After dinner I tried calling Jeff. His studio rang and rang but there was no answer. I hung up and walked over to the bay window. The streets were empty. It looked freezing outside. Maybe it was feeling the cold air through the panes of glass and the occasional gusts of wind, causing them to rattle. A plow had come through a couple of times and the snow had let up some time that afternoon. It was worse than fresh fallen snow, because it had warmed up some, once the temperature dropped, the streets glistened with a thick layer of ice. The roads looked treacherous, but passable. I glanced up and down the street. All the houses seemed sealed up tight with the families inside. Families. All the children in our few blocks had grown up and gone on to have families of their own. We were all middle aged and childless. I thought back to when my kids were young and had inhabited the neighborhood. They were part of a pack, a generation of children who'd grown up together, played outside all day, and in the summers up until bedtime. They would have been outside on a snowy winter night like that one. Back then, when the kids were outside playing in the snow, I used to sit with the other mothers in one of our kitchens drinking coffee or sometimes mixed drink while the children were out building igloos or sliding down the snow covered yards of some of the houses that sat on a hill with a long slope. Jeff had never been there. He would have admitted it himself; he was terrible at being a parent. He'd never wanted to be one and still didn't seemed to have any regrets. Even now when we were older and should be enjoying our grandchildren. I often wondered if the reason we'd waited eight years to get back together was because the children were grown and going off to college. The truth was, that Matt had been there. I didn't acknowledge it to myself very often, but there were many occasions where Matt had filled that role, particularly the role of husband.

As much as I pretended that I was relaxing in my house, enjoying the cozy night really it was nagging at me; I wanted to read the rest of Margaret's journal. A part of me criticized myself, wondered why I needed so desperately to drag the past out into the present? And worse why was I summoning my own terrible memories along with Margaret's story?

A darkness was moving through my veins. I considered the problems Clara had had and it was no wonder. It was a terrible thing because it wasn't something that should have been denied, but I'd never known the truth about Margaret's death. Then, ten years ago, Clara started to reveal what had happened; I thought Margaret had died of an abortion. That's what Jeff had told me. It was Clara who told me that her mother had killed herself. She'd been in the room with her. Her mother's death. It was like a corpse. It was same malevolent spirit that was haunting me at that moment—it had always been amongst us. When I asked Jeff why he'd lied about her death, he said he wanted to protect me. If he'd told me the truth I would have blamed myself for having an affair with him. He was sure I would think that was what led her to do it.

The absurdity made me angry. That gave me enough conviction to venture back down into the basement and retrieved one of the journals. I had been smart enough to leave the light on so that I wouldn't have to feel around in the dark for the chord. I picked up the first one, dated 1948. I left the other in the box and pushed it back into the shelf. I walked back up the wooden steps that led from the basement to the kitchen. I was also smart enough make the decision to get drunk while I ingested the rest of her madness. In a sense I was inviting this apparition into my life. I'd hidden from her, apologized to her, I'd lived on the outskirts of her destruction. I took the blame for it! I put the leather bound book on the couch and I walked over to the liquor cabinet. I picked up a glass and was about to pour some scotch. I always drank scotch with Jeff, it gave me a kind of legitimacy with him. But, really I just wanted a regular mixed drink. I walked into the kitchen and filled an ice bowl and brought it back in, placed it on the table next to the cabinet. I fixed a gin and tonic and sat on the couch. I picked up the brown leather journal and ran my fingers over it. The leather was dry and had a rough texture despite how smooth its surface appeared.

I took a long sip of my drink. I shook the glass a little, breaking up the ice cubes. I picked up the book and whispered at it, "Know this. I hate you for what you did to my children." It felt strangely superhuman to have said that to her. I shuddered a little. I opened to the second entry.

#2. I refuse to write dates, instead I'll write numbers for each entry. Let HIM try and match them up. He'd hardly be able to.

I tried calling mother. I was going to tell her how I really felt about what she'd done. Why not? She has disowned me, it's about time she heard my side of it. She hung up on me. I can describe it like this. There's jeff and the children. They are here around me, it's a smothering existence. And then in the beyond there's mother and father. And somewhere farther out, out of all of these solar systems, there is Dotty. I called her Dotty. There is Dorothy. If I had taken a step in any other direction—any one! I would have been free. If I had done what she'd told me, I could have been free. There would be no baby. Nor two! No. I would have gladly given the child away, just as Dotty and I had talked about. But, of course I had to tell mother. Didn't she always want me to be straight and narrow? She thought I was just the type—or she could force me to be. How? Finding a playboy—a rotten piece of garbage. She practically hired him to rape me.

I stopped. I'd finished my drink. What in the hell was she writing about? She really had been stark raving mad. Although my heart sank for the children, I felt emboldened by my own love for them. It was turning into a sort of righteous indignation. If not for me—I stood and fixed myself another drink. I lit a cigarette and settled back into the journal.

That's what they think though isn't it? I should be luckier to bear a criminal's child and to marry him then to live as an independent woman. Well, let's be honest – they were all a bunch of criminals. ------------------- what. I don't mean it --- I love my mother more than anyone. How could I have accused her of such a thing? How could I?

#3

He's right next to me. He's in the chair by the bed. His cigarette smoke is making me queasy. I can hear as he swallows down the scotch in his glass. When he is near me I feel a steel rod run straight through my body. It is hatred. There it was. He just said something to me. I will write it down. He's crazy if he thinks I'll so much as say a word to him.

"What are you writing?"

I hate you.

"Are you not speaking to me as usual?"

I hate you.

He's detestable. The room is so quiet, it is causing a kind of hissing in my eardrums. I can't name it specifically, but its of the same category as cicadas. I want to ask him about those sorts of insects, its just the kind of thing he'd know. But, I know better to become indebted to him.

"I'm trying to be cordial." – that was him. He was talking to me. You see? He can hear even the most subtle reference to him in my thoughts.

I am going to say something to him. Then, he is going to come and force me to have relations with him. You may think I'm doing this because I want to have relations with him. I don't. Would you want to have intercourse with a detestable man? The way the liquid sounds as it slides down his throat has the most nauseating, disgusting effect. No I don't want him to touch me. Would you if a steel rod ran from your skill to your feet? The reason is that if I don't make him angry then I'll have to wait for him to drink another scotch and maybe another after that. After that he'll make me anyway. So this is what I'm going to say. "Why are you so detestable? How can that pretty girl want you? Why would anyone?"

I haven't said it yet. I'm waiting for the hissing to subside a little. That way I can hear anything I need to.

#4

He's gone. I said those words. The ones I wrote about in number three. He didn't force me. Instead he came and sat next to me. He stared at me for a long moment. I told him not to touch me. He shook his head. He spoke through an icy ghost. It was his voice, but he was the most evil creature I'd ever encountered. He lifted his hand and brought it close to my face, then he gently put it around my neck. I realized it would only take one of his hands to kill me. "I'm going to kill you Margaret. I just don't know how yet."

"I hate you." I said to him. I told him I thought he was grotesque looking—he was. He is. He stood and started to walk out of the room, but then he came very close to me. He was so close I could smell his hot pestilent breath on my cheek. I didn't move. I knew how to remain frozen. It came in very handy. He took my hair in one hand and pulled slightly, "if you touch one of my children I'll fucking kill you."

He left. I didn't care but I stood and looked out our window anyway. You see I couldn't see all the way to his mistresses house. Eve Miller. She lived a few blocks away, but I could make out the direction of his shadow even as he turned the corner and was otherwise obscured.

I realized I needed to tell Jeff what I'd found. It really wasn't so scary, I didn't know why I thought it was. I was likely looking for more. Some answer to my own life. I was old, these journals were more than 25 years old by then. It was bizarre and sad. It was a view of my life that was distorted and cryptic. I reached for the phone on the table next to me. When I picked up the receiver, there was no dial tone. I knew at some point the phone service would be down. I looked up at the clock on the mantle. It was almost 8:00. Other than a call to Clara my whole day had been spent reading this nonsense.

#15

Jeff is right. It's true. I am feeling much better. I can't help but think it has something to do with him having her put away. Oh she sounded like a terrible person.

I read and re-read that entry. Up until then, they had never been aligned, but there it was. He'd told her he sent me away to an asylum. I didn't understand.

But, he's right. I am better. Getting better—I have to correct myself (oh my terrible secret is that I still hate him—Of course I do!), just as he says I'm getting better. He thinks we should move to Chicago. That we should start a life there. It's what my mother wanted. Why shouldn't I try?

What about her? What about her? Don't you want to be with her?

He tells the story like this. She was in her little farmhouse. She has a little fat baby. She begged him and begged him to marry her. She was so distraught two men came and took her away.

I felt my heart race with rage. Why would he have told her anything about me? My mind immediately countered her words with the truth. The truth was I wanted to get away from him. He forced me.

I went into a dreamy state for a moment. That was the first time an outsider had described my horrible experience. It was also evidence that Jeff had an awareness of what he'd done to me. It was proof that he would have left me there to die. He would have left his son without a mother. He would have moved to Chicago and sealed my tomb. That was heartless.

The trance deepened. I knew enough to put my drink down in case I were to drop it. Then it was a complete physical and psychological recollection of that day. There were no walls around me, the journal had melted and I saw the icy black liquid moving back down towards the basement. Her sickness was his sickness. I looked up and the lights flicked on and off once, then they went dark. We'd lost electricity. It didn't matter. I let the book fall. It wasn't her words, it wasn't my feelings. It was the past. It was there with me. I'd locked it all away. The memoires started, the first part of it was the sound of the door handle. It was a slight click and then the sound of our struggle; the wooden door against the door frame. The sound of my body hitting the ground.

I sat with the images, no different than a newsreel, running in front of me. Then a darker silence descended on me. "you'll never love me, will you Eve?"

I started crying when I remembered what I'd said, "I can pretend."

I partially woke to my life. Back to there and then, my living room. The insanity of it. The diary, the drinks. My terror. I woke to my life because I heard the front door handle turn and then keys jangling. I could see his figure, silhouetted by the white snow reflecting the moonlight. 

"Eve?" It was Jeff's voice, but I couldn't place the time. I didn't know if I was hallucinating or if he really had come home.

He walked in and closed the door. The light flicked on again and he turned to see me there. "Jesus. You scared me. Why didn't you say something?"

I didn't speak. I couldn't.

He took off his coat and laid it on the chair. He walked over to the couch and sat down next to me.

"What have you been doing?"

I shrugged. I was suspended in time.

"What's happened?" He reached to touch me and I flinched.

"Don't touch me," I whispered.

He looked down at the coffee table. "Are you drunk?" When I didn't say anything, he looked around the room. He picked up the diary. "What's this?" He opened it and looked at a page for a moment then looked back at me. "Where did you get this?"

"Why did you tell that woman that you had me committed to a hospital?"

"Who?"

"Margaret."

His face took on an expression of surprise, "I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"I don't remember doing that. Why are you reading this? Where did you get it?"

"She writes over and over that you said you were going to kill her."

"Eve sit up."

I sat up and leaned back against the couch. My hysteria was thawing. I was coming back into reality and the terror I'd fallen into moments before was distant. Illogical. I knew I couldn't rely on my thinking or senses to remain rational. I knew I was drawn under and only up for a breath of air.

"She said you tried to kill her." I insisted.

"I'm sure she did. The girl was a psychotic. Or haven't you figured that out Eve? Eve. Look at yourself. What in the hell are you doing?"

"She said you told her that you were going to kill her."

"You just said that. I'm sure she thought I was going to. She also thought I'd arranged the furniture to create an invisible wall. She thought the children were capable of controlling the cat with just their expressions. She was a Goddamned lunatic."

"Well, she couldn't have imagined that you came into my home and forced me—then had me taken away."

"Eve. I didn't tell her that."

"You did. You told her I had a fat little baby and then two men took me away." I felt my body grow limp. Once I leaned back on the couch, I could feel the pain in my muscles from the tension.

"Of course she knew you had a baby. I'd told her that."

"I believe her. You did tell her were going to kill her."

He leaned back and assumed a look of condescension. "You do? Is that your final assessment of me? That I'm capable of murder?"

"I didn't say that. I said you threatened her. Frightened her. And for the record I know you are capable of murder. Don't forget who you're talking to."

"Suddenly you're angry? What's going on Eve? A minute ago you were—Jesus, Eve. it's a Goddamned normal sunday night for most men--I've walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone."

"That's mean."

 He stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a scotch. He drank it down and immediately poured another.

I was so exhausted and crazy. I leaned over and covered my eyes with my hands and cried.

I felt the couch move as he sat down next to me. He moved my hair to the side and kissed my cheek. "I don't know what I said to her, I'm sorry darling. Please. It was a long time ago. I'm worried about you. Eve, honestly you're acting like you're losing your mind."

I turned to him. "Jeff it's not her diary. You said you were going to kill me. You tried to. It's as if all of these things are coming into view, one at a time all at once."

"Eve. That was twenty years ago—and you know I didn't just come out of nowhere and say I was going to kill you. You were having an affair with my friend."

"So it was rational to tell your wife you'll kill her? Besides you didn't even know I'd had an affair at that time."

His face grew serious. The light flickered and went out for a moment. When it came back on he had a rigid expression. Or I thought he did.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked him.

There would be no way to accurately recount moments that followed. Everything had a nightmarish quality to it. Margaret's words had already penetrated my weakend mind. I had been so cavalier about releasing her ghost. Clearly Jeff and I had had an exchange that I immediately forgot. When I came back to my consciousness, the conversation resumed in my awareness.

"Why?"

"Why what, Eve?" he asked swallowing down the last sip of his drink.

I waited for him to say more. He stood and poured another drink and then stood above me.

I was so confused and frightened. "I'm afraid of what you're going to do to me."

"I'm not going to do anything. You said I threatened you and I told you that you had an affair. You just asked me if that would make it acceptable for me to kill you."

"Are you joking with me right now, because I am frightened and I think I'm having a nervous breakdown—I didn't ask you that. I don't remember asking you if it would be ok to kill me. Why would I say that? I didn't ask you if you were justified in trying to kill me."

"Eve. If you –you not Margaret. Not any other woman I could have married, but you. If you were to sleep with another man, I can't say I wouldn't."

I knew I hadn't heard him right. I knew I was fully immersed in the dark dream. It was as much a hallucination as Margaret had ever experienced. For all I knew, Jeff wasn't even home. Or maybe he was there, maybe all this was real but I'd dismantled things too quickly. I couldn't even trace anything I'd done or felt since my call with Clara.

He walked out of the room. I felt panic overtake me. I stood and followed him back. Once we were in the bedroom, I took his arm. I was afraid. "don't be angry with me."

"Eve, just got to sleep."

"But, just tell me you aren't angry with me. I'm sorry. I don't even remember what I said to you. You didn't say you'd hurt me did you?"

He pulled away and got dressed for bed. I walked to the dresser and removed a silk nightgown and robe. I carried them into the bathroom. The light seemed greenish sallow when I flicked the switch. The blue tile looked slippery and I was afraid to touch it. I looked at myself in the mirror.

He tells the story like this. She was in her little farm house. She has a little fat baby. She begged him and begged him to marry her. She was so distraught two men came and took her away.

I removed my clothes. A panic overcame me. Every shred of memory was invading my whole being. The were poisonous shards and I felt if I so much as let out a breath I would be torn to pieces. Standing there naked in the tiled bathroom reminded me of the hospital, the young nurses speaking to me as though I were a child. It was worse than that. And then having been taking into the room full of ice baths. Submerging me. I was shaking so I held my hands together to try and calm myself.

She has a little fat baby

two men came and took her away.

The light flickered and then shut off. I held my breath. I waited for Jeff to see if I was all right, but he didn't. I pulled my nightgown on and then my robe. I didn't know why I did, but I tied the silk ribbons that fastened my robe. There were four of them.

I felt that rejecting Jeff had caused the terror I felt. If he loved me again, I could find myself. I could have my life back. The room was dark and I slid into bed, under the covers. I could feel his body next to mine but he didn't say anything. I realized I'd forgotten to take off my robe—there had been no point in putting it on in the first place. I sat up and started to untie the silk ribbons.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

I was crying. "I forgot to take off my robe." The bed jostled as he sat up . he turned to me and started untying the robe.

"I'm afraid," I whispered.

"I know." He said. He kissed my forehead.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Did you say you would kill me?"

He stopped and looked at me. "Eve I don't know what I would do if you were with another man."

"You wouldn't kill me. That's what you're saying?"

He slipped the silk off my shoulders. Then, he moved the strap of my nightgown off one shoulder. He leaned forward and kissed the tender area. He kissed my neck. I ran my fingers though his hair. We slid down into the bed. He moved on top of me, "Of course I wouldn't kill you."

"I'm afraid," I whispered.

"I know. Don't be afraid." He touched my cheek and looked at me for a long moment. "Eve. Where are you going? You don't have anything to be afraid of."