Paul felt as if he had said, "Yes, Daddy", "I understand, Daddy," a million gazillion times already. It wasn't as if he had done anything bad, the only thing he had done is turned eight. He stood next to his bed in his brand new Spiderman pajamas and dutifully replied in the positive, even though he did not agree with his father, and he most definitely did not understand. Apparently turning eight meant he was too old now for a lot of things. Daddy had already told him he was too old to sleep with his night light on, he was too big to climb into their bed every time he had a bad dream, he was a big boy now, and big boys didn't run away from their fears; they faced them all on their own.
He was told they'd leave his door slightly opened, and the hall light on, that would give him plenty of light to see by if he had to use the washroom.
He was too old to believe in such nonsense as monsters under the bed or in his closet, and he had better not be calling out for Daddy to come check, because if he did, Daddy would be very disappointed in him.
He was disappointed in Davey, and Davey had gone away, Paul remembered.
"But, there ARE, Daddy," Paul wanted to say, but he didn't. You never ever talked back to Daddy if you knew what was good for you.
Davey had talked back, and look where that had got him.
"You understand; don't you, Paul?" Daddy stood up from where he had been squatting to look Paul in the eyes, which signaled this was a very serious talk and you had better listen. Paul nodded and he reached out and ruffled his son's hair, "That's my boy, now into bed with you!"
Paul climbed into bed, and waited for his father to leave; at least the room wasn't completely dark, if shadowy. He leaned over the side of his bed and pulled out his secret box, then sat Indian style on his mattress. It was an old candy tin that had been Davey's and his, it was where they hid their treasures.
He carefully opened the lid, so that he wouldn't make much noise. There in the top laid his Halloween flashlight, with the Jack O' Lantern face. He turned it on and shined it on the picture of Davey and him. Mama cried when ever she saw anything that reminded her of Davey, and when no one was looking he had snitched this picture, before they were all put away. They had even taken the ones off the wall so there was nothing to remind them that Paul had once had a big brother two years older. But Paul didn't want to forget; Davy had been the best big brother EVER. He looked at the picture and tried to remember that day, he had only been six at the time. That seemed like a long time ago...
What had Davey done, to make Daddy so mad? Paul couldn't remember, but he did recall his father telling Davey he was very disappointed in him. Something about fighting and not using his words, and Davey had said that that bully had gotten what he had coming and he was not sorry, and wouldn't say he was. With that Davey had jerked away from Daddy and had run outside. Paul remembered hearing
a terrible sound. Then Davey was gone, and Mama cried all the time for the longest time.
She and Daddy fought a lot after that, mostly because Daddy felt she babied him too much; trying to keep him a little boy. She'd always say, "But he IS a little boy, Michael!" and then cry some more. It made Paul feel bad.
Everyone said it had been a horrible accident and nobody blamed Daddy for it, but Paul couldn't help but wonder if Davey hadn't disappointed Daddy, if he hadn't talked back, would he still be there with him? He knew Mama believed if Daddy hadn't been so, what was the word? -strict, then Davey wouldn't have ran into the street, and she'd still have both her boys. She had yelled that at their father during a fight. That meant to his child mind, Daddy was to blame for Davey going away.
Click clack. Click CLACK. Paul stiffened right where he was. Click clack. Click CLACK.
The sound was coming from outside. Paul eased out of his bed, went to the window and pulling back the curtain looked out. It was a full moon, and it was easy to see. He rubbed his eyes and stared harder. Click clack. Click CLACK.
Paul leaned with his nose pressed against the window, doubting his eyes for a minute. He breathed the name "Davey," as he stared at his brother, out in the yard playing with what they called a 'Clacker'. It was a string with a hard orange sized marble on both ends, and a plastic handle in the middle of the string. When done right, the balls would swing upwards "Click" and fall, "CLACK" as they hit one another. The noise had driven their parents bonkers, as Davy mastered it, and could click and CLACK for quite awhile, before the balls would miss each other and fall silently down. But Davey had loved it so much; Mama had put it with him in that box, before they put it in the ground.
Paul didn't waste another minute; he slipped out his bedroom door, and down the stairs, then ever so quietly out the back door and joined his brother.
"Davy! Am I glad to see you! I guess grownups aren't so smart. They said I'd never see you again!"
"Shhh...Keep it down, will ya? We don't want Dad coming down and spoiling our fun do we?"
Paul shook his head vigorously, and whispered, "Is you being here a secret?"
"Kind of; you mustn't tell anyone that I'm here. Or I'll have to go away again, this time for keeps. Understand?" Paul nodded. "Swear?"
Paul drew an ex over his heart saying, "Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."
Davey smiled, and nodded, "Good, let's go play!" With that the two of them ran further into the back yard, and climbed up into the tree house, where they'd be safe from any prying eyes.
They laughed and giggled, telling each other dumb kid jokes, and trading shoulder punches. "I've missed you, so much, Davey."
"I've missed you and Mama too," the smile faded from Davey's face, "Dad not so much. It's his fault, that I'm not with you, you know," there was a hard edge to his voice now.
If Paul had been a bit older, he might have realized Davey hadn't aged at all, where Paul had grown and they were nearly the same size. Both had the dark almost black hair, and hazel eyes like their Dad. To an onlooker, they could now be mistaken for twins.
"They say it was an accident, Davey. That you ran in front of a car and it couldn't stop."
"Whose fault was it that I ran across the street without looking? If Dad hadn't made me so mad, I wouldn't have. All that crap about using my words instead of my fists. What was I suppose to do? Let that bully pound you, and give him some big talk?" He laid a hand on Paul's shoulder, "What kind of big brother does that? And then to say he's disappointed!? Bullshit!"
Paul's mouth fell open, "You said a swear! TWO swears!"
Davey shrugged, "Just us here. We can swear if we want. Isn't that what grownups do? And Dad is always on us to act grownup."
Paul nodded, "Makes sense to me."
"Another thing, you shouldn't call him Daddy anymore. That's for babies. Maybe call him Dad or 'sir'. I bet he'd like that. 'Yes sir! No sir!' Yeah, 'Sir' seems right."
A little while later, he told Paul it was time for him to go back in, to not get caught, and above all else to tell no one that he was back.
********
The next day, Paul tried hard to remember to call his father 'sir', before and after school. At dinner, Michael asked him, why he wasn't calling him Daddy like before, and Paul said, "Daddy is for babies, and I'm not a baby." His father smiled, and said, "That's right. You're not."
His mother thought 'sir' was rather formal and suggested he try Dad or Pops, but Michael chided her saying it's just a phase, and to stop babying the boy. Silently Paul wondered if Davey was right, he really did like being called 'Sir' better than Daddy or Dad. Maybe he wished he wasn't even a dad.
Later that night he heard Click clack. Click CLACK, and quietly slipped out of the house to join Davey in the tree house, taking their secret box with him.
Davey greeted him at the top and asked if everything had gone alright and if he had remembered to call Daddy Sir. When Paul replied in the affirmative, Davey smiled and said, "Liked it, didn't he? Better than Daddy or Dad. Like he's some big boss and you're nobody."
"I guess so," Paul said," But isn't that what grownups do? Boss us kids around?"
"Not like he does. Mama doesn't act like that does she?"
"No, she doesn't." Paul shifted the secret box in his hands, and looked down at it. "Thought you might like looking in here again," he held it out to Davey.
Davey opened it, shuffled things about, but didn't seem too keen on anything. It was like all their treasures meant nothing to him now. Paul stared at his brother and thought something was different about him, he wasn't sure what. He looked like Davey, and sounded like Davey. But something in the way he spoke and moved wasn't quite right. Maybe going away for awhile and then coming back did that. Paul didn't know, but he decided not to think about it, he wanted to just be happy Davey was back.
As if reading his mind, Davey looked at him and smiled, "I sure have missed you, Paul, and all the fun we use to have. Remember how we use to sneak out of bed, when we knew Mama and Dad were asleep and make hand shadows by the night light?" Paul nodded; Davey had been good at those too. "You still do that?"
"I can't. Da- Sir took it away. He says I'm too old for one."
Davey nodded and sighed, "Let me guess, now that you're eight you're too old for a lot of stuff now, right? And even if you still like it, you're supposed to give it up - because he says so."
Paul leaned forward and said in disbelief, "He wanted me to throw poor old Rags out! But I tricked him. I stuck a t shirt all crumpled up in a bag and threw it out instead."
"Throw out Rags? My God! Is he crazy? We've had Rags since I was a baby," Davey acted all shocked about the stuffed puppy he shared with his younger brother. In fact the way he got around tossing old Rags on the heap was by giving him to Paul. It didn't matter if Rags looked more like his name than a dog these days; he was much more than a stuffed toy. "I'm glad you saved him. Where's he at now?"
"I hid him behind my headboard, like you showed me. I only take him out when I get scared, or lonesome. But I always hide him in the morning. Even before I go pee."
"Be careful, Paul, if he ever finds Rags, you know he'll be mad." Paul nodded in agreement. "When he gets real mad, he might try to hurt you, like he did me."
"But Davey, I already told you, everyone says that was an accident!"
"Yeah, that's what they say," Davey's voice was cold. "But think about it, he doesn't seem to want you to be a kid does he? And when you aren't a kid anymore you go live somewhere else, when you're all grown up of course, but maybe he doesn't want to wait that long. He got rid of me, and that just leaves you."
********
Back in bed, Paul thought about what Davey had said. He thought about all the times his father had told him he was "too old", or yelled at his Mom for 'coddling' him. He remembered, vaguely, when Davey had given him Rags, Davey really hadn't wanted to give Rags up, but he was declared 'too old' for something he really loved. Now, Dad - Sir, Paul corrected himself, was telling him he was too old. Maybe Davey was right. Maybe somehow it really hadn't been an accident... he slipped into troubled dreams and woke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all.
*****
Michael and Miranda sat in the kitchen quietly talking, it was still quite early, and Michael planned on an all day fishing trip. Miranda was expressing her concern that Paul had started sleep walking. "Twice now, I've found the back door not quite locked, and some pieces of grass on Paul's carpet," she told her husband.
"You think he's been sneaking out," Michael frowned as he buttered a piece of toast and scooped egg up on it and stuffed it in his mouth. Miranda wondered what happened to all those manners he had had years ago when they were courting.
"No. I said sleep walking. You know Paul doesn't like the dark, he isn't like Davey was," she said a bit wistfully.
Michael gave her a look of annoyance, "You know I don't like you mentioning him. It only upsets you."
Miranda thought, "You mean it upsets YOU. I miss our boy," but aloud she said, "Sorry, dear."
Wiping his mouth roughly with a napkin, and taking a swallow of coffee as he stood up Michael said, "I'll talk to the boy. If he's sneaking out, I'll teach him a lesson."
"Michael! That isn't what I was saying at all!" She too was now standing.
He glared at her, "I said 'lesson' not 'beating'. Besides a paddling now and then grows character, knock some of that sissy you indulge him in right off." He made some sound that passed as a chortle at her shocked look and wandered over to the corner, "I'm going fishing with the guys. Don't wait dinner for me."
As he left, Miranda almost sagged with relief. Living with Michael was becoming impossible; the only thing worthwhile of their so called marriage had been the boys. Still, once she had loved him, enough that when she had come up pregnant with Davey, she had agreed to 'do the right thing'. She had thought everything would turn out all right. Michael hadn't always been so...so...hard and cold, she thought. That all came after Davey was born, slowly, resenting they had to buy diapers and formula instead of beer or whatever fancy struck him. He was irritated when the baby kept them up all night; everything about family life seemed to rub him wrong. More than once she thought, he had loved the idea of being a husband and father, but now that he was, he deeply disliked the responsibility it brought. Now she and they were just weights that kept him from living a carefree bachelor life style, she supposed, and he was someone she wasn't even sure she wanted to know, let alone live with.
He had been so unreasonable that day, not even letting Davey tell his side of things, when Mr. Williams had shown up at the door with his son, with a heck of a shiner, in tow.
He had never even given Davey a chance to explain beyond asking him if he had struck the blow, he immediately apologized to the Williams, repeating several times how disappointed he was in his son. Then kneeling in front of Davey, told him how disappointed he was in him and demanded he tell them he was sorry too.
Miranda closed her eyes against the scene playing out in memory. She had just made a mental note to remind Michael HE was the one that taught him how to box, as soon as the Williams had left. She wouldn't embarrass him in front of them, the way he clearly was Davey. In her mind she saw Davey jerk away from his father and run out past the man and son. She had followed him, calling out - STOP IT! She told herself. Torturing yourself won't bring Davey back or change anything. He's gone. Your wonderful boy is gone. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and then blinked them open; Paul was standing there staring at her.
"Mama, you ok?"
She forced a smile, "Yes, baby, I am. Bet your hungry," Paul nodded. She stood and leaned down to him and in a conspiratorial tone said, "Your Dad isn't home. What do you say, to cereal in front of some cartoons?" Paul smiled and nodded eagerly.
******
Something, some sound had woken her. Miranda lay still listening. She frowned and got up to check on Paul. Peeking around his bedroom door, she saw his bed was vacant. Hurriedly, she hustled herself down the stairs looking for him. She didn't call out, if as she expected he was sleep walking she didn't want to startle him awake, she had always heard that that was dangerous to do. Instead she flicked on lights and searched every room with a door, finally coming to the back door. Opening it, in the dim moon light, she could just see him climbing up to the tree house. Given the circumstances she did the only thing she could think of, she followed him.
Looking up from the base of the tree, she thought she heard Paul talking to someone, and she thought she heard a voice answer back. Perhaps Paul and another friend had snuck out to meet up on their idea of a grand adventure. She sighed, and wondered if she was more relieved that he wasn't sleep walking or more perturbed that he was sneaking out. What if something happened? No one would know until possibly much later. He could get hurt or something worse! Awful, little nightmare scenarios that only a parent understands danced across her mind in an instant. In that same instant she had come to a decision; whatever the case was she'd handle it on her own without Michael and his 'lessons'.
Although jeans would have been better suited to climbing than her long nightgown, Miranda still managed to climb the boards, nailed up the side of the tree that served as a ladder to the platform and poke her head up, peering through the doorway.
She was surprised to see Paul, all by his lonesome talking to himself. She had been sure she had heard another voice, but obviously was mistaken. Apparently Paul had an imaginary friend. Suddenly he turned his head towards her, "Hi, Mama! Come on in." His face was beaming as if something wonderful was happening.
Miranda hauled herself the rest of the way up and then sat crossed legged on the floor. "What are you doing, Paul?"
Paul seemed confused, looking first at her, then turning his head back around and giving a shrug as if at someone. Miranda stared into the dark corner, but saw nothing. "Oh, have you someone with you, Paul?"
Paul giggled," Sure I do, Mama! Can't you see?"
"Well, it is a bit dark -" just then she saw the clackers lying next to him. Her mouth went dry. "Where did you get those?" he nodded at them.
Paul picked them up, "I didn't get them. They're Davey's. He brought them with." He looked puzzled, "Can't you see him, Mama?" He looked down at the clackers in his hand, then slowly raised his head back up, "I'm right here, Mama. It's me. Aren't you glad to see me?"
Miranda felt confused. She knew she had buried the clackers with Davey, yet here they were. She stared at Paul, and knew this wasn't Paul, not her Paul. But it couldn't be - "Davey?" She half sobbed the name and then found herself reaching for him, even as the thought that this was completely impossible and something was desperately wrong with Paul punched her brain. He was in her lap in a flash, nestled against her chest, and she clutched him tightly, rocking and crying; half wanting to believe half scared of what was happening to her child.
"Oh, Mama, I missed you so much! Have you missed me?" Davey/Paul pulled away slightly, and Miranda wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking at him.
"More than you could ever know. Not a day or a night goes by that I don't miss you. I've always loved you so much."
"More than chocolate," Davey asked, and it was like cold water on her face. Paul NEVER said that, he was never able to pronounce it right; it was shok-let, when he tried.
She nodded, "More than chocolate."
"More than Paul?" He continued.
"No, you and Paul are my heart and soul. I love you both the same."
"At least I beat out chocolate, you love THAT a lot!"
"Yes, yes I do, so I must love you lots of a lot." With that the warning voice in her head that was shouting this was wrong, and she shouldn't indulge this delusion shut up, but still she needed to know, "Davey, is Paul still here?"
"Yes, Mama, he's just sleeping for a little bit."
*****
Miranda woke, and thought it had all been a very vivid dream, because she had no memory of leaving the tree house or going back to bed, but she couldn't explain how the soles of her feet had gotten so dirty, or the smudge down the front of her gown. She couldn't shake the feeling that it had happened, and yet, to believe it would be lunacy. The dead don't come back.
That night, after Michael was deep asleep, she slipped from their bed, across the hall and sat in Paul's room. The room he once shared with Davey. She sat and looked at her son, wondering. At first she thought, perhaps SHE was the one who sleep walked, perhaps the night before was some sort of mental break. She knew she wasn't done grieving Davey's loss, although after six months, Michael had practically ordered her to be done with it. No speaking his name, no talking about past events that centered on him, no mementos, or anything that might remind them there had been another son. It was as if Michael had erased him from their lives; but he couldn't expunge Davey from her heart, her memory. Perhaps that was skewing her sleeping actions and thoughts; the fact she had to keep these things to herself.
Click clack. Click CLACK. The sound grabbed her attention. Click clack. Click CLACK. Paul sat up; rubbing his eyes, and didn't seem surprised to see her sitting there at all. Instead he took her by the hand, signaling for her to be quiet and led her out to the tree house, where Davey was waiting.
This became nearly a nightly event, unless the weather was bad. Davey hardly ever took over Paul any more, instead the three of them would laugh and play like they use to. Miranda found she could not only hear Davey, but see him as she accepted that he really was there. Perhaps she was only fooling herself, or maybe she'd gone crazy, she thought, but believing it was so eased her hurt, and how could that be bad?
*****
Weeks passed, and the trees turned colors, soon it would be too cold to go to the tree house very often. The thought saddened Miranda, now that she had Davey back she didn't want to go any length of time without seeing him. Fact was she spent nearly all her time up in the tree house now, just to be near him. It seemed he wasn't restricted to just the night, and often she'd go during the day, with Paul in school and Michael at work and spend time with him. They'd talk of how things use to be, and Davey would tell her how things could be like that again, if they just got rid of Michael. Miranda would explain about how divorces took money, and she was working on it. Then one day, Davey said, "I'm running out of time, Mama. Soon they won't let me come here anymore. I don't want to not be with you and Paul again." It was like a dagger to her heart. Loose Davey again? No! She couldn't have that. She'd do anything, anything to keep both her boys.
Together she and the boys hatched a plan. It began at breakfast the next day.
Click clack. Click CLACK. "What is that sound?" Michael pulled his face up out of his plate long enough to look around.
"What sound? I don't hear anything," Miranda said even though she did.
Click clack. Click CLACK.
"THAT sound!" Michael snapped.
"I don't hear nothing either, Sir," Paul quickly took a drink of milk to keep from laughing, as Michael was walking around the room looking for the source.
Click clack. Click CLACK. It came from over by the window. Click clack. Click CLACK. No, it sounded more like it was by the sink. Click clack. Click CLACK. He was fairly certain it came from outside. Finally, he said, "I don't have time for this," and went to work.
It resumed after he came home. Click clack. Click CLACK, as he tried to eat his dinner. Click clack. Click CLACK, while he tried to watch TV. Then silence for a bit, until he was trying to sleep, then it was Click clack. Click CLACK. Click clack. Click CLACK, most of the night.
The onslaught was repeated the next day and the next. Miranda asked him what the sound was like. "You know that stupid toy, the boy use to have? What did we call it...Clackers! That's it! It sounds like some damn kid playing with one of those."
"Oh, you mean like Davey had?" Paul piped up.
Angry fists came down on the table. "I told you to NEVER say his name!" Michael exploded. With one stride Miranda was next to Paul, ready to defend him physically if need be; in her hand was the knife she had been cutting the dinner's meat with.
"Why, not, Michael? Why aren't we allowed to say his name, or talk about him? Did you hate him that much?"
Michael's eyes bulged and his face turned nearly purple with rage. It was only through great effort he turned and stormed off to bed.
Click clack. Click CLACK. Lack of sleep was taking its toll, not even the liquor he drank stilled the noise. Click clack. Click CLACK .It had been over a week now. He HAD to find out what was making it and stop it. Click clack. Click CLACK. It seemed to be coming from downstairs. He got up roughly, and made his way down, not trying to be quiet, not caring if he woke the others. Click clack. Click CLACK. He was going to put an end to things.
Click clack. Click CLACK. He followed the sound, out the back door. Click clack. Click CLACK. He looked at the tree house and thought, "I've got you now, you son of a bitch," as he began his ascent upwards.
Click clack. Click CLACK. Click clack. Click CLACK. Click clack. Click CLACK. The sound was louder and faster, as he reached the doorway. In the shadows, he thought he saw Paul, the two glowing globes of the clacker arcing up, hitting, then falling down and striking again. Click clack. Click CLACK.
"Paul!" He spat the word, lunging in through the door, thinking he'd teach this brat a lesson he'd never forget. The clacker stopped.
"Not Paul. Look again. Look closer. Don't you recognize me, Father?" The voice was icily calm and took Michael aback. "Why don't you call me by my name?"
Michael stared in disbelief. "No. It can't be," he stammered, "Davey is dead."
"Finally, you say my name. So you do remember me," with a slight flick of the wrist; Click clack. Click CLACK, the globes were sent in motion again. Click clack. Click CLACK.
"Stop that!" Michael made a grab for the toy, but Davey swung them forcing him back.
"You killed me. You know you did." Click clack. Click CLACK. With each clack, Davey took a step forwards, and Michael retreated a step. He remembered how hard those balls were, and with a bit of power behind them they could injure. He recalled that's why they were taken off the market. Click clack. Click CLACK.
"It was an accident! Everyone says so!" Michael's voice cracked a bit as fear stole over him, along with the certainty that this was NOT Paul. Click clack. Click CLACK. He took another step back toward the opening.
"YOU KILLED ME! ADMIT IT!"
"All you had to do is say you're sorry. Would that have been so hard? Instead you acted like a child -"
"I WAS A CHILD! Paul's a child. Of course we act like kids! And when did you ever say you were sorry? Not once. Not once when Mama cried for me. Not once when Paul said he missed me. Not once to me for killing me!" Click clack. Click CLACK. Click clack. Click CLACK. Click clack. Click CLACK. The globes picked up speed and suddenly they were sailing, perfect missiles catching Michael on the side of the head, sending him reeling back and down. It wasn't a terribly long fall, but far enough.
Everyone said it was an accident.