The Method

by Ralston, Duncan

  Frank sat on the edge of his bed, pondering the conversation at dinner.

  Trevor had called it “unconventional therapy,” but the scenarios running through his mind couldn’t be considered therapeutic by any stretch of the imagination.

  They were violent. They were vicious.

  Deciding he was being paranoid, he flicked on the television to take his mind off it. The news didn’t lessen his anxiety, and when a knock came at his door, he jumped, spilling his pop on the bedspread.

  “Coming!” he said, using his damp towel to mop up the spill.

  Frank opened the door without looking through the peephole first, expecting Linda. Instead, Teri stood in the doorway in a silky nightgown, her face scrubbed of makeup and somehow more beautiful as she shot paranoid glances down the hall. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  She slipped past him before he could finish and sat down hurriedly on the bed. Her eyebrows knotted and she shifted positions, touching the spill she’d sat on. “When you said you were coming, I didn’t think you’d meant that way.”

  “Ha! Spilled some pop.” He left the door open, not wanting to give the impression he had anything to hide should Linda or Neville come knocking.

  “Pop?” She sounded distraught. Confused.

  “Soda,” he explained. He’d lived in the United States almost fifteen years and still hadn’t gotten used to calling it soda, since most people he’d met in Seattle had called it pop just like he did. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s Neville.” She smoothed the hem of her nightgown on her thigh. “He thinks you two, you and your wife. Linda. He thinks the two of you are plotting to kill us in our sleep.” She looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide. “You aren’t, are you?”

  He approached the bed, stopping short of sitting down beside her. “Teri . . . why would we do that? We’re here for therapy. We just had a nice meal. These people—Alex, that strange little Hispanic lady—they are nice hospitable people. There’s absolutely no reason to be paranoid.”

  If only I believed it myself, he thought.

  “I know.” She nodded, holding his gaze. “But he’s convinced himself—”

  “He’s wrong, okay? Nobody is going to kill anybody.”

  He realized how stupid his paranoia had been as he spoke the words. No one would be hurt this weekend, aside from a potential broken heart or two. The idea that Kaspar’s method involved pitting two couples against each other in a fight to the death was so laughable he did so aloud.

  Teri looked up at him, her gaze darting back and forth between his eyes like an actor in a love scene. His pants felt suddenly constricting.

  “I think there’s something wrong with him. With Neville. He’s always had a paranoid streak, but tonight . . . I don’t know if I can trust him anymore. I certainly won’t be able to sleep . . . ”

  Frank sat down opposite the wet spot, closer to the pillows. “Teri, everything’s going to be okay. He’s just stressed, that’s all. I mean it’s been a pretty strange day in a strange place. Tomorrow will be easier. Go back to bed. Get some sleep. Okay? Lock your door if you’re worried—”

  She reached out and snatched his hands, drawing them into her lap. “Will you walk me to my door?”

  Frank tore them from her grip and shot a glance toward the camera he’d found after dinner. “Teri.” He tried on a smile. “You’ll be fine. It’s literally right across the hall.”

  “Then watch me.” Her eyes were full of desperate fear. “From your door. Please?”

  He shrugged, not seeing the harm in it. “Okay.” He stood and waited for her to follow.

  She tugged down the hem of her nightgown, and when she finally stood, she was bare inches from him, heat radiating off her body as if she’d just been in a sauna. Her head lowered, her eyes downcast, moist lower lip pooched outward.

  He thought again about closure, all the hurt welling up inside, and when she raised her head, their lips met as if they’d been drawn together. He didn’t know whether she’d started it or he had. All he knew for certain was that it was wrong, but it felt so goddamn good to touch someone again, to feel human contact.

  She grasped the back of his head and he pulled away sharply, thinking there might still be a chance to save his marriage, but not if he continued kissing a stranger, no matter how badly he wanted her in that moment, no matter what offences he felt Lin had committed.

  Backing into the nightstand, he knocked over the glass and spilled the rest of its contents on the rug. “You need to go.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes downcast again, that pouty lower lip. He felt a sudden strong urge to slap her, as if she were the only one at fault.

  “It’s okay, just go. Please.”

  She apologized again and left the room, leaving the door open behind her.

  Frank let out a deep breath and looked at the camera. He shook his head and threw up his hands, hoping if anyone was watching, they would understand he was as mystified as they were by what had just happened, with both of their spouses just a few doors down the hall.

  Adjusting his pants, he flopped down on the bed, sitting right in the wet spot. He stood abruptly and headed for the bathroom where he washed his lips, tasting soap, and brushed his teeth.

  He stepped out into the hall to find Linda, creeping past Teri’s room so as not to alert her of his presence outside her door. She’d probably spend a few restless hours shifting uncomfortably in bed, but sleep would eventually come. After what just happened, he doubted if he’d get any sleep himself.

  The TV in Linda’s room came on suddenly as if someone had switched it on from outside the room or it had been on a sleep timer.

  Startled, she rose on her hands and checked the blanket, thinking she must have sat on the remote. She spotted it on the table beside the TV, and she crossed the room to turn it off, but she had to stop to gawk at the screen.

  It was the camera feed from Frank’s bedroom.

  Frank was seated on his bed beside the Lumley woman. They were talking, but Linda couldn’t hear what they were saying. She felt the sides for volume buttons and cranked it up as far as it could go, but still couldn’t hear them. No audio. It might have come as a relief when she’d first discovered the cameras. It only fueled her anger now.

  What the fuck is she doing in there? Why did he let her in?

  Teri Lumley grabbed Frank’s hands and put them in her lap. Linda balled her own hands into fists.

  I’ll kill her.

  Frank looked directly at the camera, directly at Linda, and pulled his hands away.

  Good boy. Now go to bed, bitch.

  He faked a smile and said something, giving her reply a cautious nod.

  Frank stood first. Teri Lumley followed him a moment later and stopped much too close to him.

  The kiss happened so fast Linda couldn’t tell who’d started it, and it wasn’t as if she could rewind the tape and see an instant replay. One moment they were standing in front of each other, and the next, they were kissing.

  Her heartbeat quickened, dumping poison into her veins. “Son of a bitch.” She slapped at the screen as if doing so would make it stop. “Son of a bitch!”

  Over the past year, she’d hardened her heart toward Frank and wasn’t prepared for how much seeing him with someone else would hurt. As she headed toward the door to confront him, she marveled at just how far she’d come from the sibling-like love she thought she’d felt for him only moments before to the murderous rage this one brief infidelity had caused.

  When she turned back to the screen, Frank had already pulled away from the Lumley woman and was pointing at the door. It didn’t negate the fact that he’d kissed her, but at least he’d stopped himself before it could go any further.

  Linda relished Teri Lumley’s look of disgrace as the woman left Frank’s room.

  Less than a minute later, Frank was knocking on her door.

  “Go away,” she snapped.

 
“Hon, it’s me.”

  “I said go away!”

  Her voice broke. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. Her gaze fell to the handle as he jiggled it. Worrying she’d left it unlocked and he’d see her standing there crying, she pressed her palms flat against the door.

  “Linda, what’s wrong?”

  If she hadn’t wanted to hide the evidence of the pain his betrayal had caused, she might have opened the door just to slap him in the face.

  “I don’t want to talk to you. Just leave me alone!”

  She stood watching the empty room on the TV screen for Frank to return until she grew annoyed and turned it off. In the blank screen, she caught a glimpse of her harrowed reflection.

  First thing in the morning, she was leaving whether Frank came with her or not. Refund or no refund.

  Nothing was worth so much pain.

  As she decided this, the shouting began in the room next door.

  Frank had no idea what had gotten into Linda, but he wasn’t about to stand outside her door all night waiting for her to come around. He lingered a moment longer before moving next door and knocking.

  “That you, Ter?” The voice behind the door sounded groggy.

  “It’s Frank.”

  “Frank?” Glass clinked inside. “Hang on a second, buddy.”

  Time drew out long enough for Frank to regret his decision to speak to Neville, but before he could excuse himself, Neville opened the door a crack.

  “Hey, Frank!” He seemed overly chummy, his eyes slightly bleary. “What’s up?”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.” Neville opened the door to a room in complete disarray. Frank smelled the wine on the man’s breath as he stepped in. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Doing some redecorating?” Frank crossed a pile of clothing and open suitcases to the desk Neville had pulled away from the wall. He sat in the chair.

  “You know they put cameras in our rooms?”

  “I saw that.”

  Neville nodded and poured himself another glass of wine.

  “Where’d you get that bottle?”

  “Snuck down to the cellar.” He winked. Indicating the second glass, he said, “Care to join?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He winked again, as if he was in on the joke. “Got to keep the mind sharp, hey?”

  Frank ignored the insinuation. “Your wife visited me just now.”

  “She did, did she?” Neville turned away with a dismissive shrug. “I thought she might have had her eye on you . . .”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Frank said hastily. “She said that you’ve been talking about me and Linda.”

  Neville flopped back against the piled pillows with an exasperated sigh, somehow managing not to spill his wine.

  “Well, have you?”

  “I may have said a few things . . .”

  Frank’s pulse quickened. “Like?”

  Neville sharpened his gaze. “Like if this is gonna be a battle of wills, you and your pretty little lady love are gonna come up short.”

  “Look, man, I don’t know what you think is going on here—”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Moffat.” Neville rose angrily from the pillows, fell back against the headboard and struck his head. He shook it clear. “You want to win this as much as I do.”

  “There’s nothing to win! Jesus, man!”

  “You said it yourself, Frank. A Battle Royale. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh, were you? Because you looked dead serious to me.” Neville showed his teeth in a grin, stained red from the wine. “Now get the fuck out of my room.” He picked up the remote and flicked on the television.

  He blinked at it blearily. Frank followed his gaze to the screen, where Neville’s wife lay sprawled on her covers, eyes closed, stroking herself through the silk of her nightgown.

  The two men turned to each other for a long, tense moment.

  “Turn it off,” Frank said.

  Neville tried. “The remote won’t work.” He turned a thunderous glare back to Frank. “Don’t look, goddammit!”

  Frank pulled his attention away from the screen.

  “What is she doing?” Neville said. “I told her there’s a camera . . .”

  “Did you turn this on before? Were you watching her room?”

  Neville scowled at the implication. “What the hell business is that of yours?”

  “Were you, or not?” Frank asked, more irritably than he’d meant to.

  “Are you implying I’ve been spying on my own wife?” He got up wearily.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to tell her to fucking stop.”

  Frank grabbed the man’s arm as he passed, but Neville tore it free and punched him in the jaw. Stars flooded Frank’s vision, and he fell against the TV stand. The television tipped back against the wall, and Frank’s cheek pressed against the image of Teri Lumley masturbating.

  “Stop looking at her!”

  Neville launched himself at him. Frank slipped out of the way a moment before the fist connected with the television and the screen split and went blank.

  He saw Neville stagger back to swing again in the blank screen, and he kicked out at the man’s feet. Neville tripped and sprawled drunkenly over the bed. He lay there panting for a long moment.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fuck you.” Neville rolled over onto his back and looked up at Frank with surprisingly clear eyes. “You want to fuck my wife? Be my guest. This isn’t even about that anymore.”

  “Goddammit Neville, nothing happened between us!”

  Neville rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut with a growl. “I am so fucking done with this shit, man. Just let me sleep.”

  “Neville—”

  “Let me sleep!”

  The words rang in Frank’s ears. Holding his sore jaw, he turned and left the room. He looked out over the railing at the empty lobby below before knocking again on Linda’s door.

  “Linda? I know you can hear me. I just want you to know I’m going home first thing in the morning. You don’t have to come with me. I’ll take a cab if I have to, but I can’t stay here anymore. I know I pushed you into this. I know you don’t really want to be here. You can stop pretending for me now, okay?”

  He leaned his forehead against the door, breathing deeply out his nose, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

  But she remained silent.

  “That’s all I wanted to say.” He pushed away from her door. “Except that I hope you’ll come with me, okay? Goodnight.”

  Linda stood by the door until Frank disappeared out of sight from the peephole. She changed into a long t-shirt and slipped under the sheet, the blanket pushed to the foot of her bed, the room too warm. She tossed and turned for a long time, unable to sleep.

  Somehow Frank had known she’d only come here to placate him. Somehow he’d been able to see right through her facade, while his own motivations remained a complete mystery to her.

  It’s over, she thought. I shouldn’t care that he kissed another woman.

  She rolled over and stared up at the moonlit ceiling.

  I shouldn’t care. But I do.

  Her head swam in the darkness. She’d overindulged with the wine and aperitif, and drunken overthinking never led to productive solutions. Fed up, she flicked on the light. The room stopped spinning.

  Linda couldn’t remember being this drunk since the last time she and Frank had gone on vacation together, shortly before her diagnosis.

  It had been a honeymoon destination, several months after the wedding. Palm trees, beaches, and late nights spent drinking and dancing. Frank only danced when she got him drunk enough, and that night, both of them had consumed just enough tequila to lose their inhibitions. When they’d returned to their room sometime after three in the morning, they’d already half undressed.

  The hotel room had over
looked the ocean. They’d opened the shutters wide, and she’d sat on a wooden storage chest in front of the window. Frank had slipped off her panties while she’d stroked him hard and pulled him inside of her, and the two of them had fucked right by the open window until they came together.

  No sleep for me tonight, she thought, feeling the familiar throb between her legs. Not now.

  She crept to the door and opened it quietly, fearful of waking the others.

  Frogs chirped and moonlight cascaded through the front windows, giving the lodge an eerie, bone-white glow when she stepped out into the hall. Though the night was still warm, she shivered when a loon called out over the lake.

  She went to the bathroom first. Her bladder never quite felt completely emptied since her surgery, even though it had been a kidney they’d removed. She’d have to pee again first thing in the morning or maybe again in the night. It was an annoying side effect—something she’d gotten used to, but it still caused frustration. But it was better than the cancer.

  I’d rather pee in a bag the rest of my life than go through another year like that, she thought as the toilet gurgled.

  Linda stood in front of the sink and rinsed between her legs. The cold water against her skin didn’t dull the urge to fuck, but somehow made it stronger. She wanted nothing more than to jump someone’s bones. Anyone would do and as soon as possible. Quickly, she washed her hands and patted herself dry with a hand towel, which she tossed in the hamper.

  She pictured Neville’s muscular body as he slept naked under the sheet, and she fought the urge to knock on his door. Even if she could have brought herself to cheat on Frank, if she’d still been angry about the kiss, it was highly possible Neville would reject her. Attempting it wasn’t worth risking the hit to her ego at such a fragile moment.

  She found Frank’s door unlocked as though he might be expecting company. The brunette bitch across the hall, maybe.

  No. He’s not a door locker. How many times have I walked in on him while he’s on the toilet? Too many to count.

  She peered up and down the hall and slipped into his room.

  An angular slat of moonlight illuminated his bed. He lay on his back under the white sheet, sleeping like a vampire, like the dead. She crept to the bed and lowered herself onto the mattress. His breathing remained even, in and out through his nose the way it always did when he slept.