Pasiphaë

The Fridman's came from old money. One simply needed to look at them, or listen to them talk for a moment, to know it. The wife, Zoe, was in her thirties, with immaculate dark hair styled in a delicate chignon, a string of pearls perpetually around her throat. Her ancestors had fled Europe a century or so before Hitler's genocidal experiment, and so had made an impressive home for themselves in America before the worst of human nature reared its head across the Atlantic. The husband was a balding man in his early fifties, with thoughtful eyes and a thin mouth.

The two had met in University, at Yale, and married within the year. A few years later came the first child: a little girl with dark hair like her mother, and a murky expression. And then, another: this one a boy, blonde, with expressive eyes and a rosebud mouth.

Their family home, an impressive Georgian colonial manion poised on the waterfront, opened up directly onto the beach.

I appraised it all skeptically: the cheerful white paint, the heavyness of the brick facade, the cool coils of viridescent ivy that hung over everything like a shroud.

It seemed impossibly queer that the entire property would be under my observation. The Fridman's reached out to me, through a mutual friend early in the summer, looking for someone to care for their children while they went away on extended business.

"Just for the Autumn months, until we can settle things so that the both of them can go back to school," Zoe explained in her letter, "I'm hopeful that by the new year, the children will be back on track. Really, they're very conscientous. Adam's expulsion came out of nowhere, but we're working on it."

***

I arrived on the Northern shore of Long Island an hour or so after the older Fridman's had departed for the airport.

Their children were waiting for me dutifully in the foyer, their hair combed and their attire neat.

"I thought that your parents would be meeting me here-- am I late?" I asked, ruffled, my cheeks coloring.

But the girl, Rachel, merely shook her head.

"No, you're perfectly on time. They had to depart slightly earlier than originally intended, but Mama left you this list of instructions." She proffered a carefully typed packet, smiling mischievously, "I won't tell her if you don't read it all though. I certainly wouldn't."

I nodded, bemused.

"Adam, introduce yourself to the nice woman. She's going to be our governess," Rachel hissed in an undertone, rolling her eyes vaguely.

The boy stepped forward, scowling.

"Hello, I'm Adam. It's very nice to meet you," he recited in a monotone extending his miniature hand for me to shake.

"A pleasure to meet you Adam," I tried not to giggle at his forced formality, "How old are you and your sister?" I already knew the answer to this, but thought it best to let them tell me.

"I'm eight, and she's ten," Adam explained quickly, perking up a bit, "And I don't know if our mom and dad told you but the reason we're not in school is because--"

But just as quickly, Rachel cut him off, her face going suddenly waxy and pale under the light cast by the chandelier.

"You don't have to tell her all of our business right from the start," she whipsered.

"It's okay," I broke in hurriedly, "Your mum mentioned there was some trouble at your last school?"

"Rachel didn't do anything wrong," Adam backtracked carefully, taking stock of his sister's murderous expression, "It was only me. I did something bad, and now I'm not allowed to go back this term." He looked penitently down at his shoes.

"Yes, I'm sticking it out with him in solidarity," she intoned dryly, grimacing.

I laughed.

"Well, that's very kind of you, to stand shoulder to shoulder with your brother like that. Have you guys had anything to eat yet this morning? No? Let's see what we can rustle up then, hm?" I shifted into au pair mode, smiling.

***

That first week passed sweetly, easily. I was submerged in the glamour of the east coast in fall, as all of the leaves changed color and dropped dead upon the ground.

In the mornings, we made breakfast together and went over lessons. In the afternoons, we would trudge down to the beach, and shiver under the lukewarm sun and the waves crashed upon the shore.

The children were almost too well mannered. Rachel asked how I had slept every morning, taking care to bring me tea if she ever needed to wake me up before eight. And Adam was quick to offer me one of his monogrammed hankerchiefs if I so much as coughed. It might have been peculiar, had I not corresponded with Zoe before arriving here. She had the same upright sense of decorum-- it bled through her writing, and was alive and well in her offspring.

For the life of me, I could not imagine what the boy might have done to earn himself a dismissal from any school. If anything, he was shy and sensitive-- the kind of child more likely to keep his head bowed over a book than to go out and cause trouble during recess.

One afternoon on the beach, as he splashed among the waves, I turned to Rachel and asked her.

"How exactly did Adam get suspended, if you don't mind me asking? Your mother didn't offer any specifics."

Rachel looked down at her hands, as though suddenly the curves and contours of her fingers had become unbearably interesting.

"It's not his fault, really," she explained slowly in an undertone, "Sometimes he has these, like, fits, where he's not himself."

"Really? Your mum didn't say anything about that and he's been very consistent so far?"

Rachel swallowed.

"He's been doing better lately. I think it was just the stress of being away from home." She shifted uncomfortably.

"So what happened, exactly? I'm not trying to pry, just to understand," I tried again.

"There was an issue with the class pet-- a little gray bunny with dark beady eyes. Frightful thing," she admitted at last, "Adam got hold of the scissors while everyone else was out eating lunch. By the time they realized he was missing and found him again..." she trailed off, shuddering slightly.

"What?" my voice caught in my throat, "Do you mean--" I couldn't finish.

She nodded slowly.

"He slit it's throat. Only don't tell him that I told you. He'd be so embarassed. He wasn't himself."

***

That night, it rained for the first time since my arrival. Precipitation hurled itself at the windows, and gales bombarded the towering walls of the house. It took a good deal longer than normal to fall into an uneasy sleep.

The sound of the front door slamming jolted me out of my daze and I was on my feet in an instant, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes.

I slipped down the spiral staircase that led to the foyer, heart pounding.

"He's gone out again," A voice whispered from behind me and I swung around, eyes wide.

But it was only Rachel, shivering in her nightgown, her bare feet pressed against the marble floor.

"What are you doing up?" I hummed, shaking slightly, still startled, "Where's Adam? I thought I heard the door open."

"He's not in his bed," she returned simply, her face deathly white, "He does this sometimes. He'll be going to the sea."

Panic-stricken, I wrenched the front door open and tore off down the carefully manicured walk, screaming the child's name.

Rain water obscured everything, turning the scene into something like a watercolor or expressionist painting.

"Adam!" I shrieked into the night air as the wind tore his name easily from my throat.

From very far away, a flash of gold caught my eye. Blonde hair dyed dark and shiny with rainwater. Adam.

I pelted down the beach, breathless.

He was up to his chest in the sea, his back to me.

"Adam, get out of there!" I cried madly, streaking in after him, although the current slowed me down.

I did not stop screaming his name until I had wrapped my arms around his middle and wrenched him from the tide.

His eyes which were wide and empty, surveyed me impassively.

"Why won't you let me die?" he hissed in a high, cold voice. I was so suprised I almost released him, before I came to my senses again.

"Don't talk like that," I clutched him to my chest, both of us soaking wet and drenched with salt water, "Why would you ever say something like that?"

"I'm bound for hell," he intoned coldly, in that same odd voice, "They've all been waiting for me."

I managed to drag him back to the safe harbor of the house. In the foyer, Rachel met us with towels.

"You can't keep doing this," she tutted at Adam.

"I saw her again. Pasiphaë, I mean. She was waiting for me in the water," he murmured slowly to no on in particular.

"She's dead, Adam. You need to go to bed," Rachel retorted, annoyed.

The boy nodded, shivering.

***

With Adam once again safe in bed, I allowed Rachel to lead me down the stairs to the library.

"It's daylight now, so he won't go out again. He just needs to rest," Rachel supplied knowledgeably. She did not seem particularly concerned that her brother had thrown himself into the sea once again, like some dreadful compulsion.

"I think we should call your parents," I insisted again, feeling almost light-headed with relief now that both children were safe, "They have a right to know when their son is in danger. I'd want to know if I were them."

But Rachel merely shook her head.

"They're well aware of Adam's nighttime habits. They're not going to care as long as he doesn't burn the house down, but they will be annoyed if we interrupt their business trip for something like this, trust me," she elaborated, curling up lightly in one of the arm chairs by the fire.

She retrieved a book from the coffee table without checking to see what it was about, and began to read.

In the ensuing quiet, I could almost hear my own heart beating.

"Who's Pasiphaë?" I asked finally, settling on the most obvious line of inquiry.

"She's dead," Rachel repeated, not looking up from her reading.

"Yes, but who is she?"

"Our father's first wife," Rachel said with an annoyed huff, as though it were of little consequence, "She and our other half-brother David died before Adam or I were born."

"What? I thought Zoe was--"

"Nope. We're all just a replacement family."

Head spinning with fragmented thoughts, we slipped back into silence.

"There was a boating accident," Rachel explained out of nowhere, "Pasiphaë liked to sail. One morning, she took her son out with her. There was a problem with the hull. I'm not sure what happened but the boat sank and the two of them washed up a few weeks later."

"That's dreadful," I choked.

Rachel shrugged.

"Adam said he was bound for hell," I whispered at last.

"We don't believe in heaven or hell," Rachel hummed, staring at me carefully from over the edge of her book, "Once a Jew dies, they stay dead, and that's that."

I licked my lips, nodding, attempting to recall all that I could from the old testament, which we had been made to read in middle school.

"Does that bother you?" she inquired after a moment, her gaze murky and unreadable.

"No," I explained slowly, "I just don't understand where Adam's getting his information about the restless dead."

"From books, or television, I expect," Rachel shrugged, offering me a tight little smile that did not reach her eyes. Whenever she lied, she looked much older than ten years old.

***

The next morning, Adam appeared at breakfast as though nothing had happened the night before, beaming and well-coiffed.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead to make sure he was not running a temperature from his nighttime excursion.

He laughed lightly, shaking me off.

"I'm fine. Just sleepwalking again." He expressed easily, not looking at me.

He piled his plate high with fried eggs and hashbrowns, grinning.

"Maybe we should talk about what happened yesterday," I offered.

Adam's smile flickered and died, but he nodded.

"Sometimes I go a little funny. I'm not really myself."

"Right, Rachel said that. You said you saw a lady in the water. You called her Pasiphaë," I pushed.

"Maybe I was dreaming," Adam suggested, shoving an egg into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.

"How do you know what Pasiphaë looked like, if she died before you were born?" I pressed slowly, watching him for signs of recognition.

Adam shrugged.

"Adam, you need to talk to me. This is really serious." I tried not to let my voice become a whine.

"I just know," Adam muttered, face darkening, "She told me it was her but even before she introduced herself I knew. David has a picture of her that he keeps in the walls."

"David? Rachel mentioned that he died in the boating accident with his mother."

But Adam was already scowling and shaking his head.

"She's always saying that, but he's alive. He lives here in the house with us. In the walls. Always has."

I was beginning to feel slightly sick.

"How could he live in the walls? That doesn't make sense. You shouldn't make up stories like that."

It seemed as though the room were spinning, as the boy thrust his chair back, looking angry now. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, he excused himself and backed out of the dining hall.

***

The following evening, the sound of screaming woke me up. It was Rachel, I knew that immediately.

Without thinking, I darted down the long corridors to her room, and thrust open the door, looking about the room wildly for signs of an intruder.

But the girl was simply huddled in a bundle of blankets at the foot of her bed, her face wet with tears, her arms trembling.

"Oh, little one," I hushed, pulling her in for a hug as she sobbed into my shoulder, "Did you have a nightmare? What's wrong?"

She shook her head vehemently, shuddering.

"It's David, playing his frightful tricks. I hate him so much. He never bother Adam like this because he's a boy." I froze, my arms going riggid around her.

"David?"

She nodded again, clenching her eyes tightly shut.

"I don't understand. How can he bother you? Adam said something weird about him living in the walls, but I--"

She pressed her hand tightly over my mouth to keep me from speaking.

"He can hear you, and you're not supposed to know that. They don't like it when outsiders know."

"Who's they?" I mumbled from behind her fingers, annoyed now.

"Mother and father and Pasiphaë and all of them. It's not safe for you to know." She repeated, going very pale, "I'm fine. Thank you for checking on me, but I want to go to sleep now. We can talk in the morning."

I opened my mouth to protest but she shook her head forcefully, her eyes full of things she could not say.

***

The next morning dawned early. I awoke to find two sets of eyes fixed on me. Rachel stepped forward as I sat up in bed, handing me a cup filled with earl grey tea.

"Sorry to wake you so early," she offered demurely, looking apologetic.

"I didn't even hear you guys come in," I muttered, alarmed, "What time is it?"

"A little after four in the morning," Adam explained, "But we've got your bags packed up nicely down in the foyer, and we've left a coat out for you." He gestured delicately to the foot of the bed, where my anorak was draped on one of the bed posts.

"What?"

"I've called a cab. It's waiting out front to take you far away," Rachel continued, as though she had not heard me.

"Mother and Father are coming back early. You should go. Your payment has been wired directly into your bank account for the weeks you've spent here."

Dumbfounded, I opened my mouth to argue.

"I'm not leaving you alone in the house. You're children. I'll just wait until your parents get back."

But Adam shook his head.

"It's in your best interest to leave as quickly as possible," he murmured in an undertone, "It's been so wonderful having you with us, but this is where your services are being terminated."

As I rose awkwardly to my feet, heart pounding in my chest, I thought I saw the two of them glance carefully at the surrounding walls of my bedroom, as though they could see right through them.

***

It's been some years since then.

Sometimes, every now and then, when I'm in traveling the area, I'll drive by the Fridman's mansion.

There are never any cars parked outside, or signs of life inside.

The waves crash gently upon the shore, and I drive away.

Over the years, I've tried to check up on the children with varying degrees of success.

Some folks say that the house has been abandoned for the last quarter of a century. Others recall an entire family that went out upon the sea, and died in a sailing accident. Neither Rachel or Adam appear in any of the school yearbooks from the surrounding areas.

I suppose, I could try knocking on the door, if I really wanted to, but I'm worried about what might be hiding in the walls.