Free Stranglehold by Jack Ketchum Page A

what he said to me, anyhow."
    She thought about it. She guessed that Arthur'd been talking to him about Indian fakirs on beds of nails, fire-walkers, that kind of thing. But Robert wasn't talking about the mysteries of neurological functions now. He'd got it mixed up. It was clear he was worrying about expressing pain, ashamed of crying. He was talking about some ridiculous macho thing. Getting into the fakirs and fire-walkers now would probably only confuse him.
    But she was going to scotch this one right away.
    "Daddy's wrong," she said. "If you hurt, you hurt. Period. And it's all right to yell as hard as you want to or cry as hard as you want to. You don't have to try to tough it out just because you're a boy. Okay?"
    He nodded. "Okay."
    But then over time when he still kept falling and bumping into things she saw very little in the way of tears.
    Not even after a nightmare. And he evidently had some doozies .

    The worst thing, though, from both hers and Robert's point of view, was that at the age of almost eight he'd begun to soil the bed at night.
    Not wetting it. Having bowel movements in his sleep.
    It didn't happen every night but as many as three or four a week.
    He hadn't done that since he was out of diapers. And now here he was back in them again, and damned humiliated by it. At an age when all the other kids wanted to go over to friends' houses on sleepover nights or have other kids to their house he could have none of it. He got asked and then he had to lie and say no, his mom was too strict and wouldn't let him.
    Close friends like Cindy knew the truth. With most of the other mothers she simply backed his lie. Let them think what they wanted about her. She didn't trust them with his secret.
    She didn't even tell his teacher, although she was working closely with Mrs. Youngjohn on some of his other problems. Lydia could see that just having it happen to him at all embarrassed the hell out of him. Other kids and parents knowing would be awful.
    He started doing something very strange which she thought was somehow related.
    The first time he did it she figured he was just being sort of perverse. Kids could be that way.
    But later, as it continued, she wondered.
    She walked into his room one night where he sat on the bed playing with his guys, bashing them into each other. Some superhero war game.
    "Got to put this on," she said and held up the diaper. "Bedtime."
    By then he knew the drill. But he didn't have to like it. "Just a minute, okay? Just one more minute," he said and continued bashing away.
    " Now ," she said.
    He sighed and made a face, making a big mock show of anger as he took off his clothes and got onto the bed.
    And that was when he did what struck her as so completely odd.
    He knelt on the bed stark naked and pressed his skinny chest directly to his knees .
    His forehead rested on the mattress.
    He dropped his arms behind him, fingertips touching his feet.
    His pale white butt was sticking straight up at her. It was so unexpected that she laughed.
    "Robert, what are you doing? How am I supposed to get a diaper on you in that position?"
    She couldn't, obviously. It wasn't possible.
    He didn't answer.
    "Robert?"
    He didn't move, either.
    Protest , she thought. He doesn't feel like going to bed yet and he doesn't want the diaper on so he's found a brand-new wrinkle . Kids .
    "Hey. Robert. This is not funny. Now roll over on your back so I can get this on, okay?"
    He did as he was told.
    She looked at him in silence as she worked. His expression was almost somber.
    Poor little guy, she thought. Bromberg, the child psychologist he was seeing, wasn't doing him a damn bit of good. Bromberg said it would take time. Well, it was taking too damn much time. Every day she could see another grain of his happiness, his childhood, his personality being washed away like sand on a beach by these constant waves of exclusion and humiliation.
    I'm different , he must think.
    I stutter and I shit the bed so I'm bad