A Waking Nightmare
Linda's Toyota shuddered as she shut off the engine. She sat in the driveway of her modest suburban home, the lights were off, the kids obviously not home. It was unusual. Ever since last year, her husband, Jim, had been leaving work early to pick them up from school. He was trying to spend more time with them. It was sweet but tinged with an underlying hint of the darkness that still clung to their small family.
Her hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. It had been almost a year since that horrible night at Morrison's. A year since she let Marc LaValliere sweep her away for a night of debauchery. A year since she left her husband alone in that club, shattering her marriage and her family.
The last twelve months had been torture. Every day a mixture of guilt wearing a mask of fragile hope. A quiet battle to prove to Jim that she'd chosen him... at least since that night. She'd worn her mask like a second skin, embedding it on her flesh with every ounce of will power she had. Tending to her "new marriage" with a devotion that had been almost maniacal. In truth, she was coming apart at the seams, unable to bear the burden of "making it up" to her husband, especially when his eyes still held that distant chill. He said he had forgiven her, but he had not forgotten. Tonight, she'd try again. She'd push past the pain and summon some spark from that night she had shared with Marc and redirect it to Jim. It was wrong, but it was all she had.
Linda stepped out of the car, her heels crushing some late February snow. It was odd that the house looked so dark. Fumbling for her keys, she finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, her instincts screaming at her that something was wrong.
"Jim? Emma? Tommy?" she called out, her voice bouncing off the walls.
She dropped her purse on the entry table and flicked on a light. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
"
Maybe they're at a neighbors? Or getting dinner on their way home?"
She checked her phone again for messages but found none. She sent a text - "
Honey? Are you with the kids? When are you coming home?
" That itching in the back of her skull was getting louder. She went next door, then across the street. No one had seen them. The clock ticked past six, then seven, then eight. The knot tightened in her gut.
She dialed Jim's phone, her fingers fumbling. She left a panicked message on his voice mail. She tried Emma's little prepaid cell, then Tommy's school friend's mom. Nothing. Her breath quickened as she paced the living room, the familiar hum of their home now a mocking void. She called her parents, her voice cracking.
"Mom, they're gone. Jim and the kids, they're not here. I've been calling, but they're not answering."
Her mother's tone was gentle but edged with something Linda couldn't name.
"Oh, honey. Are you sure they didn't just step out? Maybe Jim took them for ice cream or something."
"No, Mom. It's too late for that. Something's wrong, I can feel it." Linda's eyes darted to the window, half-expecting to see them walking up the path. Nothing.
"Well, call the police if you're that worried," her mother said. "But Linda, after everything, maybe he just needed some space."
Linda hung up. She knew what her mother meant. The night with Marc. The public humiliation. The destruction of Jim's trust in her. Space? After everything? She shook her head, refusing to believe that things were still that bad. Instead, she called Dee, her last tether to sanity.
"Dee, they're missing. Jim and the kids, they're gone. I don't know what to do."
Dee's pause stretched too long. "Linda, have you watched the news today?"
"What? No, why would I? My family's missing, Dee!" Linda snapped, her voice rising.
"Marc's missing too. Since yesterday."
The horror that Linda had been trying to keep at bay finally overwhelmed her. Her knees buckled and she sank onto the couch, the phone slipping from her hand. The coincidence clawed at her, a sick twist of fate. The itching in the back of her skull was a howl.
"
God, please no!
"
She scrambled for the remote, flipping to the local news. It was big news, Marc was a celebrity, a hometown hero. A man who stole other men's wives and they thanked him for it. He was a god among men... and now he was gone.
"Marc LaValliere, star tight end for the city's football team, was last seen two days ago. Police are investigating possible connections to his known associates."
Linda's stomach churned. She turned it off, unable to hear more, and called the police.
-=-=-
The first officer arrived within the hour, a stocky man with a handlebar mustache and a tired expression. Linda met him at the door, eyes wild and tinged red.
"My husband and kids are gone. I've called everyone. Please, you have to find them," she pleaded
The cop scribbled as she spoke. "When did you last see them, Mrs. Grayson?"
"This morning. I kissed Jim goodbye before work, dropped the kids at school. Everything was normal." Her voice broke. "Please, they're my whole world."
He nodded, but his next question shifted the air. "We need to ask about Marc LaValliere. You know him, right? He's been reported missing too."
Linda froze, her throat tightening. "Yes, I know him. We. I mean, I danced with him once, a year ago. That's it. Why are you asking about him?"
"Just covering bases," he said, but his gaze lingered, sharp and probing. "Any reason your husband might have a problem with him?"
She flinched, the implication was heavy in the air. "No. I mean, yes, there was a thing, but it's over. Jim wouldn't. He's not like that." Her words sounded hollow, even to her.
The officer jotted more notes, then left with a promise to follow up. Linda stood in the doorway, feeling the neighbors' curtains twitch, their eyes boring into her. Judging her. She slammed the door shut and sank to the floor. Jim wouldn't hurt Marc.
Would he?
But the doubt festered. Something dark and twisted, birthed almost a year ago, finally took root in her brain stem - a seed planted by that look in the officer's eyes and nurtured by her own unrelenting guilt
-=-=-
The days washed away, colder than the waves on Lake Michigan. Linda called Jim's parents next, her voice raw from shouting into voicemails.
"Mary, it's Linda. Jim and the kids are gone. Have you heard from them? Please, tell me if you know anything."
Mary's response was cool, clipped. "No, Linda, we haven't. But honestly, can you blame him if he left? After what you did with that football player, parading it around for everyone to see?"
Linda's chest tightened. "I've been trying to fix it, Mary. Every day for a year. I love him. I love the kids. Please, let me know if you hear from them!"
"We'll let the police know," Mary said, and hung up.
Linda stared at the phone, her mother-in-law's words stung. Parading it around. She hadn't paraded anything, had she? But the town knew. The gossip had spread like wildfire after that night, and now they were staring, whispering behind her back. She felt it every time she stepped outside, their eyes accusing her, branding her the adulteress who'd driven her family away.
The next week, she stopped going to work. Her boss called, his tone sympathetic but firm. "Linda, we need you here. You've missed three days. What's going on?"
"I can't," she mumbled, her voice flat. "My family's gone. I have to wait for them."
"Take some time, then," he said, "but you need to let us know when you're coming back."
She didn't answer, just hung up, and let the phone clatter to the kitchen counter. Work didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Jim and the kids walking through that door.
The chaos in the house began to reflect her own unraveling. Dishes piled in the sink, crusted with uneaten food. Trash bags slumped against the walls, spilling wrappers and coffee grounds. She stopped bathing, her blonde hair matting into greasy clumps, her skin prickling with neglect. Strange rashes broke out on her shoulders, flakes of skin always present under her scratching nails. She sat wordlessly by the window, curtains parted just enough to watch the driveway, waiting.
Always waiting.
Friends stopped calling. The neighbors stopped knocking. Even her boss had stopped trying to contact her. She didn't care. She was avoiding them anyway. Avoiding the whispers. The judging stares. She wanted to crawl into her own skin.
She wanted her family to come home.
She muttered something unintelligible to herself, scratching fine lines down her arm and continued her silent vigil by the window.
-=-=-
Her parents came again a week later, their faces etched with worry. The smell hit them first. A sour, rotting tang that made her mother gag.
"Jesus, Linda, what is that?" her father asked, stepping over a pile of laundry.
"I don't know," Linda said, her eyes wild, darting to the corners. "It's been here a while. I can't find it."
Her mother knelt beside her, brushing back her tangled hair. "Honey, you're not okay. Look at this place. Look at you. You haven't showered, you're not eating. Let us take you to a doctor."
"No," Linda snapped, pulling away. "What if Jim comes back? What if the kids need me? I can't leave."
Her father's voice hardened. "Linda, they're not coming back. Jim took them. You know why. We all do. You need help."
"You think I deserve this," she whispered, tears welling. "You're judging me too. Everyone is. I see it in your faces, the way you look at me like I'm trash."
Linda's father looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue and turned away, rubbing his face. Linda knew that look. He never did know how to deal with her.
