Part IV
"Haven't you noticed how weird she is lately?" Jane asked.
"Not really," Daria said noncomittally. "Don't hippies have to act weird by definition?"
Jane smirked as she smeared various dark shades on her canvas. "True. What the hell, maybe Mom was always this way. I saw so little of her before this that it's hard to be sure. Still..."
Daria waited, not looking up from her writing magazine.
"...It's been okay. Having her back here, I mean." Jane's tone had softened. "Besides those neighbors she keeps talking about, everything's fine. I think she's actually trying to be our mother now."
"I hope this unexpected positive development doesn't hurt your inspiration."
The artist gestured with her brush. "See for yourself."
Daria spared a glance at the painting. It was a peace sign, one half dull and faded, the other half alive with color. It was an image that would stick in her mind.
The truth was, Daria had noticed everything. Jane's mother was acting odd, and not just because she was looking to her for company. It seemed odd how she always called at the same time each night, and as willing as she was to hear the deranged adventures of Melody Powers, Daria felt there was something more to it.
Seeing her in person confirmed those suspicions. She looked more alert than usual these days. Fearful, even. Her eyes watched everything, especially Daria. She'd caught her staring more than once.
Mrs. Lane seemed…needy, almost desperate. And there was something unsaid, something that was eating at her. At first Daria only felt it some of the time; now it was constant. It was almost like there was a third person in the room.
It was unsettling—no question about that. But that didn't mean it was bad. As hard as she tried to avoid it, this woman had piqued her curiosity.
She wanted to find that third person.
The very best part of Amanda's day was when she answered the door and saw Daria standing there. There was something so wonderful, so soothing about it that she couldn't explain.
"Come on in," Amanda said warmly. "Trent is practicing over at Jesse's, but Janie is upstairs."
Everything was fine. She could breathe. Maybe she would be safe another night.
The girl studied her for a moment. Her glasses looked like twin microscopes that could see every flaw, every little deception. Amanda tried not to squirm.
"I bought some of that show you girls like on DVD."
Daria nodded. "Mm."
"Janie wanted to show it to you." Amanda forced a smile.
Daria stared harder. "You really don't want me to go home tonight, do you?"
God, no. Daria was so wonderful, so helpful even though she didn't realize it. Amanda would do anything to convince her to stay. "Of course not, sweetie. We all like having you here."
"That's not what I mean. And don't call me sweetie."
Oops. "Sorry...Daria," Hope flickered in her normally dull eyes. "But only if you call me Amanda."
"Blackmailing me with pet names, huh? I see what you did there, Mrs...um, Amanda."
Her tone was almost pleasant. Amanda watched her go and turned back to her wood carving with a vengeance.
The figurine had large glasses and a bored expression.
The church bells rang that Sunday morning, just as they did everywhere. But in a city like this one, they rang especially hollow.
A grubby gas station attendant with a dirty blonde mullet winced at the noise. "Not those goddamn bells again. Church?! The only losers in this town who still go there are those wussy families up the block. Oh, and the chicks from the women's shelter. I'll give them something to worship any day of the week." He chuckled lecherously. "Twice on Sundays!"
"Excuse me, sir," the bearded man in the car said pleasantly. "Women's shelters have a very important place in society, and when we and other men diminish them with insensitive jokes, it really just underscores the point. Now please fill up my tank for me. Mmmkay?"
The attendant did so, grumbling all the while. "My dad always hated that shelter. Stole one of his women, he said. The only one he really liked. Some little blonde hippie chick, so high she didn't even know which way he was doin' her. Sounds like my kinda woman, know what I mean?"
The customer shook his head and sighed.
The bells had stopped, but their echo carried a long way.
"I keep calling the police," Amanda said to Trent the next afternoon. "But they don't do anything. They came out a few times, but only for a little while. How can those people fight every night? And it's always the same argument."
Her son shrugged. The idea was foreign to him too, if only because he wouldn't have the energy to do it. "You got me, Mom. But that's kind of why I'm in the band. Even if the sound we make isn't that great, it drowns out the world, you know?"
She had to smile at that. But again her eyes drifted to the dining room windows. It was starting to rain outside. She hoped the man next door got soaked tonight.
"Hey, which neighbors are you talking about? The Dollets, or the ones across the street?"
Amanda put a finger on her chin. "Well, they're one of the houses next to us. So they must be the Dollets. It's the same man, coming home every night at 11 or 12 and starting a fight."
"Hmm," Trent slowly searched his memory as he tuned his guitar. "You sure it's not a woman? Mr. Dollet is hardly ever there. The red house on the left, right?"
"No," Amanda shook her head irritably. "The white one with green shutters."
He frowned. "Umm...you must be thinking of something else. It can't be that one."
"What do you mean?!" She felt a terrible sinking feeling, like her whole body was collapsing in on itself. Or was it just her mind?
"Mom, nobody lives there. The place has been empty for three years."
Daria and Jane stood next to him, nodding slowly. Amanda hadn't even seen them enter the room.
She stared. Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again.
"No." Amanda whispered.
"Huh?"
"No. That's not right, Trent. It can't be right!" she nearly shouted. She ran for the front door.
Drops of cold rain pelted her as she ran across the lawn and up to the house next door. Her heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.
No man next door? That was ridiculous. Of course he was there, along with his wife and the friends she had over! Amanda would drag them all outside if she had to-to show her kids, to tell them she was tired of their unbearable noise and that they were driving her crazy.
The door was barred. Was the woman that desperate to keep the man out? Amanda didn't care. She pounded on it with her fists, but no one answered. She ran to the nearest window and was trying to force it open when she felt Trent's hands on her shoulders.
"Whoa, whoa! Mom!" It was the first time he'd raised his voice in years.
"Let me go," she snapped. "I need to get in there. I have to talk to them!"
"Mom! Just look in there!" Jane shouted over the rain.
Amanda looked back at the window. The front room was empty, unfurnished, and covered with dust. Was the man's house so badly kept up?
Jane stepped up next to her and pointed. "See? It's empty. Nobody comes in and or out of there."
"Amanda." Daria said calmly. Just hearing that voice was enough to relax her a little. "As fun as it would be to stand out here and die of pneumonia, I think we should go inside and talk."
"What's this stuff?" Trent eyed his steaming mug with suspicion.
"Mr. O'Neill gave me his echinacea recipe," Daria said drily. "Now, shall we get down to business?"
The four of them were huddled around the kitchen table with towels over their shoulders. Amanda felt their eyes on her, and the questions they didn't want to ask: what's wrong with her? Is she seeing things? Is she back on drugs? But she wasn't, and she knew what she'd been seeing and hearing this past week.
"I...I guess I was confused. I'm sorry for all the bad vibes back there." she said weakly.
Daria was gentle but firm. "Don't apologize. We just had a failure of communications. Which can be fixed as soon as you tell us what you saw and when."
Amanda shook her head slowly. "But the house...you were right. It's empty. If you can't believe me about that, why would you believe the rest of it?"
No wonder nobody else ever saw or heard them. No wonder the police dispatcher always gave her the runaround. He must think she was crazy.
Am I? Did all the trips catch up with me? Am I just losing my mind?
No, Daria's expression said firmly.
Jane and Trent glanced between Daria and their mother-sensing, perhaps, that this was between them more than anyone else.
Daria crossed her arms. "I've seen my family hallucinate spirit animals, I've been followed by a woman who thought she was a teenager, and at one point I think I talked to anthropormophic holidays. Go ahead, make my day."
Amanda smiled in spite of herself. She knew she could count on Daria. Where did that feeling come from? When did it start? She could think about that later.
She stared into her mug of something-or-other and began to talk.
