Adrenaline spiked through Amber's veins. “What man?”
“The man that was with you. I saw him riding up and down the stairs on Paulette's lift.”
“Trista, you were dreaming! There was no one here! And I don't ever want to hear you say that again, you understand?”
Trista nodded while continuing to munch on her Pop Tart. Then she boldly asked, “What happened? Why is the railing burned?”
“I don't know, Honey. It looks like Paulette's lift is broken.”
“Did that man do it, Mommy?”
Amber had all she could take of her daughter's keen observations. She took hold of Trista's face, “I'm not going to tell you again; there was no man here last night.”
* * *
Paulette made herself appear disappointed that the wheelchair lift was broken. But she was really masking her anger, realizing that Amber was having an affair on Father. She didn't appreciate the joke of being ejected out the window, and she certainly didn't appreciate the fact that a strange man was invited in the home to damage her lift. But how could she tell Father? He was so busy with work and depended on Amber to care for her. If Amber left, what would become of Paulette?
As the days in Michael's absence passed, Amber's mood swung from anxiety to forced relaxation. She went through every possible scenario of what to tell Michael. She even considered having the railing repaired before Michael came home. But any attempt to cover the damage would look just like that—an attempt to cover damage. It was best to leave the wheelchair lift as-is and appear clueless as to how it would have ended up in that condition. But even then, there was a big problem. Why was the lift downstairs while Paulette was upstairs? The usual custom was to leave the lift at the top of the stairs at night, and leave it downstairs while Paulette was on the lower level. Could the tracking of the lift have suddenly lost grip and slid down the railing where it exploded? Could Amber lead Michael into believing this?
By Saturday midmorning, the limousine tooted its musical horn, announcing Michael's return. As usual, Michael gave his wife a brief peck to the lips and then turned towards the family room to greet Paulette.
“Where's Paulette?”
“She's upstairs. We had another problem with the wheelchair lift.”
“What? What happened, now?” Michael stormed over to the staircase and then growled, “For cripes sake! What the hell happened? Look at the railing! How did it get burned?”
Amber did her best to mask nervousness. “I don't know. I came down one morning and found it like this. It looks like it exploded or something.”
“Exploded? How?” Michael bent down to closely examine the area of the burn. Then he investigated the wheelchair lift and immediately took notice of the stripped screw heads. “Did you call someone out here to look at the lift?”
Amber answered, “No.”
“Did you try opening something up?”
“No.”
Michael shook his head and sighed. “I mean what the hell goes on around here while I'm gone? I come home and see a broken lift and burns all over the railing.” He ascended the stairway, obviously on his way to see Paulette. Amber trailed behind.
As Michael entered Paulette's room, Amber stood in the hallway, but watched carefully the activities between father and daughter.
“Hi, Honey. Is your wheelchair lift broken?”
Paulette sadly nodded, yes.
Michael kissed his daughter on the cheek. “Don't worry; Daddy will get someone out here to fix it. I wish I could carry you downstairs, but I'm getting old.” Michael wouldn't dare mention the other reason. In the years of Paulette's inactivity, she gained a considerable amount of weight so that anyone would have difficulty carrying her down a flight of stairs. But Paulette didn't need to know this. Instead, Father was a gentleman and kindly took all the blame for Paulette's confinement.
The rest of the morning and throughout the afternoon was mostly quiet. Michael's silence was an indicator of sorting through his thoughts and feelings. Most likely, he was angry with Amber; but hadn't decided on how to act on his suspicions.
Occasionally, Amber's cell phone would buzz in her pocket; to which she would quickly remove it and begin typing away at the keypad. This was a very, unusual behavior; and for some reason, it disturbed Michael. In fact, the more he observed Amber in her tight-ass jeans and cutesy blouse; slowly pacing the rooms, creeping around walls and typing away at her phone; the more silently outraged Michael became. Was there some new technology on the phone that enabled Amber to have a secret boyfriend? Remember, this was only 2003. Texting wasn't as widespread as it is today.
Then, near four o'clock in the afternoon, Michael spoke up. “So what's for dinner?”
Amber shrugged her shoulders. “I've got some steaks. Do you want me to grill them up?”
“Steaks? Is that all? Do you have vegetables, maybe some potatoes to go along with it? How about a desert?”
“Sure…” said Amber.
Michael shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, is that all you do now days? You just creep around the house in your tight-ass jeans with cutesy, little blouse and type away on your phone? What are you doing, if you don't mind me asking?”
Without warning, Amber suddenly exploded. “You know, Michael; what is your problem? It's like you've got some kind of problem with me just because the wheelchair lift is broken! That's all you do, now! You look for one reason after another to be mad at me!”
Michael stood up, sighed and walked towards the basement door. “I'm going downstairs.”
And that's where Michael belonged in Amber's mind: deep, down in the cave to spend time with his deceased wife. In the meantime, Amber threw the steaks on the outside grill along with a few potatoes. Then she dumped a frozen bag of mixed vegetables in a plastic bowl and microwaved them. She didn't have to go out of her way to make Michael a special dinner. He was being an ass, and deserved harsh treatment. The man had it pretty good for all those years. Amber was beginning to feel taken for granted.
With Michael down in the cave, Amber found it the perfect opportunity to call Alex the Plumber and vent her frustrations. She stood outside near the grill and softly spoke to the very man who was responsible for all the trouble. “My husband is being such an ass. He's asking me what's for dinner, as-if he expects it. He totally takes me for granted. Then he was complaining about the way I dress, and even asked what I was doing on the phone. And he's mad at me for the wheelchair lift! I don't know why he thinks I'm responsible for the lift!”
Poor Amber; at least she had Alex to confide in!
An hour-and-a-half later, Michael emerged from the basement with half-drunk bottle of Pinot Noir and a full wine glass that was discarded in the sink. On the kitchen table sat a single place setting with an empty glass. There was a platter near the place setting with aluminum foil covering it. Next to it sat a covered, plastic bowl of mixed vegetables. Amber sat outside on the deck, watching Trista play on her jumbo playground. Apparently, Michael was to eat dinner alone, tonight.
But Michael had something important to ask his wife. She looked over to the screen door as it slid open and her husband walked out. To further demonstrate her anger towards Michael, she looked away and continued to watch Trista on the playground.
Michael was finally near. “Amber?”
“What?”
“I want to ask you something, and I want an honest answer.”
Amber was cold in her reply, “Sure…”
“Do you have a man coming over here while I'm gone?”
This questioned outraged Amber. “Oh my gosh! Are you serious? I can't believe you, Michael! Are you accusing me of having an affair?”
“Well that's pretty much what having a man come over means.”
At first, Amber's voice was low. “How dare you…” Then Amber screamed in a terrible fury, “How dare you! I run your house, take care of your invalid daughter, cook for you, try to make sex good for you; and you accuse me of having an affair? How dare you!
You can sleep in your office, tonight! And you might as well get used to that being your bedroom for a while!”
Michael said nothing in return. He only walked back into the house and ate his dinner in solitude.
And rest assured, Amber confided in her secret friend of that humiliating moment as she whispered on the cell phone later that night. “He actually asked me if I was having an affair—wanted to know if I have someone come over while he's gone. Where would he get that crazy idea?” Then Amber paused, “Oh my gosh! I just realized; that little bitch told him. Paulette told my husband. She must have heard us on that night you broke the wheelchair lift. I'll take care of her the next time my husband goes out of town.”
* * *
Next time wasn't too far into the future. On the following Wednesday, Michael announced a need to make a business trip on Friday morning. He wouldn't return until Sunday afternoon. Along with that, Michael made much improvement in his behavior at home. Receiving the silent treatment—Amber only communicating with her husband when necessary—along with Michael sleeping on the sofa in his office must have given him plenty of time to reconsider his inappropriate behavior.
The wheelchair lift had been repaired, and Paulette's presence returned to the lower level during the day. And of course, Amber continued to creep around the house while typing away at the cell phone. With Michael going out of town, big plans were underway for Amber and Alex on Saturday night. As for Friday; Alex, unfortunately, had some kind of date with his wife and couldn't get out of it. Such a disappointment! But at least they could spend Saturday night together.
And in addition to preparing for Saturday night, much planning was also underway of how to punish Paulette and discourage her from being Father's little spy.
Michael left Friday afternoon and everything appeared to Paulette to be normal. The wheelchair lift continued to function, and there were no voices of strange men in the house on Friday night. And much to Paulette's surprise, Amber entered the bedroom, bright and early on Saturday morning, making mention of giving Paulette her daily bath. In recent years, this was most unusual. Amber usually let Paulette's bath go for at least the first day of Father's absence.
This morning, Amber brought with her a tea cup. “Good morning! So how did you sleep last night?”
Suddenly, Paulette did not trust Amber.
“I started drinking green tea. It has plenty of antioxidants, but I can't seem to get it strong enough.” Amber pulled the tea bag in and out of the cup to maximize its steeping effect. Then she placed it on Paulette's dresser. “Come on; let's get you in the bathroom to do your business.”
Once Paulette completed her morning business on the toilet, she was next suspended in midair and undressed for her daily bath. Amber turned on the bath water, and adjusted the temperature. On this morning, the water needed to be nice and warm. Hotter… hotter… hotter… Amber continued to adjust the water until her finger instinctively pulled away out of discomfort. There, now the water was warm enough! Paulette had strawberry, red hair just like Linsey. Her skin was so delicate and pale, and probably very sensitive to extreme temperature.
Of course the water wasn't boiling hot! Amber certainly didn't have in mind to cause burns to Paulette. She only wished to shock her, maybe cause some uncomfortable scalding to Paulette's legs. While the tub filled with water, Amber went over to Paulette's dresser for her nice cup of green tea with bag that continued to steep.
Satisfied that the tub was full, Amber turned off the water. The heat and steam could be felt rising from the tub as Amber leaned over. Finally, Paulette was wheeled over, and the crane slowly lowered her paralyzed body into the bath water. While this happened, Amber took a couple sips of her tea.
In her condition, would Paulette be able to feel the pain? Perhaps she wouldn't realize the scalding until looking down at her legs. Oh, but Paulette definitely felt it as soon as the bottoms of her thighs and buttocks made contact with the water! Her head tilted back in the only reaction possible. Then Paulette began to scream out, signaling something terribly wrong. Amber was the only person who could help her in that moment. Surely she wouldn't let the paralyzed, young woman suffer.
But Amber only watched in amazement for a brief moment before setting her tea cup down. The damage to Paulette's spine must have been made in such a way that it only prevented movement, yet allowed her to have sensation.
Poor Paulette continued to frantically scream and thrash her head. Her long, straight, strawberry, red hair violently shook along her face, shoulders and neck. All alone on an early, Saturday morning with Father out of town; there was no one, outside of Amber, who could hear the screams. The bathroom door was locked shut; Paulette's bedroom door closed; and Trista's door had been shut that morning as well. The bathroom had been converted into an isolated torture chamber, many miles from civilization.
Amber showed extreme concern as she quickly approached the tub. “What? What is it, Honey?” She felt the bath water. “Oh no! I made the bath water too hot. I'm so sorry!” She immediately flipped the lever on the crane device to raise Paulette out of the water. Then she turned the bath water to cold and pulled the faucet open so it would balance the temperature to something more comfortable.
Paulette cried and whimpered like a little girl as she lay suspended in midair. But Amber didn't feel the least-bit sorry for her. Paulette was a woman, and she tried to play hardball with Amber. This morning was only a little sample of how Amber played back. Maybe next time Paulette would think twice before providing information to Father in secrecy.
Paulette's usually virgin, white skin was now lobster-red. “Oh, look at your legs! I scalded them! I'm so sorry.” As cold water continued to fill the tub, Amber placed a wash rag under the faucet and then gently padded Paulette's thighs and legs to provide cooling comfort. “They'll be alright. At least it wasn't boiling water like my cup of tea. I bet you felt like tea bag being steeped in a cup!”
Then Amber looked down at the tub. “Oops! I bet I'm making the water too cold, now!” She bent down towards the faucet and re-adjusted the water so that it was warmer and would hopefully balance the tub to a desirable temperature. “There, we'll let that fill up some more and let you sit in some lukewarm water. Again, I'm so sorry.”
Amber wasn't quite done with Paulette. This is why she let the water fill, nearly to the top of the tub. Amber needed to have a little talk with her adopted daughter, explain that it was best not to get over her head in causing trouble. “Uh-oh; I think maybe I filled the tub too high. That's okay, you should be fine.”
The crane slowly lowered terribly-concerned Paulette back into the tub.
“Oh Honey, don't worry! I'm not going to let you go under the water and drown. How would I explain that to your father? I was in hot water throughout the week, remember? For some reason, your father was mad at me for the wheelchair lift. Imagine the trouble I would be in if you drowned.”
Keep in mind that Paulette hadn't played in a swimming pool since before her bicycle accident. The sudden sensation of being weightless in a large tub of water, and unable to move, caused much panic for Paulette. How easy would it be for her bottom to suddenly lose grip and her head to go under?
Amber tilted Paulette's head back and gently poured water over her hair. “You're just so fortunate to have me here, taking care of you each day. You know I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you.” Amber couldn't wait for the moment of lifting Paulette's legs out of the water to wash them. In doing so, it would be very possible to tug one of Paulette's legs, ever-so slightly, but enough to pull her under the water.
A few minutes passed as Paulette's face and arms were washed. “People always ask me why I don't have you sent to a nursing home. I'm like, 'No way! I feel like Paulette is my own daughter.' I could never do that.”
Then, as Amber lifted Paulette's right leg out of the water, she did so in such a way that a tug was given, pulling the paralyzed women under, her head fully submerged. Amber was quick to rescue
Paulette! She lifted her by the armpits and made contact with Paulette's soft breasts. With her head out of the water, Paulette choked while desperately gasping for air. Again, it had been many years since playing in water. She was unfamiliar with holding her breath.
Imagine the terror and panic! Finally able to breathe, Paulette cried some more like a frightened, little girl.
Amber was apologetic. “Oh my! That was scary! I'm so sorry! I'm just batting a hundred, today. I've scalded you and now I nearly drowned you. You're probably thinking, 'What did I do?' Again, I'm so sorry.”
Through the years, Amber developed a certain intuition between her and Paulette. While dressing Paulette for the day, Amber noticed that her adopted daughter had a sudden surge of goose bumps, followed by tears that formed in her eyes. Apparently, she was deeply saddened and hurt by the morning's punishment. And then Paulette looked directly into Amber's eyes. Amber knew exactly what Paulette was saying.
“How could you do that to me? You know I wouldn't have told my father. I realize how dependent I am of you.”
Amber believed Paulette was merely feeling sorry for herself in that moment. Paulette knew very well why she had been punished. There was no reason to deny what she had done.
Chapter Twenty-three
There is good reason for not seeking revenge or taking matters into your own hands. Although it may certainly feel good at the moment vengeance is finally delivered; some time later, the intense, negative emotions subside which allows reasoning to be restored. It is during this time that a person begins to regret the delivered punishment. “Was I seeing things clearly? Did I overreact?”
This is how Amber began to feel later that morning. While doing Saturday housework, an overall weekly cleaning, she continuously replayed the sad image of Paulette's teary eyes that asked, “How could you? You know I didn't tell my father.”
Amber would quickly dispel these thoughts. “Yeah, right! Where else would Michael have gotten that idea? That snotty, little bitch can communicate without words to her father.”
The Death Mask Page 18
