by L V Gaudet
Trevor brings his hand up and gently caresses her cheek, watching her for the telltale signs of her reaction. Her pupils dilate and her breath comes faster. It’s the reaction he’s looking for. He leans in to kiss her softly and she hesitates before pushing him away.
There is no denying her true reaction, despite her quaking heart and guilt.
She looks down and he pulls her chin back up.
“Don’t say you didn’t like it.”
“I can’t.” She meets his eyes, hers full of the pain of loneliness, guilt, and need.
“He doesn’t look after you like I could. He leaves you alone too much. He won’t even let you go out and do anything, socialize. You haven’t even left the house except to do his laundry and buy food for his meals, have you? You aren’t meant to be kept a prisoner in his house.”
The truth of his words slices through her and she tries to make excuses in her own mind for Michael.
He leans in again and kisses her gently, slowly. Again, she hesitates before pushing him away. She has to force herself to be indignant.
“I said no. I can’t.” She gets up. “Take me home.”
Trevor looks up at her, hoping she will change her mind, and reluctantly gets up when she just stands there stubbornly waiting.
“Okay, I will take you home.”
They drive back in silence, him giving her time and her trying to compose herself.
When they pull up in front of the house, Elaine starts climbing out and Trevor follows.
“You don’t need to walk me to the door.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?”
I don’t want you to walk me to the door, she thinks. She’s afraid he will try to kiss her again.
As she opens the door and turns to say goodbye, he leans in again, his kiss more passionate this time. Her body responds too eagerly, even as her mind recoils and pulls away, the two at odds with each other.
“Let me come in.”
“No, you need to go.”
He tries to gently push his way in, careful to not be forceful, trying to put his arms around her and kiss her again.
She has to turn and slide away to escape his embrace. Panic flutters through her. Not that he might hurt her, but that she might give in and do something she doesn’t want to, something that she will regret.
Ryan, Michael, where are you? I wish you were here right now, that you would walk up, rescue me from this, from myself. Make him go away and understand that this can’t be because I am yours.
Her thoughts, the need for him to come right now, feel like a physical force flowing out through her with such intensity that Elaine wonders if he can feel them.
She pushes Trevor away more forcefully, standing firmer this time. Her voice wavers and she despises herself for it, trying to sound firm.
“You have to go.”
He steps back, giving her a reluctant look, and bows out. “You can’t blame me,” he says as he retreats to his truck.
She closes the door, leaving it open just a crack, watching him get in and drive away before she closes out that last chance for him to come back with the soft click of the latch.
Down the street, Ryan sits in a darkened car that is not his, watching. His jaw clenches and works angrily.
“I told you,” little Cassie says, sitting in the front passenger seat next to him. “He is a bad man. He’s tricking her, you know. He’s going to hurt her, just like you did and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”
“I won’t let him. I’ll kill him first.”
“And what are you going to do to stop yourself from hurting her again?” Jane Doe is talking to him now, sitting where Cassie was a moment ago. “You are angry. I know you want to go smash that door in. I can see it. If you go in there now, the ugly blackness will take over, you will lose yourself to it again, and you will hurt her. You will kill her.”
“No, I would never hurt her.”
“You did once, you will do it again.”
“Never again.”
“Why do you torture yourself like this? Why do you lie to her and sit here watching, waiting for him to steal her away from you? You are looking for a reason to hurt her.”
“He won’t steal her. She would never leave me, definitely not for that guy.”
“Why? She doesn’t know what he is, that he is just like you.”
“I’m not like him,” Ryan growls angrily. “Why would you even say that?”
“You are the same. You both let your anger at the world control you. You both use it as an excuse to hurt people.”
“It was a cow. He was torturing a cow, not a person.”
“Animal, person, if he can do it to one, he can do it to another. Maybe he already has. It’s too bad you don’t trust Anderson enough to ask him to check him out.”
“I don’t need Anderson. I’ll fix this myself. He’s not going to hurt her. He’s just messing around to get even with me. It’s a big leap to go from an animal you are paid to kill to killing a person.”
“She likes him,” Cassie says.
Ryan turns, surprised. “Where did she go?”
“Jane left. She thinks you are being dumb. When are you going to let her know you are back?”
“Later. Maybe tomorrow. I want to watch him. Why do you think she likes him?”
“She let him kiss her.”
He clenches the steering wheel harder, his knuckles turning white.
“Are you going to tell her you know?” Cassie asks.
“No. I need to see how this plays out. I need to know what he plans to do. I know he’s up to something. What if he knows something? What if she told him about our past? She could have let something slip. I need to find out.”
“Then what? Will you kill her? I like her. I don’t want you to hurt her.”
“No, I won’t hurt her.”
“What if she leaves you? What if she picks him? You should look after her better. What if she just leaves?”
“Where would she go?”
“She could go home.”
“No, she can’t. They will be waiting. They’ll be watching.”
“She’s not the one who’s running from the law, you are. She can go home any time she wants to.”
Ryan leans his head against the steering wheel, trying to control the anger surging through him. He is in a car, temporarily ‘borrowed’.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Leave me alone.”
Ryan sits there as the sky grows darker. He didn’t plan to come home until tomorrow. Tonight he planned to watch them both; see what if anything is going on. Now he knows.
“I could put off going home for a few more days to watch him.”
The image of Trevor and Elaine is burning in his mind. Anger surges in him and blackness presses against the edges of his vision.
“Ah, I can’t take it. I have to go in. I have to see her, talk to her.”
The anger is building. He feels betrayed.
“No, she didn’t do anything. She sent him away. But she was out with him. Who knows what they are doing while I’m gone.”
With a snarl, he starts the car and tears off down the street.
Elaine is leaning against the door. She feels exhausted and overwhelmed; wallowing in guilt and confusion.
I look forward to seeing Trevor because I’m so lonely, but I can’t deny the attraction I felt. I wanted him to kiss me, even though I know it’s wrong. I’m losing Michael. He’s becoming more distant all the time. What happens when he’s decided he’s tired of me?
The image of the McAllister farm comes to her, the women upstairs screaming and crying while she’s locked in the cellar, helpless and terrified. Being brought up and made to clean up the blood after he killed them for not being her, his sister Cassie.
Her knees go weak and the only thing stopping her from falling is that she’s leaning against the door. Her stomach swims with nausea and an icy sweat pours from her, sapping every ounce of strengt
h with it. She has gone pale as death.
He kills them. Every one of them.
The angry roar of an engine and screech of tires outside startles her, making her jump with a yelp.
“Ronnie,” she gasps, fear thrilling through her with the image of Ronnie barrelling in through the door, drunk and angry with that look in his eyes that always meant he’s going to beat her. She looks around quickly for escape, her heart pounding in her chest.
“No, stop it, he’s gone! Ronnie is gone forever! Michael made sure he could never hurt you again. No, Ryan, you have to remember to always call him that, always think of him as that or you’ll mess up.”
The color is coming back to her face. She looks at the door, shivering with shock, the color draining away again.
“Ryan. What if it was him? What if he saw?” She looks out the front window, seeing no sign of life. “No, it didn’t sound like his truck. It was just a neighbour.”
Exhausted from the emotions and too wound up from the stress, Elaine gets ready for bed and crawls in. She can only lay there sleeplessly staring at the dark ceiling.
Trevor is driving home feeling very satisfied.
“This is working out so beautifully. She’s fighting it, but Elaine is falling for me more every time I see her. Ryan is only helping dig her grave, always going off and leaving her alone.
This is going to be so sweet. The first time I take her, I’ll have her mind, body, and heart. I’ll make sure he knows.
The next time, Elaine will learn fear and pain. And when I’m finished with her, I will dump what little is left of her at his door for him to try to piece back together. He will know it was me, but they won’t be able to prove it. Then I will take her again and they’ll never find the body. But he will know what happened, oh he will know.”
The thought of it brings on a powerful urge, driving him.
“I can’t wait for Elaine. I need to have some fun now.”
He turns at the next street, heading out of town. He knows where there are easy pickings. He’s been watching the house.
Billy’s eyes strain to see through the blackness. It’s exhausting and makes them hurt. It’s dumb too, he knows. But his eyes keep straining to see, even though he has them closed tight.
The blindfold over his eyes is tied too tightly and, with a sack over his head, there is nothing but blackness when he does try opening them. The course fabric is scratchy on his eyeballs and he has to close them again.
He tries struggling and squirming again. His arms are twisted behind him and tightly bound. His legs are tightly bound too and pulled up behind him painfully. His bound hands are tied to his bound feet.
If I can get my hands down over my feet, maybe I can manage to pick one of these ropes loose.
He tries, and it feels like his shoulders are going to explode out of their sockets. The ropes feel like they are cutting through his skin. He whimpers through the gag with the pain.
He tries moving his fingers and feels the strain against his muscles. His arms are twisted in a way that makes it hard and painful even to move his fingers. He manages to finger one spot of rope with one finger. He feels the thin hardness of plastic. Hope fades.
Zip ties. I can’t untie zip ties.
Billy lies still, waiting for the pain to go. It never goes; it just is either more or less. Every time he tries to move, his muscles feel like they are being torn from his limbs with a white flare of agony. When he lies still, it’s an ever-tightening sharp pain of muscles and joints pulled and held in unnatural positions.
Am I still in a car or something? I don’t know. If I am, it hasn’t moved for a long time.
The terror of the past hours had his mind in a fuzzy panic, leaving him confused and unable to remember most of it. Except the fear. He can’t forget that.
32Meeting Marjory
“I don’t like the look of this place,” Jim complains.
Jim and Lawrence are sitting in Jim’s ancient Oldsmobile, staring at the building.
Bayburry Street Geriatric Home. It looks like it was constructed with a half-hearted attempt to make it comforting and welcoming, more bed and breakfast-styled resort than hospital, and utterly failed. Worse is the attempt at Southern plantation charm.
The result is a subtly threatening monstrosity. A building trying to trick you with forced false charm.
“That place is as out of place as your car,” Lawrence smirks.
Jim scowls at him.
“How is this thing even still on the road?” Lawrence digs in deeper. “They haven’t even made these cars in decades.”
“It’s a classic. Don’t make me regret letting you come.”
Lawrence laughs. “This heap is no classic.”
“I could see you in a place like this.” Lawrence grins mischievously.
“Over my dead body. The place looks like a funeral home, not a care home for the elderly.”
“Shall we go in?”
“Fine,” Jim grunts.
The inside looks even more like a funeral home. Forced elegance and perfumed flowers give the place an untouchable air. It’s as silent as a tomb and lifeless. The wear and tear of the decades is even more obvious on the inside.
“This place is as worn out as its residents,” Jim whispers.
Lawrence stifles a laugh, feeling like any sound is vulgar. He suspects everyone must whisper quietly here.
“Can I help you gentlemen? I am Miss Krueger, the Director of Bayburry Street Geriatric Home.”
The authoritative voice booming in comparison to the absolute silence a moment before startles them both. They turn like a pair of boys caught red-handed and unsure what they are guilty of.
The woman is past middle-aged, her hair looking a bit haggard in a bun that may have looked severe when it was fresh. The tired lines around her eyes make her look annoyed rather than softening the severity of her expression.
She is a bit frightening.
Jim manages to pull himself out of his shock, flashing his badge quickly and putting it away so she doesn’t have a chance to look at it too closely. He is out of his jurisdiction. Puffing up his chest, he uses his best authoritative voice.
“Detective Jim McNelly, this is my partner. We are here to interview Mrs. Marjory McAllister as part of an investigation.”
“I am afraid that is quite impossible,” Miss Krueger says.
“We have a court order.” Lawrence pulls out a folded paper, unfolding it and flashing it before her to reveal an official-looking document. He folds it up and puts it away without giving her the chance to inspect it.
She doesn’t back down, shaking her head sternly.
“You are wasting your time gentlemen. You cannot question Mrs. McAllister. Are you aware that this is an end of life assisted living facility? Our residents require around the clock care and we do our best to keep them comfortable in their final days on this earth.”
“Has she,” Lawrence looks around, his birdlike mannerisms and large nose more resembling a confused vulture than the intended innocence, “passed on?”
“She is quite alive.”
“Then we need to interview her,” Jim insists.
“Fine, but you are wasting your time. I’m afraid Mrs. McAllister resides in our secure wing for those residents with mental infirmities. Physically, she is healthy for her age. But her mind and memory are completely gone.
She leads them through a set of grand double doors that hide the hallway and doors beyond.
Past the double doors all façade of grandeur is gone and replaced with architectural décor that screams mental hospital. The doors are reinforced steel and glass.
She pulls out a ring of keys. They jangle loudly in the silence. Jim thinks of a jail.
“Is that soundproofed?” Lawrence asks. “I expected to see residents walking around and at least hear them in a place this size.”
“It is soundproofed. We don’t want to disturb the residents in the other ward.”
She unlocks t
he door, opening it and waving them through ahead of her. She makes sure it is securely latched behind them.
“It is not visiting hours. We normally keep this door locked outside of visiting hours.”
Jim and Lawrence look ahead of them. There, a harried looking woman wearing a nurse’s uniform looks at them with stunned surprise from behind a desk that looks like it belongs in a hospital ward. Next to the desk is another set of double reinforced steel and glass doors. They can hear the hint of sounds echoing from the other side of those doors.
“Karen, these gentlemen are detectives here to see Mrs. Marjory McAllister,” Miss Krueger says, her voice as commanding as before. “Is she having one of her good days today?”
Jim suspects she’s not capable of sounding soft.
“It’s not her best day, but not her worst.” Karen hurries to pull out a book and lay it out on the desk.
“I need you to sign in.” She looks at them apologetically.
Jim and Lawrence exchange looks. They don’t want to leave a record they were here. Jim shrugs and steps forward to sign. His writing is illegible. Lawrence follows suit.
Satisfied, the Director nods to Karen to allow them in.
She hurriedly grabs keys from behind the desk and unlocks the doors, opening them to unleash a cacophony of noises.
Somewhere within the lockdown wing a woman is wailing loudly in distress.
“This way gentlemen,” Miss Krueger commands, leading the way. “For the most part, the residents in this wing are unaware, lost in their own fading minds. They have their good days and their bad. They can get confused easily, and that makes them frustrated and distressed. You are in luck. Today is not one of her worst days. She might even know who she is today. I do not want you to distress Mrs. McAllister. It can take a resident hours to come down from that.”
Their walk through the lock-down ward is an eye opening experience. Residents wander the halls, some seeming hopelessly lost. It’s a noisy and busy ward.
