13th Hour

by Tammie Painter

  ~ 6 ~

  Carlton seethed as Mr. Pearl insisted Bert sit in the back seat of the Rolls. A man such as The Toad shouldn’t even be inside a car such as this. The men in Carlton's family had served the wealthy in some capacity since the 17th century. It was in their blood to show respect, but to also deserve respect. They, like the lead cook and head housekeeper, were more than mere servants; they were the upper crust within the workings of the house. They knew when to anticipate a person's needs before the person was even aware they needed something. It was natural to them to make it seem natural to the people they served to be waited on hand and foot. They saw to it the house ran as perfectly as possible.

  The Toad did not fit into that perfection. One did not just walk off the streets and know how to belong in a family such as the Pearls. The Toad did not seem to recognize this obvious fact of life. The resentment Carlton festered for Bert began upon report of Bert sitting to the right of Mr. Pearl at a dinner party. To the right was reserved for only the most important. This toad of a man was lower than dirt and had no breeding.

  And now this offense against Mrs. Pearl.

  It was time for The Toad to be gone. Forever. Men like him polluted the world of the privileged.

  But trapped in Carlton's breeding and training was the need to do things properly, to allow a fair fight. There would be no shooting in the back or trickery that would leave Carlton feeling as if he'd disrespected the propriety of his own class.

  "Choose where you will die," Carlton said as he flicked the child locks.

  "I'll die where I lie down and don't wake up again."

  "Enough of your ridiculous words. You'll die today. Choose where or I will take you to the police for raping Mrs. Pearl."

  "Rape her? You must be joking. I've no interest in her. You should have gotten the news by now that I've no taste for classy things. She'd give me more trouble than fish paté."

  "Choose."

  "You're serious?"

  "Quite. Choose and die like a man, or else face a prison cell with men who will make you wish you were dead."

  "Fine. To Forest Park then. It was the first place I stayed in Portland. I like it there. So much so I wouldn't mind decomposing into a clump of trillium."

  Carlton drove to a parking area few people used. The immense park, larger than some towns, suited Carlton. The body would be easy to dispose of without the effort of transporting it elsewhere.

  "Get out," Carlton released the safety locks. Looking in the mirror he detested the expression on The Toad's face. No fear, no pleading, nothing but the usual silly smirk that was forever plastered on his face as if The Toad were always in on a joke you wouldn't get. The Toad got out of the car and waited for Carlton to pull himself out.

  "Gonna make it, Old Boy?" Bert asked. "So, I get to choose where I die. Is this some bizarre aspect of your moral code that tells you murder is fine as long as the murderee gets to feel they're in a nice place? Strange, but it's your show. Still, what if I choose to run, Old Boy? You couldn't catch me. You're sweating bullets just getting out of the car."

  "You wouldn't run. You're enjoying this too much."

  "You're right on that. It's not every day I get to die. Tends to be a one off kind of deal, not much different than losing one's virginity – bit scary, not sure what to expect, possibly messy, and once it's done you can't go back."

  "Would you shut your mouth for once."

  "One last thing. There is a difference between this and losing the old cherry."

  "What?"

  "Far less likelihood of one of us ending up pregnant." Bert tilted his head toward Carlton waiting for a laugh or even a giggle. "You really have no sense of humor, Old Boy. Sad that. So much for the jolly fat man. Well, let's go. There's a divine spot with a great view. I'd love to rot there."

  Bert took Carlton up one ridge and down the next. If Carlton lodged any complaint, Bert swore the paths must have been altered since his time there or that the various trail names confused him.

  "Spruce Trail, Maple Trail, Redwood Trail. This might be easier on both of us if I'd paid better attention in biology. You alright, Old Boy?"

  The driver wheezed. It had taken everything for him not to show any weakness. The hills were torment on his legs, back and heart. He wanted to shoot The Toad after the third climb, but his father's voice rang in his head reciting the lack of dignity in a man who shot another in the back. But now? He felt as if bricks had been laid on his chest. His father had killed a man that way – piling the bricks until the man could no longer breathe. That had been another one who didn't know his place. He'd run off with the daughter of the house - an act akin to social rape.

  People needed to know when to stay within their class or else pay the price. It was why Carlton hoped Mrs. Pearl would never offer herself to him – although he dreamed of it. It was obvious she wanted him, but he would be torn between knowing his proper place and a duty to obey what she demanded. Carlton was pulled from his conundrum by The Toad's voice. It sounded so far away. Had The Toad run? Again, the lower class proving their lack of class. Pain seared through his body and the world shot him full off brilliant unbearable brightness, then black.

  ~ 7 ~

  Albert was laughing.

  "But how did you save him? No offense, Bert, but I don't take you for someone who keeps up their CPR card."

  "No indeed. I've kissed enough dummies in my life."

  And Albert laughed harder. The entire day he'd been looking for Bert, calling for him like a little girl trying to find her cat.

  "Give up, dear," Miriam had said. "He's obviously run away from home."

  "I don't think he'd leave without saying anything. What if he's in trouble? I never really know where he goes when he isn't here."

  "We can put up lost and found posters. Really, Albert, he's a grown man with a mind of his own. He drifts and you knew that when you took up with him. You can't own a stray."

  Albert didn't see Miriam's smirk when the Rolls pull up. He did however hear her groan when Bert called from the entryway, "Did anyone order one obese man? He's a bit out of sorts, but will probably be raiding the pantry by evening."

  "Everything alright, Miriam? You don't look well."

  "Bit of gas. Better go see what your toad is on about."

  "I wish you wouldn't call him that."

  "It suits him."

  When Albert went out, Bert had Carlton's arm around his shoulder and was walking him over to the bench in front of the house.

  "Carlton? Bert, what's happened?"

  "Carlton and I went out for a bit. Okay, truth be told, I do believe he wanted to kill me. Don't be angry with him. Someone obviously set him up for it; I don't think he'd have come up with the idea himself. No offense Old Boy, but you're all about doing what you're told, not thinking for yourself. You really should reconsider that approach to life. I mean, look where it's gotten you."

  "Bert, what are you talking about? Carlton tried to kill you?"

  "He was very polite and genteel about it. But when I wanted to die in this beautiful little spot, well I may have gotten lost a few times, and I may have taken the ways with the biggest hills, and I may have given him a heart attack."

  By now several other servants had come to see what the fuss was about. Albert ordered the cook to get in and call an ambulance, then the head housekeeper to stay with Carlton while he and Bert went up to the study. By the time they got there, Albert was laughing so hard tears were dripping from his eyes.

  "So without the CPR—"

  "Well, it's not Red Cross approved, but I camped with a Chinese man once who taught me all kinds of strange things. Did you know duckbills are actually rather tasty? Of course, the ducks do look a bit silly afterward. Anyway, the Chinaman showed me different ways to influence the body by simply giving a squeeze. I thought I'd forgotten it all, but once I'd given Carlton the heart attack I certainly couldn't just let him die."

  "But he was going to kill you."

  "He hadn'
t drawn a weapon so there was still a chance he might have a change of heart. Which apparently he did."

  "Unless someone told Carlton to change his mind he wouldn't."

  "Does someone have to tell him when to crap as well? Never mind, don't answer. So, suddenly my brain kicks in and I remember that a pinch to the tip of the pinky will stop a heart attack. To be honest I thought the Chinaman was full of crap when he told me this, but it seems to work."

  "I wonder who would have wanted you dead?"

  Bert shrugged, "I don't know, but they should have had the decency to wait in line behind all the others who are queued up to kill me. Taking cuts is so rude. So what shall we do today?"

  "I think you should move in here. It would be safer."

  "Safer? Your driver just tried to kill me. The streets have proven to be safer than Casa Pearl."

  "Okay, it would be better for me. I like having you around. You make my day fun. I just think with as much as you're here, you might as well occupy one of the ten bedrooms we don't use."

  ~ 8 ~

  After some initial reluctance, Bert decided living in a posh house would be something he'd never experienced. "And life is all about the experiences, Albert."

  Miriam was furious. "I won't have that mongrel in one of my beds."

  "You're being unreasonable. He'll be no trouble. You won't even know he's here."

  "I always know when he's here. His stupid cackle and ugly features pierce through the woodwork. And I know once I hear that annoying laugh that soon you'll be chortling right along with him."

  "You used to like him."

  "For the first week."

  "Look, if you let him stay you can tell your charity group of the wonderful thing you are doing by letting a homeless man share your home. Think how good it will make you look."

  That got her. If there was anything Miriam loved more than being rich, it was having people think how the money hadn't changed her, how kind she was, and how giving. She thought of herself as the Princess Diana of Portland – rich, but yet always thinking of and caring for others.

  "Fine, he can stay. But only through the winter."

  ~ 9 ~

  Bert found it odd to lie in such a soft bed in such a warm room. The first week he couldn't sleep without opening the windows and moving the pile of down blankets to the floor. The house stifled him as if the walls, regardless of the spaciousness, penned in his thoughts. Miriam was thankful for his morose behavior as it kept his cackle at bay and she hoped Albert would recognize what his offer had done to Bert and send The Toad back to whatever brackish water he spawned from.

  But Albert didn't. He'd grown too used to having Bert around and Bert was what he wanted. Albert's rank in life meant he no longer took into account other people's feelings, only how the other people made him feel or what they could do for him.

  Miriam's loathing of Bert hadn't subsided. Albert's promise of her looking like a saint to her charity group hadn't been realized. Turned out homeless people were so last year. These days the rage was cleft palate children. That bitch Cassandra King was hosting two of them who were in town to get surgery to repair the malformation. An ugly homeless man who was homeless by choice couldn't stand up to two dark-eyed orphans. When the women laughed at her, Miriam's interest in promoting the end of Bert's life was renewed.

  ~ 10 ~

  "Try some lobster, Bert," Albert insisted one evening at dinner. "It's delicious."

  Miriam considered giving the lobster, flown in that morning from Maine and selected by one of New England's top chefs for its sweet meat, to someone like The Toad would be more of a waste than giving it to a dog who would just throw it up on the rug. No one of Bert's class could understand or appreciate the texture, the superiority, the perfection of the dish. He would be better off eating fake crabmeat.

  "No thanks, Old Man. I've never understood the desire to eat anything that smells as bad as fish. Besides, that lobster could have nibbled on a human body and I can't add cannibal to my list of vices. Oh, and I'm terribly allergic. Minor detail."

  "What happens if you eat it?" Albert asked.

  "Nothing more severe than what happens to a person allergic to bee stings. Just a tad dose of anaphylactic shock." Bert took a bite of his peanut butter on white bread.

  "Must be terribly frightening." Miriam oozed compassion.

  "Lucky for me dead fish are easier to run from than angry bees."

  And Albert choked on his own hunk of white bread with peanut butter as he laughed at Bert's comment. Miriam rolled her eyes in disgust with her husband, but at least now she had a plan even The Toad couldn't talk his way out of.

  ~ 11 ~

  "Cook," Miriam addressed the man who had prepared or planned every meal for the Pearls for the past ten years, "do you know a way to feature fish in a simple meal so that the person wouldn't taste it?"

  "Why wouldn't you want to taste the fish? It should be the center of the meal."

  "The person doesn't like fish."

  "So why make them eat it?"

  "Well, you know, fish is so good for you with all the protein and omega things and I just think it would be healthy."

  "I could create a patè of salmon and chestnuts."

  "No, too apparent. It has to be undetectable."

  "I have been wanting to try a sausage in which fish is added. The flavor of the pork will hide any fish taste."

  "Perfect. Can you prepare it for tonight?"

  "Of course."

  ~ 12 ~

  Bert's eyes swelled as he saw the large bockwurst being put on his plate. He scooped a pile of sauerkraut alongside it and squirted it all down with a flood of yellow mustard. Miriam saw Cook grimace at his creation being drowned without being sampled first.

  "This looks wonderful. Finally, some simple food I can recognize."

  "Dig in," Albert said as he took a bite. "This is the best sausage I've ever tasted." Cook beamed, never tiring of a compliment to his work.

  Bert took a bite of the sauerkraut as Miriam mentally urged him to stop wasting time with rotted cabbage and eat the meat. "Mmm…gotta warm up the palate for the big show."

  Two more mouthfuls of the cabbage and then Bert sliced into the sausage. Just as he was about to put it to his mouth, he paused.

  "What's in this?" he asked the cook. "I smell pork, but also something else."

  Miriam looked to Cook. He knew well enough how to answer.

  "Some spices I wanted to try and a small amount of beef to round out the flavor."

  "So you really made this yourself?"

  "Bert, if you want to discuss things with Cook you do so after the meal. Not during. Now honor the man's work and eat."

  "Sorry, my class is showing again."

  And the bite of sausage went into his mouth. It was indeed the best sausage he'd ever tasted. As he began to slice another piece, his throat squeezed. He breathed in, but air wouldn't pass through to his lungs.

  "Bert, everything okay?"

  Bert shook his head. It felt like his eyes would pop.

  "Are you choking?" Miriam faked concern. She got in position as if she would perform the Heimlich maneuver although she'd really rather not to have to touch The Toad.

  Bert shook his head, then nodded his head. His face burned red. Albert slapped him on the back. "What do you need us to do?"

  Bert gaped open his mouth like a fish out of water. Albert saw Bert's tongue was blue, then Bert collapsed. Albert did the only thing he could think of.

  "Why are you pinching his pinky?" Miriam asked.

  Albert, now in tears, sobbed, "I don't know what else to do."

  ~ 13 ~

  Bert, much to Miriam's irritation, was buried in the Pearl family plot. She hated that even in death The Toad didn't know his place. Albert would take up with another mistress soon enough to entertain himself, but that was gossip every wife of her circle had spread about themselves. At least tolerating an affair was part of the territory of being a rich man's wife. Putting up with a
husband mingling with the poor (unless it was as part of a charity that benefited one's reputation) was not. Albert needed to remember who he was.

  Miriam saw to it he did.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Family Secrets

  "FAMILY SECRETS" STARTED with just the opening line. I brainstormed about why someone wouldn't want to open a door and settled on the obvious – to protect themselves from what might be out there. Unfortunately, the magazine that ran the contest, Writer's Journal, went under just as I was ready to pack this one into the envelope.

  ***

  "Whatever you do don't open the door, okay, buddy?"

  "Yeah, Dad." Caleb gave an exasperated sigh. They told him this every time they went out for their monthly date. Next would come mom and the curtains.

  "And keep the curtains shut. Remember?"

  "I know, Mom." When her eyes pulled into a scolded puppy droop he felt bad for being snippy. He smiled at her. "I'll be careful. Now you two kids don't stay out too late."

  "Good man." His father gave him a sturdy clap on the shoulder. Caleb could see the hair on his father's forearm sticking out of the cuff. He'd never really thought of his dad as a hairy guy, but he knew sometimes when people got older they got hairier. Look at the tufts coming out of Grandpa's ears and those gnarly rogue hairs poking from Gran-Gran's chin. And, he thought with pride, the hairs that sprouted above his own—

  "My sweetheart." In the middle of thinking about his crotch, his mom interrupted with a kiss to his forehead. "There's fried chicken in the fridge. Oh, and don't eat too much junk food, especially chocolate."

  "C'mon, Margie. Leave the boy be. I'm starving already and it's going to take us an hour to get there."

  With another goodbye from his mom, Caleb closed the door behind them. He waited by the front window until he heard the car back out of the driveway. He didn't know or care where they went, but he did know and did care that they would be gone until at least midnight, one a.m. more likely. He thought it was silly he always had to stay home when they went on this date night thing they'd concocted. Any other night he was allowed to go to his friend Aaron's house, but on date night his parents insisted he stay home, lock the doors, and keep the curtains shut tight. He could only figure they had some paranoia about the house being robbed, but no concern about the burglar stealing their only child.