Work Text:
The ringing of the phone received him as he crossed the kitchen threshold. In the living-room, the annoying singsong theme from his daughter’s favorite television show competed with it; he couldn’t yet fathom how the girl, who still missed the line when coloring, had managed to download the melody and set it as the cellphone ringtone.
“Where had you been? Why didn’t you pick up?” he was taken aback by his brother’s not at all normal panic tone before he could utter a word.
The cellphone stopped ringing.
“I went to the Lake Walk to jog… What happened to Ceci?” his imagination started to play, without truce, the worst scenarios (after what had happened, it could be very creative). The previous night he had left the child at his brother’s house, in a sleepover for her cousin’s birthday celebration; the last time he had seen her, she was submerged in a deafening pillow fight with half a dozen other girls.
“Nothing, she’s okay. Did you see the news?”
“I’m just getting in.”
He only got silence from the other side of the line. A silence that didn’t inspire his trust.
“Are you still there?”
“Put channel 15,” his brother replied after a couple of seconds. Anxiety was still shading his voice.
He looked for the TV remote. It was on the island counter, in the center, next to the cookies.
Then he noted the change.
Despite the girl’s absence, he had got up early. After having breakfast, he had picked up stuffed animals and dolls scattered all over the living-room, remains of the last tea party, and had taken them to the little one’s room, two doors before the master room (he hadn’t re-entered there, he kept it locked). It was Saturday, there were still hours left to go for the girl, and, having nothing to do, he had decided to go jogging, but not before baking a tray of Ceci’s favorite cookies. He had left them on the island counter.
They were of chocolate with peanut chips.
Circular.
The ones he saw that moment were sprinkled with powder sugar.
They were heart-shaped.
He didn’t need to take one to know they smelled like vanilla (the scent of his nightmares).
Holding still the phone against his ear, he took the remote with his free hand and turned the TV located in that room on. The fingers refused to obey, obstructing his intention to get the channel.
“Call now. Our operators are waiting…”
“What’s up, doc?”
“… I lost 30 pounds…”
“… they are considered dangerous. If you see them, please, don’t approach. Contact immediately with the emergency lines…”
Phone and remote slipped from his grip. On the screen, she smiled (her face didn’t reveal anything of what she was capable of).
“I’m going there… Keep calm…” he heard his brother’s voice from a place near his feet, followed by a door being slammed, and the whining of a motor being turned on and accelerated without contemplation.
He didn’t know how but before he was aware, he was sitting on the floor. Clamps pressed his chest. He tried to breathe, but the puffs of air refused to fill his lungs. Nausea joined the party as a last-minute guest. His left hand went direct to the scar on his neck (he tried to stop the bleeding).
“… it should not finance the Government with money emissions and should not intervene…” The news anchor was commenting on another story (the sorrowful whining of a baby, his baby of only months, was claiming for his attention).
His eyes were going from one side to the other, trying to guess from where the danger would come (blood splatters, his blood, polluted the pristine beige of the walls).
Suddenly, an object caught his attention; a glimpse of sanity in the middle of the desperation that was taking hold of him.
One of the dolls of Ceci’s.
It was between the legs of the stool where he seated the girl at mealtimes.
He had bought it just as he left the hospital (he was discharged after three months). It was made of rag, yellow dress, blue yarn hair, freckled face, and huge eyes made with black buttons.
He kept his sight fixated on the doll, his anchor inside the tempest. His breathing started to normalize, the oppression in his chest was decreasing bit by bit.
Feeling himself again, he crawled towards the doll, stumbled until he was standing, and put it on the island counter. After a second of doubt, he took the tray with the cookies and threw it in the trash bin.
“… temperatures will continue descending…” the newscast kept on as if they hadn’t destroyed the peace he had achieved after a lot of effort. He crouched to pick the remote and phone up, the last was emitting the interrupted call beep. He turned the TV off, pushed end call, and put both dispositive next to the doll.
Then, he opened the cabinet over the refrigerator and moved the objects there until he found the one he wanted.
He climbed the stairs to the upper floor with slow but sure steps.
At the end of the corridor, the master bedroom door was ajar.
Before entering, his last thought was to Ceci.
“Hello, love.” She (his ex-wife, the mother of his daughter’s), lying on the window seat cushions, bitted a cookie. The sweet vanilla scent that always accompanied her flood the place.
A car skidded in front of the house.
In the living-room, the annoying singsong theme from his daughter’s favorite television show started calling him from the cellphone.
In the kitchen, the phone started ringing.