Alone

I swirl dish soap around a pot with our much-abused scrubber brush. The bristles stick out at odd angles from months of too much elbow grease and hot water. The dishwater is warm and feels good on my hands and forearms. The repetitive nature of doing the dishes is calming. Behind me, Jeremy and Brianna run around, trying to avoid going to bed. From upstairs, I hear my wife Jackie call to them, she is starting to sound irritated. I shake my hands off in the sink and look at the kids.

Jeremy is six; his black hair is disheveled from playing. He's holding a small sheet of bubble wrap just out of reach from his sister’s hands. He jumps around taunting her, occasionally popping a bubble. My four-year-old, Brianna, scrunches up her face and wails.

"He's not sharing the bubba wrap with me!" she protests.

I snatch the sheet from Jeremy and say, "Share with your sister. And sweetie, it's called bubble wrap. You two need to get upstairs before mommy gets mad."

Brianna's jaw sets. "I know it's called bubba wrap! And I'm not tired!"

"I'm not either," Jeremy groans.

I decide not to argue about the pronunciation of bubble wrap at the moment. Instead, I tell them again, "Go upstairs," a bit more stern this time. I honestly don't understand how against bedtime kids are. For the last hour, I've been shooting glances at the clock hoping it's almost my bedtime.

Reluctant and with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, the kids head upstairs. At the top of which, Jackie looks like her patience is all but gone. My wife is a gentle and kind person. The kids not only got their dark black hair from her, but many of her other qualities, something I'm thankful for. However, kindly or gentle Jackie is, by the time seven thirty rolls around, even the most patient of us starts getting a little punchy with the bedtime routine.

I scoot Jeremy to the kids’ bedroom, telling him to put on his jammies. My wife takes Brianna. Our kids’ room is two different worlds meshed into one. On the right side, the walls are pink with horses and other animals. On the other side, the wall is green with dinosaurs. The floor looks a bit like a bomb has gone off, with toys and clothes strewn about. The room had been spotless not more than three hours ago. I tell myself there's no understanding how children can make such a mess so quickly. I get Jeremy dressed then take him to brush his teeth. By the time we are back, Jackie has Brianna in her jammies and in bed, waiting for story time.

When we kiss them goodnight and turn off the lights, there’s a part of me that thinks bed doesn't sound so bad. But there’s a bigger part of me that looks forward to some alone time with my wife. We pour a glass of wine, make a snack, and yell at the kids to get back in bed at least twice. After that, we settle down in front of the TV to watch a few shows. When we are done, we brush our teeth and put on our own jammies. Mine being...well, my boxers from that day. My bedtime ritual is far less time-consuming and complex than my wife's. We crawl into bed, turn out the lights, kiss, and are out in no time. Jackie is nestled close to me.

I awake to a small hand insistently nudging me. Brianna is next to my bed. I have no idea what time it is.

"Ahh, wh…what is it, sweetie? Why are you out of bed?" I try to say through a semi sleep fog.

As my vision clears, I can see that she's crying, strands of her long hair sticking to her cheeks. She bats them away while saying, "I can't find Jeremy."

"He's probably in the bathroom," I tell her, laying back down.

She rubs my arm again, more insistent. I sigh, "Honey, go back to bed."

"No, he's not here," she says, getting a little louder.

I don't want her to wake up Jackie, so I try to calm her. "Honey, he has to be up here. Remember? We have an alarm, and you guys aren't allowed downstairs at night." Reason will work on a four-year-old, right?

We'd gotten the alarm a year ago, after the people next door had their house broken into. The burglars had come in the middle of the night, even going so far as to remove items from rooms where people were sleeping. It freaked Jackie and me out, so that month we'd gotten a system. Nothing fancy, but we made sure there was one of the motion detectors covering the stairs, so no one would come up to the rooms without us knowing. At night we turned the system on “away”, even though we were in the house. I was surprised at how much better I slept knowing it was there. The other benefit was that the kids' snack cupboard wasn't getting raided at night anymore. I very much doubt the kids had ever taken anything from the cupboard at night. I suspect this because at least half of the time I was the culprit. Who doesn’t like the occasional midnight snack? I suspect Jackie was behind similar raids. The alarm and its loud beeping when you push the keypad have saved many a cookie from late-night munching.

I resigned myself to having to prove to Brianna that Jeremy is, in fact, upstairs and probably in the bathroom. Taking a leak myself is now likely on the agenda as well. I rise in bed and turned to make sure I didn't bother Jackie. She isn't there. I feel her side of the bed with my hand, the sheets were warm, I sighed again.

"Sweetie, Mommy is with Jeremy. Come on, let's find them."

I get out of bed, taking Brianna by the hand. I suspect that Jeremy hadn't been feeling well, had woken up Jackie, and they'd be in the bathroom. I led Brianna down the hall to the bathroom; the light was off, and it was empty. Back in bed already, I thought. I picked her up and carried her to her room, which was also empty.

Hmm, must be downstairs, I think to myself.

I think about leaving Brianna in her room, but I know she'd throw a fit. So instead, still carrying her, I walk to the stairs and down them to the living room. The moment my foot touches the last stair, I hear the alarm start to beep.

“Dang it!” I mutter, instinct taking over as I set down Brianna. Beep, Beep, Beep. I weaved around furniture, toys, and God knows what else, making it to the keypad and then punching in my code. The alarm stops. Brianna is full-on crying now.

I walk back to her, "It's okay, sweetie, I turned it off. I just forgot to turn it off upstairs, it's okay."

As I said that it was okay, it struck me. I look at the keypad of the alarm. I had turned it off. If Jackie was down here, she'd have had to turn it off.

"Jackie?" I call out, a pit in my gut forming.

"I want Momma," Brianna sobs.

"Jackie, Jeremy, where are you?" I say, ignoring Brianna.

I set her down on the couch and go over to the garage. I open the door and flip on the light; the cars are still here. I begin turning on lights and calling out for them. I'm starting to get scared, panic welling up inside me. Brianna cries louder. I reach for my cell, quickly realizing I was only in my boxers. I snatch Brianna and jog up the stairs, telling her that everything was okay.

I plop her onto the bed in my room and turn on the light. I grab my phone and dial Jackie's number. The phone doesn't do anything. I tried again; my call fails.

"Come on, not now," I growl.

I look where the bars should be, but it reads “no service”. Suddenly, the lights go out, startling both of us. Brianna screams, runs over, and attaches herself to my leg. I try to calm her and myself. I thought I heard something in the master bath. I peel her off my leg and set her in the corner, crying. I walk to the bathroom, using my phone as a flashlight. There is nothing there. The phone goes dark.

"What the hell?" I say, touching the screen. I look at the piece of plastic, confused. I stand there for a moment before noticing the lack of any sound at all. I turn, looking to the corner where my daughter is supposed to be. "BRIANNA!" I yell. She’s gone. I run around the room yelling for her, pulling off sheets, looking under the bed and in the closet. She isn’t here. I grab a pair of sweats, stuffing my legs into them as I run. She'd been two feet away from me. She couldn't have gone far.

I run downstairs and pull on the front door. It’s locked, so she hasn’t gone out of it. I check the other doors, my panic no longer in check. I look frantically all over the house, in cabinets and her favorite hiding spots, calling out for her the whole time. I go outside yelling. I run next door and pound on the neighbor’s door. No one answers. I need to find my family! I need to call the police! Where are they?!?

I try the next house. It’s dark, and no one is answering. Why aren’t people getting up? Don't they know my family is missing? There is no one in the backyard, or the next house, or the next one. I need a phone to call for help. A croaking sob rises in my throat. Where is everybody? I run barefoot down the street. Our house is on the edge of a subdivision, neighbored by a 24-hour supermarket. There has to be someone there who can help. I turn the corner of the street and dash into the parking lot. It’s empty, not a single car in sight. I stop and look around. The supermarket is by a busy street. The traffic lights are dark and there isn't a single car. The sun is starting to rise now, but there is nothing - no cars, buses, people... just dark buildings. I turn to the supermarket and walk up to the entrance. It’s open like it always is, but there is no light or sound coming from within.

I back away from it, feeling afraid. "Glenn, I'm right here," a soft voice says from within. It’s Jackie! "Jackie?" I croak. "Glenn, I'm right here," she says again. Tentatively, I step into the darkened store. At once, I am immersed in black. The store has no light, save for what little is coming through the entrance.

"Jackie, where are you?" I ask, "Do you have the kids? Where is everyone?" My voice is shaky and terrified. "Glenn, I'm right here." The voice comes from my left. I follow it, stumbling over some baskets. I feel my way down an aisle. Keeping silent, I try to see if I can hear her breath or her voice again. It comes again, "Glenn, I'm right here," but this time, the voice is coming from everywhere - right beside me, behind me, above and below me. I scream, reaching out for her, only finding cans on a shelf. I try to walk but step on a can that I had knocked off the shelf. I fall hard onto the linoleum floor, the wind leaving me in a whoosh, as Jackie's voice echoes around me. I try to find the light of the entrance and crawl towards it. I hear her voice again and clap my hands over my ears, but it doesn't block it out. It’s coming from inside my head! Jackie isn’t here. No one is here; I am alone. It starts sinking in. I scramble out of the supermarket, the dark terrifying me in a primal way that I've never felt before. I am alone. How is that possible? I huddle against the wall of the supermarket, covering my ears and hitting my head against the brick, trying to make it stop as Jackie's voice fills my mind.

No, no, no, no, no, make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!

I collapse onto the concrete and curl up in a ball, screaming and crying. I can feel what is left of my sanity slipping away. I moan, "no more, please no more."

***

"Glenn, I'm right here," Jackie Bell coos as she brushes her husband’s hair from his face. "It's going to be okay, I'm right here." She looks down at him, a tear forming in her eyes. Around her, monitors beep and hospital staff move about the halls. She touches his face, speaking softer this time. "Come back to me, wake up. I need you. The kids need you. Please, wake up."