Occultation by Laird Barron

Author:Laird Barron [Barron, Laird]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror, Anthology
ISBN: 1597801925
Google: fzvsQwAACAAJ
Amazon: 1597801925
Barnesnoble: 1597801925
Publisher: Perseus Books Group
Published: 2010-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

3.

Katherine had spent six years dwelling on the accident, yet she seldom pictured Janie. Baby clothes, the odor of formula and spittle, but not the baby herself. In retrospect, the pregnancy, the seven months that had followed, were dreamlike; they left an impression that she’d engaged in a protracted struggle with some indefinable illness or injury. Yes, it seemed the stuff of dreams. There were scars: her vertigo persisted, and too, her phobia of bridges and overpasses. Sometimes the cry of an infant caused her to lactate. Sometimes it elicited a flood of tears and inconsolable sobbing. She’d screamed at a hapless mother in a coffee shop; told her to shut up her squalling brat and was instantly mortified at the lady’s expression of shock and fear. Thankfully, the fits of lunacy had ebbed.

Sonny had wanted another child right away. A few months after the dust of the tragedy settled, he insisted they try again. His desire developed into an unequivocal force, an implacable usurper of their life-aspirations, of all they’d planned during their days as romantic conspirators.

Katherine’s mother pulled her aside at the family Christmas dinner—she recalled her father and Sonny’s laughter echoing from the living room, how it transcended the boom and roar of a football game on TV. Sonny hated football, sneered at the preening athletes, their “bling” and arrogance; he pretended to enjoy sports to bond with her father who’d been a devout booster of his own hometown high school team since forever.

Are you sure you’re ready? Mom said. Is it what you want? And what Mom meant was, Are you still the kind of bitch who eats her own puppies? Katherine smiled brightly and bore down on the potato peeler. She said, Yes, yes, of course we’re ready. I want this. Mom’s eyes hinted at a profound unhappiness born of doubt that abruptly submerged to be replaced by her songbird cheer. Mom was a survivor, too. Everyone had a nice, fattening dinner and far too many Irish coffees. While they watched one of Pop’s moldy old VCR tapes of a Bob Hope special, Katherine thought, What I really want is to be punished. That’s why I can’t get well. Why I stay married to the sonofabitch.

When a year passed without a positive result, they, or Sonny, to be specific, grew concerned. It developed his sperm count was merely adequate. The specialists were at a loss in her case; she tested fertile, nonetheless, her insides had lapsed into a peculiar dormancy. Adoption was out of the question; Sonny would accept no less than his own image in miniature. This went on and on. Then the desperate act—the surrogacy. They borrowed money, they recruited a volunteer, and the volunteer miscarried. Their marriage plunged into the Dark Ages.

It wasn’t the end, though. There’s no end to hell.

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