Yet as much as she tried to tell herself he was her abuser, she knew that she had become dependent on him, and had loved him so deeply she couldn’t think straight. Something told her that the obsession that had clearly driven Jackson to kill her had been in her own heart, too. And it seemed that she had been aware of the danger all along, and yet had done nothing to stop seeing him. There were still many years to cover, though, before her inevitable demise, and she wished it would all become clear sooner; but she knew that she would have to go on reading before she would understand anything any better.
Movement somewhere behind her made her jump up, ready to defend herself, but the person who stepped forth from the shadows meant her no harm.
“Betty? What are you doing here? What are you doing out of your room?”
“I was looking for you, Ariel told me you were here. Are you OK? I haven’t seen you in ages, feels like weeks.” Betty pulled up a chair beside Dakota, glancing briefly around her. Dakota suspected that she was still expecting her ex-husbands to leap screaming from the shadows.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to come and see you but I ended up here instead.”
Dakota began telling Betty everything that she had been through, from seeing her own dead body, up to discovering who probably put her there.
“I think they call that Stockholm Syndrome,” said Betty, lighting another cigarette between her thin wrinkled lips.
“What’s that?”
“It’s when victims of abuse or kidnap victims fall in love with their abusers. It sounds like that’s what happened to you.”
“It’s so weird. I know that they were my feelings, cos I remember having them, and yet I also feel like I must have been sick in the head to be the one who started it. Why didn’t I care that he was so much older than me? Why did I feel so much… love for him… missing him when he didn’t come up?” Dakota shook her head, confusion clouding her mind: the remembrances of her feelings for him, half-fearing, half-loving, and now the thought that what was happening was so wrong she couldn’t believe she had never seen it before. “How could I have thought I loved him when he was doing that to me? I was so young!”
“That’s what I mean. You developed a dependency on him. You cherished every soft hand on you, every tender word because it made all the other stuff seem bearable. He made you feel needed!”
“How do you know all this?”
“Oh, I read a lot of books. One of the ones I read had a character who had Stockholm Syndrome. I guess it stuck in my head because they say it’s what makes battered wives stay with their husbands. That and fear. I figured that must have been what was wrong with me… putting up with that bastard so long. I don’t know if it’s that – a syndrome, something with a name. I think it’s just fear, a genuine fear that you will be murdered, that one day the abuse will take a different path and he won’t let up… won’t stop… till you are quiet.” A tiny flame of anger burnt in Betty’s eyes for a moment, taken over suddenly by memories, her brain taking her away from what Dakota had been to and sending her off, back into a time in the past where every day was full of that fear for herself.
Pushing her own past away, Betty looked around the dusty library. “That still wouldn’t explain why you ended up here, though.”
“What – in the library?”
“No, in Purgatory Hotel! You still don’t know what you did wrong?”
“Ariel said it could be something from my other lives. I am going to have to read them, too, by the looks of it. Could be years before I get out of here!”
Betty laughed, as did a few other disembodied voices.
“You will be lucky if you ever do anyway, like Ariel says, there are many tasks, and you don’t even know what they are,”
“I know, but it will be a start if I can just know what went on to put me here… Will you help me, Betty?” Dakota asked, putting her hand on Betty’s.
“What do you want me to do?” She smiled back, patting Dakota’s hand affectionately. For a moment, Dakota wondered how this lovely woman could possibly have murdered two men.
Dakota explained how the Library worked and that there were books for every life of every person. She needed Betty to start reading her past lives while she got on with the last one. With a daunted look at the endless rows of books that scratched out lives incessantly, Betty nodded.
They located the book entitled Miriam Diana Page, and it, too, seemed less dusty than some of the other books.
“Someone been reading about you, do you think?” asked Betty, carrying the book back to the table. “This one’s got finger marks on it and they aren’t mine.”
Dakota inspected the book briefly and paused for a moment to consider the fact that this book contained details of a life she had no recollection of. She looked up and smiled warmly at Betty as she sat down and readied herself for a spell of reading.
“Good job I like reading, eh? Does the fact that I can speed read help at all?” Betty chuckled. “Let’s just hope I can read the last page of this one!”
The two women settled back into their chairs and began to read silently, as storms fretted at the windows.
The following year she turned fourteen, and as always it was a non-event; a card and a small present was all Lula could manage along with a tearful hug and best wishes, before the visit to the graveyard to lay flowers for their parents.
That night, after Lula had gone to bed, Dakota made her way upstairs, glancing briefly at Jackson as he lit a cigarette in front of the TV.
The small lamp beside her bed cast soft light across her room, her walls now covered in posters of her favourite rock bands and artwork by pre-Raphaelite painters. As she lit a cigarette and threw the dead match out of the window, she noticed a small package on her bed. Sitting down she picked up the note that lay folded on top of it, and read it. In a large blocky script, were the words:
‘L is for LOVE baby
O is for O yes I do
V is for VIRTUE, so I ain’t gonna hurt you
E is for EVEN if you want me to
R is for RENDER unto me baby
M is for that which is MINE
A is for ANY old how, darling
N is for ANY old time…’
She recognised the verse from the song he always played her and smiled at the words that rose out of the paper. Reaching across she picked up the package and tore away the wrapping paper to find a CD. It was an album called ‘Let Love In’ by a band called Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. It was the album he had always played at night when he came to her, and he had actually given her her own copy. After all these years he had given her it as a gift and she was unsure of what he meant by it. She sat in the dim light, smoking, and read the lyrics to the songs even though she already knew them by heart.
At a little after midnight she put the CD into her stereo and hit the play button. Jackson had been silent downstairs that night; He played no music and she even wondered if he had fallen asleep, but as the first notes of the first song vibrated out of her speakers, she heard him begin to mount the stairs.
As he entered the room, he smiled at her and said, “You called?” and she understood what he meant. After years of him coming up to her, never a choice of hers, he was giving her the power to call him. She knew at that moment that she could no longer blame him, that he would no longer come unless she played that music and called him to her. And she knew she always would.
Stepping forward, he tore her shirt off and made love to her right there on the floor.
It was a couple of weeks later when she began to panic. Dakota had begun her period when she was thirteen, and since that time, Jackson always used condoms when he came to her room, but over the past few months there had been a couple of occasions where there had been no time for condoms. There had been a few incidences where Lula had popped out and Jackson had used the opportunity to have sex with Dakota in different parts of the house. For both of them the risk involved and the break from their routine had sent them into a
sexual frenzy, thus the thought of condoms was far at the back of their minds.
It was the first day of August and Dakota had missed her last period. She had not discussed it with Jackson yet but knew she would have to go out and buy a pregnancy test to make sure before she said anything to him.
On a hot afternoon, while Lula and Jackson were at work, Dakota discovered that at just fourteen she was pregnant by her sister’s twenty-nine-year-old boyfriend.
She threw up twice before she managed to leave the bathroom and dragged herself off to her bed where she lay until late that night when she played her Nick Cave CD to call Jackson up to her.
When he came in, he made ready to remove her clothes but she stopped him, her head bowed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, letting go of her. When she did not answer, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently asked again.
“I’m pregnant,” she muttered and sat back down on the bed, steadying herself for what she thought might be a blaze of anger from Jackson.
But he said nothing. He just sat down beside her on the bed and put his head in his hands.
She made no effort to force him to react. She just sat back on the bed and lit another cigarette.
Nick Cave sang on in the background, his mood unwavering. Sometimes she felt he was there in the room, singing to her from the shadows, singing about her life somehow.
“You been to the doctors yet?” he asked quietly lighting a cigarette himself, his hands steady as rocks. Dakota noticed and looked down at her own quivering fingers.
“No, just did the test today,” she replied.
“Well, you need to see the doctor soon as you can, get the test confirmed, and then you’ll have to arrange a termination…” He spoke steadily, as though he were reading from a script.
“You knew this might happen someday, didn’t you?”
“There was always the possibility since you started your period. I have been careful mostly, but there’s been a few times… when I haven’t. It’s my fault,” he declared, looking across and into her eyes. She felt odd, and afraid. She knew she couldn’t have a baby, but she was afraid of the word itself… ‘termination.’
“I’m scared, Jackson,” she said quietly, tears forming in her eyes, ready to break free over her hot cheeks.
“There’s no need for that. It’s simple; no one will even know.”
“But Lula will want to know why I went to the doctors, and what about when I have the termination… how will I hide that I have to go to hospital?”
“Leave it all to me. Give me time to think and I’ll sort it out. But you have to go to the doctors soon as you can. They will be discreet, I am sure. Lula need never know. If they need to speak to your guardian, give them my work number, OK?”
Dakota was numbing now and the tears were drying up.
She felt too young to have ever even considered what she would do if she fell pregnant. It was all rather new and confusing, and she wasn’t even sure how she was supposed to feel about possibly aborting a baby.
Jackson stayed with her for another hour before going back downstairs, even though they barely spoke as was usual. He had his own mind to sort out now, and all thoughts of touching Dakota had gone out of the window into the summer night. So she sat alone in her bed, thinking of him sitting alone downstairs, and all night long she lay there feeling suddenly more alone than she had in years. Nick Cave sang ‘Nobody’s Baby Now,’ and she wanted to laugh, or maybe it was just more tears; she wasn’t sure.
She told herself it was just another secret in a long line of secrets. The past three years had been full of secrets… she could easily handle one more.
After two weeks and several visits to the doctors, Dakota prepared to go to hospital for the abortion.
She knew that for the rest of her life she would never feel as uncomfortable as she had the day she told her doctor that she was pregnant and wanted an abortion. She had known Dr Owens for her whole life – this woman had known her mother, and she looked almost as disappointed as Dakota believed her mother would have.
After the lecture and the desperate attempt to talk her out of it, Dr Owens agreed to make the appointment for her, putting the results of the pregnancy test to one side.
“Lula can never know, though. Do you understand?” Dakota said seriously as the doctor made notes on her computer.
“Well, by my doctor patient rule I can’t tell anyone, Dakota, but you have to be sure it’s what you want. It will be a big secret to keep from her, and I’m sure if you spoke to her she would be supportive.”
“I doubt it. You know her mental health history. Dead babies aren’t exactly her favourite subject,” replied Dakota caustically. Dr Owens looked mildly embarrassed and turned away again, nodding faintly.
Jackson gave her the money for a taxi and had invented a friend of Dakota’s for Lula’s benefit. Dakota would be off spending the day with her friend Mary, and Jackson would be going to pick her up that evening.
Lonelier than ever, longing for Jackson to be there to hold her hand, Dakota silently underwent the procedure, all the while trying not to give any human qualities to the child waiting in her belly.
Just before they came to take her down to theatre, Dakota put her hand over the belly she had spent the last few weeks ignoring and whispered low, “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready for you yet. Come back another time and I promise I’ll be good to you...”
On the way home in Jackson’s car, she stared quietly out of the window as he smoked nervously asking how it went. When they pulled up outside the house, he reached out and put his hand on hers. It was the first time she had looked at him since he had picked her up. She stared deeply into his eyes, trying to show all her pain and fears without speaking, and behind his blue eyes she saw that he was sorry, so sorry for everything she had been through because of him. There in silence, in the dark car, with a wind tapping at the windows, they stared into each other’s hearts and were relieved to find themselves in the other. As tears brimmed up in their eyes, a soft smile of reassurance appeared on Dakota’s lips. It was OK, she silently told him, she still wanted him as much as before; she still could not live without him.
At the quiet arrival home, Jackson explained to Lula how Dakota had been very ill at her friend’s house. She must have caught a stomach bug, he said, and was not up to much other than bed. Lula flapped and fussed, helping her sister up to bed and remarking on her pale face. She offered hot milk or hot chocolate and a hot water bottle, but all Dakota wanted was some painkillers and sleep.
Lula stroked her sister’s head and sat on her bed, saying how good it was of Jackson to be so concerned about her.
Dakota smiled briefly before pretending to fall asleep just so Lula would leave her alone. Guilt was settling in her stomach for the first time in years. She knew how desperately Lula wanted a baby, and here she was unknowingly comforting her after she had just aborted a child. A child of the only man Lula had ever loved. And the only man Dakota had ever loved.
The world had been turned over for her. There was nothing she could do but lie down and be still while the dust settled again. All she wanted was sleep. So she slept.
She stayed in bed for a couple of days, enjoying the fuss and attention that Lula was paying her. It seemed to be the most time she had spent around her in years, and she didn’t want to waste it, even though, deep down, she wondered if Lula would be so nice if she knew what was really wrong with her.
Late at night, after Lula had gone to bed, Jackson came up and got into bed with her, just so they could cuddle and smoke and listen to low, soft music. Dakota saw a softer side to him in those few days, and knew that he must really love her. It all felt so much like love, she thought; it all felt so right. Their words were as sparse as ever; no declarations ever passed his lips. They had no deep discussions, but he would often sing to her or read poems aloud to her. She once realised that most of the words he spoke to her were usually the words of someone else: Nick Cave or Bau
delaire, Edgar Allen Poe or Yeats. It was as though he could only speak to her using someone else’s language, someone else’s feelings from decades gone, and she would be left to wonder which feelings were really Jackson’s, which words did he really mean? He had always recited one poem to her in French and she never knew what it meant, but she loved the sound of it as the words left his mouth and reached her ears.
He wanted her to feel safe and comforted, so he spent most of the night with her, only leaving when the first light began to tint the sky. All of this meant love to her, but she could not risk telling him that. She feared that if she said the words, he might vanish in a puff of smoke or that she would suddenly wake up and find it had all been a dream and that he had never come to her room.
SIXTEEN: The Other Life
They never spoke of the abortion again. Life just continued as normal. Dakota went back to school in the September and her secret life with Jackson continued under the nose of her sister.
Following the abortion, Dakota began to notice she was losing her appetite. Her sleeplessness had grown, so that she now only slept an hour a night at best. Instead of sleeping, she would lie in bed after Jackson left her and read poetry and whatever books Jackson had lent her that week. He would always bring books home from the library for her and Lula thought it was so sweet that they had something in common. Dakota could see that look in her sister’s eyes. It said, ‘I’m so pleased you two are close because I love you both so much.’ And she hated it. She wanted her to not make such a fuss whenever Jackson showed her some affection in front of Lula. But it always happened. Each time Jackson handed over the books he had borrowed for her, Lula would be at her side, looking to see what he had brought her, cooing and saying things like, “Aw Jackson, do you remember when we read that together?” or “Oh, Jackson read that one to me years ago.”
Eventually Dakota asked Jackson to just put the books in her room, so that Lula wouldn’t see them. He used to slip little notes in between the pages of the books, or place a book mark on a poem he wanted her to read. It was a secret language that he used, borrowing another person’s words again to charm her and make her feel wanted. He always called her ‘D’ at the top of a letter, but when he was sending her words of a sexual nature he used to call her ‘Lo’ after the young girl in Nabokov’s book ‘Lolita.’
Purgatory Hotel Page 11
