All of the information that I had gained pointed to one thing. It had become painfully obvious that I would not be able to do what I needed to do by myself. I needed help. There were only two people in the world that could possibly help me, so I set out to find them.
I had had several dreams and fantasies about that gum-smacking girl that sat reading her magazine at the storage place. In each and every one, I had reached over the desk and squeezed her neck until she turned blue and passed out. She had begged for her life, but I kept squeezing until her gum fell out onto the floor.
As I drove towards the U-Store It, I thought to myself how good it would feel to act out my fantasy. It would certainly teach that bitch a thing or two about sassing me.
I opened the door to the small office, hoping that she would smart off to me and make killing her that much sweeter.
My stomach dropped when I saw the little old man sitting behind the desk where the snotty little bitch had been seated on my last visit.
My heart dropped along with my stomach when he turned towards me and smiled.
"Can I help you with anything, son?"
I suddenly felt dirty. I wanted to sit down at the desk and tell him everything that I had done and everything that I was feeling. This sweet old man would be my confessor. He would pat me on the back and tell me that everything was going to be just fine.
I was so confused at the feelings that had hit me like a semi-truck that I had no idea what to do. I mumbled a quick request for the restroom, never making eye contact. He pointed to a door at the back of the room and gave me another smile.
I rushed past him into the tiny room and turned on the water. As I gripped the sides of the sink, I stared at my own confused expression in the little mirror mounted in front of me.
I needed to get a grip on myself, and quick. This nice little old grandpa with his thinning gray hair and his pale blue eyes should not have been enough to unravel everything that I had worked so hard for over the past two years. I could not be thrown off my game by the fantasy of a family that I had never had.
I splashed a handful of water on my face and looked back into the mirror. I brought my right hand up and balled it into a tight fist. As that fist connected with my cheek, I was genuinely surprised at how hard I had been able to hit myself. My eyes watered, and I actually saw stars, but it did the trick.
I gripped the sink even tighter, water still dripping from my chin as I heard my mother's voice in my head.
'Don't you be a pussy crybaby, you worthless fucker. Always thinking you deserve something; thinking that you're owed something. Man up, you fucking nancy.'
I was shocked back to reality by a knock at the door.
"Are you alright in there, son?" he said in a voice that reminded me of a cross between Wilford Brimley, Andy Griffith, and Burl Ives.
I mustered up all the sweetness that I could manage.
"Yes, Sir. I'll be right out."
"Alright. Take your time," he said, just oozing grandfatherly love. I half expected him to be holding a fishing pole and wearing one of those vests with all of the pockets when I came out.
I wiped the water from my sore chin, and then wiped my hands on my jeans. When I emerged from the bathroom there was no fishing gear, but the old man was seated behind the desk once again. I made my way over and took a seat in the ratty chair opposite him.
"How can I help you?"
"Well, Sir, I need some information. I am sure hoping that you can help me."
"I'll surely do what I can, but please, call me Darrel."
"Alright, Darrel. See, the thing is, my uncle had a unit here about a year or so ago. I collected the contents, but I have been having a real hard time locating him. He has been missing for quite some time, and my mama is awful worried about him. She has been missing her brother and needs to know where he is and if he is okay."
I tried to give him the most pathetic puppy dog eyes that I could manage.
"Oh, dear," Darrel said as he placed a worried hand to his wrinkled lips.
I still felt the urge to run around the desk and hug him.
"So my question, Sir…I mean Darrel, is this. Is there any way that you can look in your records and pluck out an address or something? I would be very grateful."
"I don't know. That information is confidential." He wrung his hands, obviously torn by the dilemma.
"Please. It would mean so much to my mama."
"Well." He smiled, warming up to the sad face that I was displaying. "What could be the harm in helping your mama find her brother?"
"Thank you so much. Dale Griswold, Unit ten."
Darrel swiveled in his chair, stood up and stepped to the large metal filing cabinet. He shuffled through the folders, humming to himself, until he found what he was looking for. His hands were obviously not as dexterous as they once were, but he was still quite efficient.
"A-ha! Here we go," he exclaimed, as he turned back around, surprised to see me standing directly behind him. The file in his hand dropped to the floor.
"Oh, good God son, you gave me a fright." He laughed nervously, terror spreading across his weathered face as he saw the gleam of the knife in my hand.
"I'm so sorry, Darrel," I said as I took him in my arms and sunk the blade into his frail neck.
I stroked his hair and patted his back as he slowly died. I placed his lifeless body back into the chair and folded his arms across his chest and ample belly. I gave him one last pat on the shoulder before I gathered up the files from the floor.
The address that Dale had given was less than thirty miles from where I currently stood.
I went back to the bathroom and cleaned up as much as I could. As I left the office, I took one last look at the kindly grandfather seated in the office chair.
"I'm sorry," I whispered as I closed the door behind me.
Chapter 15
I was surprised by the affluence of the address that Dale had given the storage company.
Maybe affluence was the wrong word. The homes were all well kept with nicely manicured lawns. The hedges were perfectly trimmed and the mailboxes had nary a speck of chipped paint or faded lettering. This was the kind of neighborhood that I had always dreamed of living in as a kid. I envisioned that a Saturday afternoon in the neighborhood would be full of the smells of barbecuing chicken and the sounds of dads playing catch with their sons. A perfect place.
I looked at each individual home and began to realize that all of them looked alike. Not similar, exactly alike. They were all the same color; the hedges were all placed in identical spots on the identical landscaping plan. Every door on every home was the same color, and all of the un-chipped mailboxes were uniform, save for the names perfectly stenciled on each one.
I finally found the one with Dale's last name in perfect white letters. As I pulled up to the driveway, I wondered to myself why it had been so easy to locate this place. Was Dale so careless that he had left his written confessions stored in a locker that may as well have a map drawn next to it?
Whatever his reasoning may have been, it did seem like this was in fact, the place. Maybe this was a case of 'hiding in plain sight'.
I parked the van and sat in the front seat for a few minutes, trying to gather my strength. I was trying to imagine what I might possibly have to face when that front door opened. I figured that anything that I could come up with was probably only a fraction of what would actually be. Finally, I felt composed enough to face the inevitable.
I got out of the van and strode up the mock cobblestone walk to the burgundy colored front door. I knocked hard and confidently, but not so hard as to spook the occupants. I had an intro that I had rehearsed on the way there all ready to say when Dale opened that door.
My speech drained from my brain as I saw the person that actually answered. I should actually say persons.
Standing in front of me was a petite brunette girl that looked to be no more than twenty-five years of age. She wore a black tank top, denim jeans an
d no shoes. Her dark hair was contained in a large, sloppy bun on top of her head. What really caught my attention was the toddler that balanced on the woman's slight hip. The kid was pink and chubby with light blonde hair that fell in delicate little ringlets over her rosy cheeks. She looked at me and smiled with a mouth only occupied by three or four tiny little teeth.
What I can only assume was her mother, was surprisingly cheerful.
"Can I help you?"
"Um, yeah. I, uh, I'm looking for Dale."
"Well, that makes two of us, then."
She turned and walked away from the door, leaving it open, presumably inviting me inside. I took the invitation and walked into the house. It was sparsely furnished. The living room held a small television, a tan colored couch that had seen better days, and an old dark brown recliner. There was a small blanket with some sort of cartoon octopus embroidered on it. A circle of toys littered the floor. Brightly colored blocks and stuffed toys lay in drool-covered piles.
The mother placed the little girl back into the middle of the toy storm, and the little girl happily grabbed a large pink puppy and proceeded to shove it directly into her mouth.
I looked back to the woman as she grabbed one of those sippy cups off the counter and placed it next to the child. The little girl abandoned the soggy puppy and attacked the cup, drinking happily after she negotiated the location of the sipper.
"So, what did he do now?" The woman asked with an exasperation in her voice that indicated that I was not the first person to come looking for Dale.
"Nothing. Maybe we can start this off in a better way. My name is Tim."
"Theresa. What do you want, Tim?"
I could tell that she had little to no patience for anything that had to do with Dale.
"Well, it seems that Dale was a friend of my father. I was trying to locate my dad through him."
"Any friend of Dale's is most likely a piece of garbage. No offense." She sat at the scarred dining room table and gestured for me to take a seat as well.
"No offense taken. I can't say that I really know much about my dad. He took off when I was younger, and before that, I never really saw too much of him."
I took a seat at the table and looked directly at her. Even though I knew that she was just like the rest of them, there seemed to be something a little different. I had the perfect opportunity here. I had her alone in this house and I could do whatever I wanted. The only problem was that I didn't want to do anything. I didn't understand it, and I reconciled my feelings by telling myself that I still needed her to help me find Dale.
"Well, that is a shame," She said as she took a drink from a cup of her own.
"Do you have any idea where he might be?"
"He comes around about every six months or so to get whatever he may need. Then he's gone again."
"Is she his?" I said, indicating the baby.
"Yeah, of course. Dale is my husband."
It was my turn to offer a mea culpa.
"Of course, Miss. I didn't mean to offend."
"It's alright. I apologize for being on edge, Tim." She smiled at me, obviously embarrassed by her own behavior.
"It's okay." I tried my best to reassure her; all the while imagining her tied up and spread out on a bed wearing red panties.
"No it isn't. I have been having such a hard time lately. My job has been cutting my hours, and I'm a little short on my bills. I need to get food for Alicia, and why am I telling you all of this?" She smiled again, nervously.
I smiled back, and to my surprise, it was actually genuine. I was thinking to myself that this situation might provide me with the help I needed.
"Where do you work?"
"I'm a waitress at the Stop In Diner down on Route 12," she said, seemingly a little embarrassed to reveal her job to me.
"I did a little bussing recently at a little roadside place, myself." I tried to reassure her that there was no shame in working for a living.
"Oh Good Lord, where are my manners? Would you like a drink, Tim?" She rose from her chair and headed towards the fridge.
"I would love some juice if it isn't too much trouble."
She turned to me with her thumbs hitched in the pockets of her jeans. That little flush of embarrassment colored her face once more.
"I don't have any juice. I have milk, water and a few sodas."
"Soda is fine by me." I smiled again, realizing that it was becoming much easier to do.
She smiled back, revealing two little dimples on either side of her face. I could tell where the baby got her looks.
She brought my soda to the table and sat back down. The two of us sat there and talked for more than an hour. It was mostly superficial chatting, but she was loosening up with each passing minute.
"I know you don't know me, Theresa, and this seems a little strange, but I actually am looking for a place to stay. If you would be willing to rent a room to me, I think it might solve both of our troubles."
She looked at me with a hopeful expression, her brown eyes filling with tears.
"I don't know. What would the neighbors think if I moved a strange man in here while my husband was away? And, you're right, I don't know you."
"Tim Shively. As far as the neighbors go, let their tongues wag. If they want to know the truth, they can ask."
"Well, I don't know what to charge. What would be fair?"
"How about three hundred dollars a month, and I'll help out with the utilities."
Theresa jutted out her hand with an excitement that she could not conceal.
I took her hand and shook it. She looked at me again, reluctance creeping in.
"If this doesn't work out, you have to leave."
"You just say the word. If you don't think it is working out, you let me know and I will leave without a fuss. You have my word."
"Hopefully that won't be an issue. Let me show you to your room, then."
"Well, I need to gather my things and how about I show up here tomorrow?"
I took out my wallet and handed Theresa three hundred dollar bills. That was almost the last of the cash I had to my name. I would need to find some odd jobs soon to get more, but I didn't expect to have to pay another month of rent to her. I would hopefully be long gone before another month rolled around.
"Oh my Lord," Theresa said as the tears spilled over her cheeks.
She took the cash and scooped the baby up off the floor, whirling in a circle.
"Thank you, Tim. You don't know what this means to us."
"Not a problem. You are helping me out more than you know."
We said our goodbyes and I headed back to the hotel that I had called home for almost two years to gather my belongings.
On the drive home, I kept trying to picture Theresa spread out on that bed wearing nothing but red panties and red lipstick, tied up and writhing in terror. Something was stopping my fantasy from running its course. I was seeing the face of that little baby, her blue eyes gleaming as she reached out to me, smiling.
"Fuck!"
I drove on.
Chapter 16
Back in the hotel room, I packed up the few belongings I possessed and set my bags on the chair in the corner. I lay down and attempted to get some sleep. I would need plenty of rest for the tasks ahead. Once I tracked Dale down and found my father there would be no stopping us.
My head hit the pillow and I was out. The night was not going to be restful, though.
My sleep was invaded by dreams and memories of my mother.
I know that I said I was not going to bore you to death with stories about my dreams, but this one is important. Besides, it was more of a memory.
I sat in the closet of my mother's room, hiding from her and the man that she had brought home that particular night.
I was ten years old, and my dad had been out on the road as he usually was, doing god knows what.
I watched as the 'man du jour' reached out and grabbed a handful of my mother's ass. She giggled like a schoolgirl
and turned to the stranger.
"You know the rules."
"Yeah, I know," he replied, pulling a small bundle of cash from his pocket.
My mother took the money and leaned in to kiss the man. He clumsily grabbed at her breasts, pulling her top down. I watched as this stranger threw my mother down on her bed and pawed at her until her skirt was in a bundle around her waist. He bent her over, and after pulling his pants off, he rammed himself into her. She was facing the closet as the man stood, behind her.
I was too young to fully understand what was happening, but I knew that it was making me feel funny watching my mother naked, being touched by a man that was not my father. I had seen her naked before, but this was an all new experience for me.
As I continued to watch my mother getting reamed by this sweaty, grunting old man, I began to feel less funny and more excited. I felt my little, as yet unused, penis beginning to get stiff. I reached my hand down and touched myself. The rush of pleasure made a breathless moan escape my lips. I clamped my hand over my mouth, hoping that they had not heard me.
It seemed that I had not alerted my subjects to my presence, so I continued to watch.
My mother simply looked bored as the man was lost in his own world, thrusting his hips as he held hers. He grunted and moaned for the few minutes it took him to finish. His face contorted as he cried out. It looked to me as if he was in intense pain. I didn't understand why anyone would want to do something that obviously hurt so badly.
The man took his big hand and smacked my mother on the behind so hard that it made a loud popping sound. She quickly sat up.
"You fucking know that if you want that, it's gonna cost you extra."
"Here you go, bitch." He reached down into the pocket of his jeans and then threw another small bunch of bills at her.
She grabbed up the money and shoved it under her pillow.
"Alright then. Now what do you want, baby?"
"You know exactly what I want."
He stepped up to her and took hold of her hair. He seemed to be forcing her head towards his penis. I was amazed when I saw her put her lips around it and start sucking as if she was enjoying it. I watched as her head bobbed up and down, wondering why she was not choking.
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