sounded a bit too high-pitched.
"It's just…well, the last time you got like this we had to take you to the hospital."
The hospital. The blood drained from my face, but I pasted on a smile. That he would even think of the hospital showed that I had really let things get out of hand. Tomorrow I would set it all right. Towels would be folded in thirds, toilet paper placed in the over-hand position…and Tiny Man would have to go back on George's shelf. This last thing squeezed my heart, but I had to regain control.
Apparently I had been silent too long, because Adam continued. "I'm not saying I want you to go back, I just want to nip the problem in the bud, if there is a problem." He glanced meaningfully around the room.
I wanted to shout at Adam, Is that all you care about? but I knew I had to play it cool. I jostled him over as I swung my legs around and put my feet on the floor. "I'll clean it all up tomorrow, honey. Thanks for pointing it out." I started to get up, but a touch on my foot stopped me. Tiny Man had crept out from under the bed and was now lying with his hand reassuringly on my ankle, gazing up with painted blue eyes above the black mask. He was very good at looking plastic.
Adam followed my gaze. "That's what I'm talking about, right there." To my horror, he reached down and wrapped his hand around Tiny Man's waist. "Last week this—“ Adam gave T.M. a shake for emphasis “—never would have been allowed out of George's room, much less left lying around our bedroom."
"Don't touch him!" I snatched Tiny Man out of his hand, and Adam blinked at me. "Um, it, don’t touch it. I'll do it, darling. Let me just get these toys to George's room." I hastily gathered up the other action figures from the floor and felt Adam's eyes on me as I left the room.
George’s soft snore greeted me. Tiptoeing into the darkened room, I placed the action figures—the inanimate ones—in the toy box and turned to the bookcase. "Good night, Tiny Man," I whispered as I began to lift him to his shelf. His touch stopped me. I brought him close to my face.
He was barely visible by the indirect light from the hall, but I thought I saw a tear sparkle in his eye. "You are suffering because of me," he said in a hoarse whisper.
"No, no, darling. I'm not suffering," I said, trying to keep an eye on George and the doorway at the same time. "But what are we going to do? We can't go on like this. I mean, it's only been two weeks and look at this place."
"Tomorrow. We will remedy the situation tomorrow." He gestured and I brought him up to my cheek. "Good night, mon amie." His breath on my skin made me shiver.
"Good night, my tiny man," I replied, boosting him up onto his shelf. "Tomorrow."
I couldn't get to sleep until late. As I lay next to Adam, listening to his slow, even breaths, I turned over everything in my mind again and again. There was guilt about the affair, that's for sure, but even from this end it seemed crazy. Adam would never understand. I could never come clean.
Clean. Tiny Man would help me clean tomorrow. Together, we would set things right, and Adam would be none the wiser. There would be no hospital, no Dr. Denman. Hmm, Maybe Tiny Man would be willing to dust behind the couch for me, and under the refrigerator…after all, he is the perfect man.
I finally drifted off with the white noise of the vacuum cleaner running in my head.
"It is time."
My face was half-buried in my pillow. I turned my head slightly and opened an eye to make sure I wasn't still dreaming. For a moment all I could see was the dawn-lit room, then there was movement and Tiny Man materialized in front of my face. I jerked, and he put a finger to his ninja mask.
It was too late; my involuntary movement had stirred Adam. In a flash, Tiny Man froze, falling to the bed with doll-like rigidity. I held my breath and considered flicking the ninja onto the floor, but he blended with the shadows.
Adam peered at the clock and grunted, settling back under the covers. When his breathing settled into a slow, even rhythm, Tiny Man sat up.
"Time for what?" I whispered.
"Time to set things right, ma cherie."
"But—" I slid out from under the covers, careful not to jostle the bed, and tiptoed to the kitchen, Tiny Man in hand. I continued: "We can't start cleaning the house yet. Adam won't go to work for three hours."
Tiny Man's little painted eyebrows came together. "Clean? Why would we clean ze house?"
"We decided to set things right, so Adam wouldn't suspect us."
His laughter was low and raspy. "Oh, mon amie, you are so innocent. I thought you understood—Adam must die."
I did a double-take. "What?"
"It is ze only way you will be truly happy. Adam wants to put you away, yes?"
"He doesn't want to put me away, T.M. I have a history, a mental history, if you know what I mean. He just wants me to be happy, too." I didn’t know how true that was, but I was dealing with an apparently homicidal little ninja.
"But, I brought ze necessary tools: ze throwing stars, ze nun chucks—"
When he produced the weapons I laughed. "They're tiny. You couldn't kill a one-legged grasshopper with those things." I shook my head to get back on track. "Wait a minute, you are not going to kill Adam."
His once-painted, now-real eyes glittered in the nightlight. Where before there was uncertainty, now there was passion. "You are too close. You can not see it. I will save you, ma cherie!" Before I could react he leapt from my hand, hoisted a paring knife from the counter, and sprinted down the hall with it over his head. For a little sucker, he was quick.
"T.M., no!" I cried, racing after him. When I arrived at the bedroom door, Tiny Man was on Adam's chest, poised to plunge the paring knife into Adam’s exposed throat.
I bounded to the bed and snatched up Tiny Man. His muscles rippled as I wrestled the knife away from him and held it out of his reach.
So, I was this way, standing over my sleeping husband with a knife in my upraised hand, wide-eyed and panting, when Adam opened his eyes.
"And that's how it was, Dr. Denman. I wasn't trying to hurt my husband, I was trying to save him."
"From an inanimate object."
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Tiny Man is alive." I wanted to cry from frustration, but I knew from experience that it would only make me seem hysterical.
Dr. Denman wasn't really a meanie, he was just doing the dance. He withdrew, I pursued; he pushed, I retreated. But he threw me this time, when he added a new step in our little psycho-dance: he casually opened the desk drawer and lifted out…Tiny Man. Brilliant. "Adam got it from George," the doctor said. "He knew exactly which doll we were talking about."
I realized with horror that Tiny Man was in two pieces, broken in half at the waist. "What happened to hi—it?" He handed the doll over the desk. I hesitated.
"Your husband was distraught, and took it out on the nearest thing. Understandable, under the circumstances."
With shaking hands, I reached out. Even before my hand touched the molded plastic, I could tell there was no life in it. I peered into T.M.'s piercing ninja eyes, looking for the spark, but it was not there. Tiny Man was only a toy now.
As, I admitted, he must have always been.
When I handed the doll back to Dr. Denman, the tears spilled over. I cried for many reasons: one, I felt like an idiot; two, I felt like I was handing over my sanity. But even more than that, I cried because no matter how false my relationship with Tiny Man was, I still remembered every bit. It felt real. And it hurt like hell to see him lying in two pieces on Dr. Denman's desk.
Finally my sobs slowed enough that I could speak. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and said, "Can you make me better?"
Dr. Denman's face softened. "I think an adjustment to your medication will take care of your symptoms, but I want to keep you here for a while, just to make sure you're healthy before I send you home to your family."
"You mean to make sure I'm not a danger."
He smiled benignly. "That, too."
I went home after a week in the hospital. Dr. Denman reassured Adam tha
t the hallucinations had been caused by an overdose in my medication. My first day home was awkward, but I threw myself into the housework. Had to set the house right though it would probably take days. I made a game out of it so little George could help. I had to make it up to him, especially. He was glad to have me home.
Adam, I wasn't so sure about. At bedtime that first night, I waited on the bed for him to come out of the bathroom. He had changed in there, hiding, I guessed, because he was angry with me. When he finally emerged, I said, "It's going to be a while before we can sleep in the same room, huh?"
"Yes, but it'll be all right. I'll be perfectly comfortable on the air mattress in George's room." He looked at me as if he might kiss me good night, but he didn't. "I'm glad you're home. This place already looks better."
Maybe I should have let Tiny Man finish the job.
I chided myself for that irrational thought. Tiny Man was a figment of my imagination, as much as that hurt. If Adam had died, it would have been by my own hand. He could be insensitive, but he didn't deserve to die. Cut, maybe. A little.
No, stop it.
Adam followed me into George’s room and went to his air mattress on the far side. George opened his eyes when I kissed him on the forehead. "Hi, Georgie. I just wanted to say goodnight." I gazed at his perfect little face, with its luscious eyelashes and cherubic cheeks, not yet touched by sorrow. What had I almost done to my baby boy? A lump rose in my throat as I pondered what might have become of him,