed my life.

  I love you.

  1

  In the hallway, Alex was laughing.

  The sound should have grated on Ian. He was late for work, as always - furiously brushing his teeth as the seconds galloped past - and instead of getting dressed, his son was in the hall, playing with toys. The boy had no urgency in the morning, no matter how much Ian begged, threatened or explained.

  Most mornings Ian would be yelling. Alex, hurry up! Get dressed! We are late! But today was different. Alex had turned five this year, and suddenly, that easy laughter - so simple, so pure - was getting rarer. Sometimes it felt like Ian hardly heard it at all.

  He heard Alex scamper into his room, exclaiming something about a big train, and smiled despite himself. His son's joy was infectious. He rinsed his toothbrush, reached for the shirt hanging on the bathroom door - and stopped. Closed his eyes, instead, and relished the simple music of his son's play. Thirty seconds, he thought. Thirty seconds wouldn't cost him his job.

  But he didn't get thirty seconds. Alex fell quiet. Maybe he'd gotten too absorbed in his toys. Sometimes, when the boy was really into them, Ian could find himself wondering if Alex was even still in the house. He would get up to check on him and find him squatting in his room, crouched over his trains and Star Wars guys like a mystic reading tea leaves, muttering earnest pronouncements.

  Ian threw on his shirt and opened the bathroom door, expecting to find exactly that, but when he peered into Alex's room he found only stacks of cold boxes. The light from the window fell across them like riming ice.

  It was empty. Of course it was.

  His son had been dead for six months.

  2

  "I'm worried about you."

  Ian snorted, and immediately regretted it. It sounded derisive, and that wasn't how he felt. To try and cover it up, he said, "There's nothing to worry about. I'm okay. I promise."

  "I don't believe that, Ian." She sounded exhausted, beaten. That was the effect he had on her now. That's why she wasn't living at home.

  "Well, what can I do -" He paused, shifted the phone to his shoulder as he reached for the turn signal. "I mean, what can I do to convince you?" It sounded whiny. "I tell you and you don't believe me."

  A sigh. "I already told you what I think you need."

  The sigh pissed him off. "And I told you we don't need a shrink. We can get through this. I really think -"

  She cut him off. "Are you driving?"

  Fuck. "No."

  "Dammit, Ian, I told you not to call me when you're driving. This is what I'm talking about. You don't listen to me. Do you even get that? You can't do this by yourself."

  "I'm not trying to. Jesus Christ, I called you, didn't I? I don't want to do it by myself."

  "Don't swear at me."

  Don't fucking leave me. He bit it back. "Sorry. I'm sorry, I just...

  "I hate not having you at home. I hate it."

  A pause, a long one. He wondered if he'd lost her.

  "I miss you too. But I don't like talking to you while you're driving. Call me tonight."

  "Okay. I love -" he started, but she'd already hung up.

  3

  The elevator took forever. He could hit the button fourteen times and the thing would still skip the ground floor and go to the basement parking garage. Like it knew Ian was the only one waiting, and he just didn't rate.

  The bell finally dinged and he got in. Checked his watch as he felt the ground falling away. 8:05. Late again.

  Screw them. I was listening to my son. He pictured Justin glaring at him, looking disappointed. Don't you get it? You think getting on the phone five minutes late fucking matters to me? I was listening to my son.

  The door opened.

  He glued his eyes to the floor, walked down the aisle between the cubes like a prisoner. He didn't want to see Justin watching him come in late for the second time this week. The mingled anger and exasperation he could stomach - it was the pity that bugged him the most. The only reason he even still had his job was the pity.

  He swung around his cube wall and shouldered out of his coat. As he flipped on his PC, Sheila said, "Traffic bad again?"

  "Yeah."

  She swiveled to face him. She wasn't on a call. She was never on a call when he came in.

  She was wearing a short, black skirt and a low blouse - what apparently passed for business casual when you're twenty-one. It violated the dress code, but Justin never called her out on it. She could dress like a slut everyday, and it was no problem - but every late morning of Ian's went straight into his file.

  Fine. She was hot, and young, and she got away with things. That was fine. That's how it worked. But he was thirteen years older than her, and if he was coming in late, it was none of her fucking business.

  He felt her eyes boring into his back, and braced for her pestering. It was about due to start up again.

  He tapped in his password and waited for the ancient machine that passed for his computer to grind to life. Then he glanced back at her, and arched his eyebrows. If you've got something to say, say it. He wasn't in the mood for any of her shit today.

  A couple weeks ago she had actually implied - Jesus, it still made him shake to think of it - that at least now that Alex was dead, Ian should be able to get on the road sooner. No need to bring the kid to daycare, after all, or wrangle him in the mornings.

  It was brainless, exactly the kind of ignorant thing a twenty-one year old girl might vomit up without really considering. The old Ian had forgiven stuff like that. The new Ian had wanted to choke her.

  You don't talk about my son, he'd said. Do you understand? Not ever. He had suppressed the I will fucking kill you, but just barely.

  She must have still remembered it, because she finally pursed her lips and said, "That sucks."

  He turned back to his computer. "Yeah."

  4

  At lunch, Justin pulled him into one of the quiet rooms. Ian was surprised it took that long. Normally he pounced on him right away.

  Ian tried to pre-empt him. "I know I was late again this morning. I'm sorry. I just..." He reached for an excuse instinctively, but stifled the urge. He was as sick of making excuses as Justin probably was of hearing them.

  "Ian, I'm just... I'm worried about you, man."

  Ian almost snorted. He managed a wan smile that didn't touch his eyes. "That's the same thing Alina said this morning."

  "Well, she's a smart woman," Justin answered at once. Justin had an answer for everything. That was why he'd been promoted twice, and was now Ian's boss, even though they'd both started in the same batch of hires nine years ago.

  They'd almost been friends, once. Gone out for beers a few times. Then Justin had realized Ian wasn't really going anywhere, and that had stopped.

  "Look, I know what you've been through," Justin pressed on. "I can't even imagine it." He'd said the same thing probably ten times before. "You know we'll make allowances for you."

  We. We'll make allowances for you. That was how Ian knew their friendship
, if they'd ever really had one, was long over. Justin was a we now.

  "But it's supposed to be four late starts before a verbal warning. You've had two just this week. You're somewhere around twenty-two for the year. We can't protect you forever."

  Ian felt a roaring heat behind his eyes. I'm sorry I haven't gotten over my son's death fast enough for you. I'm sorry his beaten corpse has created inconvenience for Smartlink. Perhaps you would like me to tell my wife to fuck off and die, as well, since my desire to salvage my marriage is also diminishing my job performance.

  Ian glared at him.

  But what he said was, "The year's almost over. I'll shape it up. Just give me time. I know I've blown it for this year, but next year will be fine. You'll see." He swallowed, added: "I really appreciate everything you've done for me. You're right, it is really hard.

  "And you're right, you can't imagine it."

  Justin had two kids, and his marriage was steady. He was better than Ian in that way, too.

  He clapped a hand on Ian's shoulder. "We'll do what we can. I just need to know you're trying. You know?"

  If I wasn't trying, I wouldn't even be here, you jackass.

  He nodded, and Justin finally turned him loose. Their meeting cost him ten minutes of his lunch break.

  5

  On the way home he stopped at Best Buy, browsed the 3-D TVs and the XBox 360 games. The walls shimmered with canned football replays, because all red-blooded American men loved football.

  Before Alex was born, Ian had always stopped here on Fridays after work. He wasn't red-blooded enough to enjoy football, but perusing the merchandise had always felt like it granted him some measure of sovereignty. He was married, sure, but he wasn't tied down: he could still stop and check out the week's releases without calling his wife.

  When Alex came along, he'd ended the little visits. Getting home had felt too urgent. The baby had been a remarkable burden: inscrutable and enormous. He didn't want to make Alina handle it alone. He wanted to be a good husband. He wanted to be a good father.

  He'd pined after these lost moments of solitude for years, but now that he had them again, they tasted like ash.

  As he got into his car, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  -Could use u tnght. Tanklicious cancelld.-

  Derek, probably the only real friend he still had, trying to get him back into online gaming. There was another thing that had once seemed really important.

  -Cant. Thx tho- He thumbed out the response, hovered over Send as he considered it. It might be nice to see some old online friends again. To spend a little time in a place where he didn't have to be himself.

  The phone buzzed again. -Bring comp over here. I have beer.-

  Ian almost smiled. The idea was appealing.

  But he knew he'd just end up crashing Derek's night, probably quitting the game early, and feeling like an ass. So he hit Send and drove home.

  When he opened the front door, he heard Alex playing in his room.

  6

  He froze, listening. He'd heard his son playing in the morning several times now, but he hadn't admitted it to himself yet. He'd never seen anything, so he'd told himself it was just his memories, his overactive imagination. Okay, yes, a part of his thoughts had whispered it was more than that - maybe it was actually the first symptoms of schizophrenia. But he'd smothered those worries. It only happened in the morning, after all.

  He strained to hear, the door still open behind him, a spray of pale light from the streetlamp frozen on the entry rug.

  Nothing. It was gone. He let out a sigh and closed the door. "Jesus," he hissed. He felt like he'd nearly been hit by a bus. His hand trembled as he reached for the light.

  "Daddy! You're home!"

  Vertigo assailed him; his stomach roiled. Jesus. He froze again, unwilling to believe what he'd heard.

  That was real. It was clear as a bell.

  No. Jesus.

  He flipped on the light, peered across the living room toward the short hall that led to the bedrooms. It was all still, all quiet, draped in shadow.

  Jesus. He seemed incapable of thinking anything else.

  "Daddy! You're home!"

  The call was identical to the first: the same one he had heard nearly every day Alina had gotten home with Alex first. But it wasn't the same, it wasn't, because the boy was supposed to come bursting around the corner now, grinning ear to ear, ecstatic to see his father. Ian was supposed to be hugging him now, patting his rump, returning his grin and saying Hey kiddo!, fighting to get a word in edgewise as Alex launched into endless repetitive tales about his day, and his friends, and his play, and his learning.

  "Alex?" he shouted, and bounded around the sharp corner that led to his son's room.

  The room was dark, but Ian saw his son as clearly as if he were standing beneath the noon sun: his hair mussed because he'd just taken his hat off, his lips sticky and purple from the sucker Alina always let him have in the car. He was grinning, just like he was supposed to.

  "Alex!" Ian shouted again. A geyser of need burst in his chest. He pounced forward, exclaiming, flipped on the light.

  But there were only boxes.

  7

  "Hello?"

  "Hey. Derek."

  "Ian! You raiding tonight? We still have a spot."

  "No. I told you."

  A heartbeat. "All right." Another. "What's going on?" In the background, Ian heard a keyboard clacking: tick-a-tick, tick, tick-tick.

  "I just... do you have a minute?"

  A second's pause. "Of course." Tick-tick-tick. Tick.

  "I think something's wrong."

  Pause. "What do you mean?"

  "I think - I saw Alex tonight."

  Pause. "What? What do you mean?" The typing stopped.

  "I saw him. In his room. It was dark, but I could see him."

  "What do you mean?" Derek said again. "Is he there? What happened?"

  "No. No, he's not here. I saw him, but... he's gone now."

  A chair creaked as Derek straightened. "Ian, you're not making any sense. Was he at the house? How can that be? Did the police make a mistake?"

  "No. I don't know. I don't think he was really here. I just... saw him."

  Derek was quiet.

  "It was just for a second. I don't..." Saying the words, he realized exactly how terrible they were; what they portended. "I just thought I saw him, for a second. Obviously he wasn't really there, but... god, it was hard. For a second I really thought he was here."

  Derek let out a long breath, said nothing. What the hell do you say to that? Ian wondered.

  "I'm not going crazy, if that's what you're thinking. I didn't mean to freak you out."

  "No." Derek scoffed. "Come on, don't worry about it. You just need to get your mind off it. You've been in that house alone for what? Three months now? Come on, come over, have a beer. You don't have to play."

  Don't worry about it.

  Don't worry about your dead son, who was found with his face blasted off in a ditch.

  It's cool, don't worry about it.

  "Not tonight."

  8

  He sat in the living room, all the lights on, watching TV. Women hawking necklaces - flip - a teen mom - flip - Linda Blair's head turning all the way around. He put it on Spike and saw some crazy Japanese guy trying to jump from one suspended ball to another. Stupid commentary was being dubbed in.

  Alex would've laughed.

  He was supposed to call Alina back, and he wanted to, but he was scared he would talk about what he'd seen earlier. Or thought he'd seen. All he knew is he didn't want to sound like a madman on the phone with her, and he wasn't sure he knew how to stop himself.

  So he waited, and watched stupid TV, and tried to convince himself that he might be hallucinating, but that didn't necessarily mean he was going crazy. Did it? It had to be normal.

  He went to his computer in the basement and Googled "hallucinations grief".

  It did happen somet
imes. People reported hearing their lost loved ones, sometimes even whole words. Catching glimpses of them from the corner of their eyes. There was even an article in Scientific American.

  He returned to the couch upstairs, mollified but still uneasy. He hadn't caught a glimpse of Alex from the corner of his eye. He had seen him. But maybe the experience was different for everyone.

  He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he heard his son shriek.

  9

  "Daddy!"

  Ian bolted upright, every nerve screaming.

  "Daddy!" It was aggrieved, horrified, on the verge of panic.

  "Alex?" The cry was coming from his throat, echoing off the walls, before he was even awake. As he became aware of his surroundings, he was already careening around the corner to his son's room.

  Alex looked at him. "Donnie went off the road," he whined. He was wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

  Ian's jaw hung slack, his heart hammering.

  "Donnie went off the road," Alex repeated.

  His toy car - the red one. He named them all. The red one was Donnie.

  It was there, at Alex's feet.

  His first thought was reflexive. You woke me up for that? You sounded like you were getting killed.

  "Alex?" he breathed. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream?

  "Daddy, Donnie went off the road," Alex said again, growing impatient.

  Well, you better help him. This response, too, was reflexive. Ian could give it in his sleep. He and Alex had played this game more times than he could count.

  His son's eyes gleamed. He knelt and retrieved the toy. "Don't worry, Donnie. I'll help you."

  His voice lowered an octave. "Thank you! I was so scared."

  He used his normal voice again. "Oh. But that's okay." He looked at Ian. "Right, Dad?" He said it "Dod." He did that sometimes, to be silly. Now he gave Ian a crafty grin, daring him to challenge his pronunciation.

  Ian put a hand to the wall, leaned against it heavily.