Once Returned Page 2

  Blood.

  A big, brown bloodstain dribbled from the collar of the shirt down to the waist. I pressed a shaking finger against it to check - yes, it was definitely old. Older than the mud.

  Had he been hurt? The only injury I’d seen was the scratch over his eye, and that wasn’t large or deep enough to cause this much bleeding.

  “I’m ready for bed, Carol.”

  I jumped at Jon’s voice. He stood just a few steps behind me, those dark, empty eyes watching me.

  “You frightened me,” I whispered.

  His eyes darted from my face to the shirt in my hand and back in a second. “We should throw those clothes out.”

  I was shaking now. “There’s blood on this shirt. Were you hurt?”

  He quirked a strange smile and pointed to the scratch over his eye. “Just this.”

  “But there’s so much blood. More than-” I paused and took several large gulps of air. My voice was thin. “You’re so different. What happened to you out there, Jon?”

  He didn’t reply, but he took a step forward.

  I felt trapped; backed into the corner of the bathroom with no way out.

  “Throw the clothes out, Carol.”

  Jon’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it threatened unimaginable consequences if I refused him.

  I ducked down to pick up the rest of the clothes and hurried past him, into the bedroom. I was half afraid he would stop me, but he didn’t.

  Once in the bedroom I kept moving, racing down the stairs and out the back door, crossing our small yard in half a dozen steps. I hitched up the lid of the bin and threw the clothes in, desperate to be rid of them nearly as much as I wanted to be rid of the man in my bathroom.

  It was like someone had created a physically perfect replica of my husband. He looked the same, his clothes were the same and his voice was the same - but he was so, so different to the man who had left me on that Friday morning to go hiking.

  It wasn’t safe for Ryan. I had to get him away from Jon until I could understand what was happening. I could take him to my mother’s house - it was only a half hour drive, and she wouldn’t mind us staying with her for a few days. Yes, that was a good plan.

  I entered the house through the back door and paused. I could hear the clicking clock in the living room, the sounds of the plumbing in the background, and the insect-like noise of the leaves tapping at the window beside me. No sounds from Ryan or from Jon. It was unnerving.

  I started to edge through the kitchen towards the living room, but then hesitated and picked a serrated knife out of the top drawer beside the sink. I held it in front of my body with two shaking hands.

  It was dark, but I couldn’t turn on the lights without attracting Jon’s attention. I started climbing the stairs, cringing when they creaked, as the ticking of the clock echoed in my ears.

  If I were lucky, he would still be in the bathroom. I could slip by, unnoticed, and get to Ryan’s room at the end of the hallway.

  At the top of the stairs I glanced into the master bedroom. The lights were on but I couldn’t see Jon. I raised the knife a little to hold it directly in front of my face as I inched towards Ryan’s room, heart thumping in my chest.

  Light spilled from under the doorway. Too much for his night-light, which was all I had left on when I’d put him to bed. I took one final shuddering gulp of air and nudged the door open.

  Jon stood over the crib, arms at his side, staring down at my sleeping baby.

  I tried to speak but my mouth was too dry. Jon must have heard, because he rotated to face me.

  The knife wouldn’t keep steady in my hands, but I managed to angle it to point straight at his face. I swallowed, and this time found my voice. “Stay away from my child.”

  Jon’s lips quirked into a smile. It was bright, entertained, intrigued - just the way he used to smile when I did something out of the ordinary. In that moment, I could almost forget the strangeness of that evening.

  “What’s wrong, Carol? You’re acting very odd.”

  The energy was back in his voice. I dropped the knife a fraction. “What are you doing to Ryan?”

  “Just saying goodnight.” He turned to glance over the side of the crib, and a warm smile lit his face. “I can’t believe how fast he’s growing.”

  I felt like I was going to cry. My husband was back. Jon turned, saw the look on my face, and swept me into a soft hug. “Oh, Carol, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been acting odd since I got back. Everything’s just so… confusing for me. But it’s all right now. It’s all right. Shh, sweet Carol. Don’t cry.”

  The knife hit the ground as I raised my arms to hug him back.

  I wanted to believe him.

  I wanted to believe so badly.

  Part Three: Damaged

  I woke up the following morning to the smell of frying batter. I could hear Ryan giggling downstairs over the quiet sizzle of the pan, occasionally punctuated by a deeper voice.

  I rolled over and toyed with the idea of sleeping in, but the events of the previous night had left me feeling jittery, and I didn’t want to let Ryan out of my sight for too long. I got up and went into the bathroom to rinse my face before going downstairs.

  Jon had left his pyjamas draped on the towel rack. I picked them up folded them into neat squares before putting them back into his drawer, the way he liked them. It was odd; normally Jon put his clothes away himself.

  I found Jon downstairs, finishing a batch of pancakes. Just regular round ones today - not the special smiley-face shapes Ryan liked.

  “Morning,” I said, and gave him a hesitant peck on the cheek. It would probably be best for all of us if we resumed our usual habits, even if it didn’t feel natural. “Need any help?”

  He smiled at me. It wasn’t the sweet smile he’d used last night, but it wasn’t the cold one he’d worn earlier that day, either. “I’d love some fried eggs.”

  “Sure.” I put on a smile of my own and collected a handful of eggs out of the fridge while Jon helped Ryan feed himself. “Do you have any plans for today?”

  Jon pushed a forkful of pancake into Ryan’s mouth as the toddler squirmed. “Actually, I called up work and told them I would be in today.”

  “And they agreed?” I hesitated, oil in one hand, poised over the heating pan. Although the partners at the legal firm Jon worked at had been sympathetic at the news of his disappearance, I could tell he was just going to be a name crossed off a list; clear his desk, post his unpaid wages to his widow, then start the search for a replacement. I wouldn’t have expected him to get his job back so quickly or easily.

  Jon turned to smile at me. Although his lips were spread to show his teeth, his eyes were cold and lacked soul. “I smoothed it over with the guys at the top. They want me to start today. That okay with you, sweetie?”

  He never called me sweetie. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to hide my anxiety. “I guess I was hoping you’d take a few days to spend with Ryan and me.”

  His smile was fading, but with it, the intensity in his eyes grew. He looked… hungry. “Well I’m sorry, Carol, but you should have told me sooner. They’re expecting me in today.”

  Told him sooner? How could I have possibly known he’d planned to start work the day after coming home? That… wasn’t a normal thing to do, surely?

  I turned around, confused and frustrated, and saw that the oil was smoking in the frying pan. I picked up the first egg, cracked it and dropped its contents into the burning oil.

  A chicken foetus landed in the pan.

  I screamed and dropped the eggshell. Ryan, started by the noise, began crying.

  I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The eggwhite, already starting to turn from clear to opaque in the over-heated pan, surrounded a bright yellow yolk - and attached to the yolk by a thin stem was a baby bird, already dead, slowly unfolding from its curled position. Its closed eyes bugged out from the smooth round of its head, and its beak - so fragile that I was sure I cou
ld snap it with two fingers - was barely open, as if in a final cry for help.

  I gagged, picked up the smoking frying pan and threw it into the sink. Ryan’s crying intensified.

  The hot pan sizzled as it came in contact with droplets of water, and small puffs of steam burst out from underneath it. I turned to look at Jon as the hissing died down. He smirked as he walked to the sink, extended his hand and plucked the raw chick out of the egg mixture.

  “No,” I whispered.

  He maintained eye contact as he placed the chick into his mouth, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the dead bird whole.

  My stomach heaved and I covered my mouth with shaking hands. Jon approached me and placed one hand under my chin to tilt my face up.

  “Tasty,” he said. I tried to shy away as he bent forward and placed a kiss on my cheek, but his grip was like iron. “I’ll see you later this evening.”

  He picked up his bag from where he’d slung it on a chair and stepped out the door. I opened my mouth to call to him, to beg him to come back and talk to me, but my tongue was too dry to form the words. I stared at the door as it clicked closed.

  Ryan slammed his fists onto his tray, punctuating his screams and shaking me out of my stupor. I unhooked him from his chair and carried him upstairs, trying to soothe and comfort him as I fetched my phone. I cradled him against my chest with one hand while I selected Mum’s number from speed dial.

  It only rang twice before she picked up. “Hi, Carol, how are you?”

  I dissolved into tears.

  * * *

  Mum made me a cup of tea while I jiggled Ryan in my lap. The sun was starting to set and, while I doubted I would ever forget the image of the chicken foetus, I was trying to focus on the important thing: Jon.

  “He just needs time to adjust,” Mum said as she placed the mug on the coffee table in front of me. “He’s been through a huge ordeal.”

  She was right. Jon wasn’t behaving normally, but he had good cause not to.

  “He didn’t want to see a doctor,” I told her. “Even though he’s got that cut over his face and there was blood on his shirt.”

  “Well, keep an eye on him,” she said. “If he gets a fever or looks sick, it would be worth pushing him for an ER visit.”

  “It just feels so… unofficial. Like, there was all this effort to find him, then he turns up out of the blue and no one’s told about it. I feel like there should be a media statement, or at least the police should know.”

  My mother sat down. She was a short woman, plump but with strong arms and sharp eyes under her greying hair. “Well, yes, the police should have been told. Otherwise he’ll still be on their missing persons list.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Who should I call?”

  “Phone the local department and ask them.”

  I handed Ryan over to mum and got my phone out. I still had the local station’s number from when Jon had been missing. The phone rang once, and then a woman answered. “Harob Police Department.”

  “Hi-”

  I was cut short as the phone was pulled from my hand.

  Jon towered over me. I hadn’t even heard him come home. He fixed me with a cold stare for a second before raising the phone to his ear. “Sorry, wrong number,” he said, and ended the call with a flick of his thumb.

  Mum was on her feet. “Jon, what on earth are you doing?”

  He turned one of his unnatural, toothy smiles on her. “Hello, Mum,” he emphasised the last word just enough to make it sound strange. “How nice to see you.”

  I stood up and tried to smile. “We’re just calling the police. To let them know you’re back.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, and then a note of gentle tenderness flowed into his voice. “It’s alright, Carol, I already called them this morning. They know I’m here. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  He raised a hand and brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear. I didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t angry, but there was an underlying tone of disquiet in his voice. “Carol, can I talk with you a second?”

  I glanced at mum. She was still holding Ryan, so I motioned for her to stay where she was as I followed Jon. He led me into the kitchen before turning to face me. “What’s she doing here?”

  I sucked in a deep breath and straightened my back. “I called her. I was so shaken up after the egg incident…” I let myself trail off.

  Jon made an irritated noise in his throat. “I don’t like having her here. You know that, Carol. She doesn’t think I’m good enough for you. Tell her to leave.”

  That was such a bizarre conflict of emotions. It was true, Jon had never enjoyed my mother’s company, and I had always tried to compromise in the past.

  On the other hand, I was frightened. Not just for myself and Ryan, but for Jon, too. What if he was seriously sick, and I hadn’t picked up on the warning signs? I wanted someone in the house who I could trust and, until Jon was better, that person was my mother.

  “I asked her to stay tonight, Baby,” I whispered. I reached out a hand to touch Jon’s arm, but he flinched away. “…please.”

  The corner of his lip twitched, but when he spoke his voice was as quiet and passionless as normal. “Fine.”

  Relief washed over me. I nodded, fixing my gaze on the tile floor. As a way to change the subject I said, “you got home early.”

  “Yes. They told me to take the rest of the afternoon off. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t know how to answer.

  John let out a long breath. “I’m going to take a shower. Don’t bother making me dinner, I’m not hungry.”

  * * *

  I woke up at two in the morning, covered in sweat and panting from a nightmare that was so confused and frantic that I could only remember snippets of it.

  Teeth.

  There had been something profoundly disturbing that involved teeth.

  I rubbed at my face and switched on my bedside light to dispel the darkness. I glanced at Jon’s side of the bed. He was gone.

  Anxiety stabbed through me and I clambered to my feet. My bare foot slipped on the polished wood floor and I toppled, grabbed at the bed, missed, and fell to the side with a grunt. My head hit the edge of the bedframe and a flash of pain shot behind my eyes.

  I stayed there for a moment, clinging to the quilt while the pain subsided. When I finally regained my feet, my legs were weak and I felt disoriented. I groped for my dressing gown, put it on, considered looking for slippers but decided the agony of bending over wasn’t worth it.

  The house was still and dark, and the wood floor was cold on my bare feet as I crept down the hallway. The first door I passed was to the guest bedroom, and I opened it a crack to check on mum. The light coming through the window was faint, but enough to see her outline as she slept. I closed the door and continued down the hallway to Ryan’s room.

  I half expected to find Jon standing over his crib like he had the night before, but a quick glance around the room showed it was empty. Ryan was asleep, sprawled on his back, breathing through his open mouth. I adjusted the blanket around him and crept back out of the room.

  Had Jon gone for a walk? It was something he used to do when he couldn’t sleep.

  I considered searching for him downstairs, just to be sure, but there weren’t any lights on in the rest of the house. A splitting headache was settling in from where I’d hit my head, and it was making me dizzy. I stumbled back into my room, got into bed, turned off the light and was asleep again in minutes.

  Part Four: Graves

  I woke up to the sound of pounding on my front door. It took me a minute to remember where I was and what had happened the previous night, but as soon as I got to my feet the headache hit me like a sledgehammer. I gasped, pulled on my dressing gown and stumbled down the stairs as the frantic knocking continued.

  Mum appeared in the kitchen, holding Ryan. “Want me to get that?”

  I mumbled that I w
as fine and pulled the door open. I must have overslept; the sun was high in the sky, casting strange shadows on my visitor and making my head pound.

  I pushed myself to smile. “Oh, Helen, good morning.”

  “Have you seen Peter?”

  Helen and her husband, Peter, lived in the house next to ours. They kept to themselves and, although Helen had been kind enough to be a volunteer searcher for Jon when he’d been missing, I rarely saw her husband, except when he came home from the pub shortly before midnight.

  I was too sleep-fogged to try to figure out why Helen was looking for him. I pushed stray hair out of my face and shook my head. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

  “Oh,” she said, and craned to look over my shoulder, as though he might be hiding inside. “Ohh. It’s just… he’s been missing since last night, you see? He said he was going out for some beer but didn’t come back.”

  That wasn’t too hard to believe. Peter was fond of beer. It was very likely he had passed out in the bar or on a street, and hadn’t yet made his way home.

  “Have you tried calling the bar he was at?”

  Helen shook her head. “They’re not open for another hour.”

  “Well, I’d sit tight until then. The barkeep might have put him up for the night.”

  Helen looked conflicted. “You’ll keep an eye out for him, though, won’t you?”

  “Sure will, Helen.” I tried to keep my voice upbeat, but the light was making my headache radiate across my skull. “I’ll give you a call if I see him.”

  It was only after I’d closed the door that I realised I hadn’t told her Jon had come back. Well, there would be time for that later, when she was less worried about Peter.

  I headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Mum had strapped Ryan into his high chair and was feeding him either a late breakfast or an early lunch, I wasn’t sure. A thought hit me and I paused midway through filling the kettle. “Mum - have you seen Jon this morning?”

  “He’s in the back yard.”