by Neil Olson
“Sorry, I lost track of time. What time is it, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Late. Or early. Maybe two o’clock.”
“So I guess you weren’t sleeping. You sound odd. Are you in your room?”
“No, out walking. Where are you?”
“Still at the house,” she replied.
“I know, but where in the house?”
Why the hell was he asking her that?
“The attic.” They might withhold information, but they did not lie to each other.
“Did you find my place?” His voice stayed neutral. He did not sound suspicious or wonder aloud why she was in the attic at 2:00 a.m.
“Yes.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind you finding it. But tell me if you take something.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, gently sliding the paper out from under the other objects and unfolding it.
“For reassurance, maybe? Like a good luck charm.”
“A talisman,” she said. It was the sketch he’d mentioned last week, the one she did when they were young. Not terrible work. The details were nice, his lips and nose especially, but the features were not in proportion to each other. The expression was lifeless, even before it was changed. “I thought there were more marbles.”
“There were dozens,” James said. “I’m not sure where the others went. Those three were my favorites. Take the cat’s eye. As a...talisman, you said?”
“That’s all right.” Someone, likely Audrey, had taken a black marker to the sketch. The eyes were made pointed and evil-looking. Two horns stuck out of the wavy hair. Someone else, likely James, had tried hard to erase them, but the stubborn ghost of the marker remained. “I don’t need to take anything.”
“Are you looking at the sketch? I’m sorry about what happened to it. I’m happy to have the new one you made.”
“I’m honored you took it with you.”
“Of course I did. Are you working on my portrait?”
“It’s been busy.” She could not tell if it was his attempt at a joke, but he kept mentioning the imaginary portrait. As if talking himself into its existence. At the bottom of the hole was scattered debris that must have predated James’ use. Small rusted nails and chips of wood or paint. She slid the refolded sketch back into its place.
“I hope my father has been treating you well.”
“Yeah, he’s been great,” Teresa replied. A heavy sleepiness was coming over her. Caused by his gentle monotone, perhaps. “He’s a good cook.”
“He’s been on his own a lot. When he was young. Between wives, or even while he’s been married. Living overseas so often. He believes in self-sufficiency.”
It was not much, but more than she was used to hearing James say about his father.
“I shouldn’t tell tales,” she said. “But he and I have talked a lot this week. He feels bad about the way he treated you and Audrey. I don’t know if he’s told you that.”
James was quiet for a time, and Teresa felt herself nodding off.
“He said something like it once. When he was drunk. Truthfully, I don’t care. He’s never been much of a father to me. It’s Audrey he should apologize to.”
She did not believe him, and knew that even to the extent it was true, it was just emotional self-defense. Yet the coldness of his tone chilled her.
“Does Audrey care?” she asked.
“She says she doesn’t, but it’s a lie. She always wanted his attention, even if she had to make him angry to get it.”
“All of that stuff she did as a teenager. You know, drinking and drugs and breaking into houses. You think that was about getting a reaction from your dad?”
“I’m not her psychiatrist. I guess it started there, then it just became who she was.”
How sad, Teresa thought. And how thoughtless of her not to have understood. On some level she must have, but she was too busy resenting Audrey to really grasp it.
“That had to be rough for you,” she said. “Watching that happen.”
“It was unpleasant.”
“Did he beat her badly?”
“It got worse over time. The more she resisted, or fought back. He broke her nose once. We had to take her to the hospital, and my mother almost had him arrested.”
“You’re kidding! Jesus, I had no idea.”
“Later, Audrey broke his hand with a hammer. She threatened to kill him. They were going to send her to one of those camps for troubled teens. Dad and my stepmother, Joyce.”
“When was this?”
“The same year Grandma died. Just a few months before. She was on her best behavior after that. She was terrified of being locked up.”
Wow, Teresa thought. Imagine Audrey afraid of something.
“Did he ever beat you?”
“He hit me sometimes. Not hard. Whenever I was in line for a real beating Audrey made sure to do something worse, so she got it instead.”
“She really did protect you.”
“I suppose,” he allowed. “Honestly, I think she was just jealous.”
“Jealous of...of him hurting you instead of her?”
“Yes,” he said simply. Not seeming to find the idea odd in the least. “Also, I was her creature. If anyone got to torture me, it was going to be her.”
Teresa felt called upon to express horror, or grief, or anything at all. To say aloud how wrong it was, but she had no words. She should not have called him so late, she was exhausted in body and spirit. She wanted to roll back time to earlier this evening. To earlier this lifetime. She wanted to protect them, James and Audrey both. She wanted to go downstairs right now and cave in Freddie’s head with a lamp. The idea exhilarated her, then a moment later made her sick with fear. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with all of them? What was this demon in the blood of the entire family?
“I’ve upset you,” said James. “I’m sorry.”
“You have to stop apologizing. I wanted to know.”
“Do you think all families are like ours?”
“They all have issues,” Teresa said. “Some worse than us. But I don’t think this is normal either. Nobody should have to endure a childhood like you just described.”
“There were good parts,” he said dutifully. “Trips to see my father. In London once, and Hawaii. There was you. All of us together for the summers. There were never any beatings at Owl’s Point.”
No, just a cruel old man and his death-dealing painting.
“James, I have to go to sleep. I’m about to pass out on the floor.”
“I should be with you. We should be together. Don’t you feel that way?”
She had been feeling nothing but that for days and days. Years, maybe. Now she was not so sure. It seemed possible that they were not good for each other. That each brought out the other’s fears and weaknesses, instead of their strengths.
“You can’t leave school,” she said gently. “I’ll come to you when I’m done with my work here.”
“What if that’s too late?”
“What do you mean? Too late for what?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“Tell me,” she insisted. “What are you afraid of?”
“I said I don’t know.” A rare annoyance in his voice. “I have this feeling that more bad things are going to happen. Don’t you feel it, too?”
“Nothing is simply going to happen. But somebody might do something. Whom do you fear?”
“All of us.”
“Me, too?”
“Yes. And me. I don’t trust myself, Tay.”
Join the club, she thought. Her feelings were vaguely hurt that he did not trust her, but why should he? Did she completely trust herself? Was she aware of everything she said or did when her episodes occurred? What were those shreds of memor
y that kept surfacing? Conversations that seemed so real, yet must be dreams.
“You’re a good soul, James. You have to believe that.”
“I should let you sleep. Please, don’t worry about me. Just look out for yourself. And don’t trust anyone, Teresa. Good night.”
“James, wait.”
He had disconnected. She was wide-awake now, and considered calling him back. To what end? It was a small miracle he had said so much. He was unlikely to say more, or to even answer. Her work here would be done in another day or two, then there would be a break before taking it up again in the city. She must use that break to pursue the questions she had posed herself last week, and come no closer to answering. First she must sleep. And she would, after one more perambulation around the lonely house.
* * *
The lonely house by the river. The Quinta del Sordo, empty but for Teresa and Ramón. Again he gestures her through a door to the room beyond. A room she has never seen, and must never enter. The room of terror. He is not angry this time, but gentle and encouraging. The father she knows. Entering the chamber first, he kneels and gestures to her. There is nothing to fear, my child. Not for you. You have seen the others, now look upon this last, their master. Together we will make sense of it. Slowly, so slowly she goes forward. One step, then another. Into the room of dark wood and books. She turns her head and...
Sat up. Half her face was hot and there was drool on her cheek. Drool on the rock-hard settee, upon which she had somehow fallen asleep. She was in the sitting room. It was morning, and a noise had startled her. The doorbell. Which rang again, too loudly. Freddie would come stumbling downstairs with a hangover and the shotgun in a moment. Teresa stood too fast and nearly fell, gray spots darting about her muzzy head. Then she righted herself and went into the hall. First disarming the alarm, she fumbled with the front door locks. At last she pulled it open, squinting against the harsh sun.
“Dave?”
“Hello, Teresa.”
His eyes were less brooding and more alert. Maybe he was a morning person.
“Your nose looks better.”
“Thanks, it feels better.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Philip sent me. Can I come in?”
“Oh.” She realized she was blocking him. “Sorry, I’m not awake.” She shuffled out of the way slowly. Uncertain. Don’t trust anyone, Teresa. He stayed on the steps, eyeing her. The guy missed nothing. “Please come in,” she said. “But be careful of my uncle. He might shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Philip spoke to him,” said Dave, stepping inside. “I’m told Fred has to get back to Los Angeles in a hurry.”
“He didn’t mention it. You mean you’re the reinforcements?”
“I guess. Phil wants me to play security guard for a day or two.”
“So it would be just you and me?”
“If you’re uncomfortable with that we can—”
“No,” Teresa said, too eagerly. “This is good. This is perfect, in fact. I’ve been waiting for you to show. We have a lot to talk about.”
18
Fred had no intention of leaving. Dave had sensed the man’s contempt during their meeting the day of the funeral. Who knew what Philip had said about him? Maybe it was enough that he had worked for their hated father, and was now employed by the overbearing Philip himself. Dave would feel the same way in Alfred Junior’s shoes, so he did not take it personally. But he was not going to stick around and swallow abuse, especially since Fred’s presence made Dave’s unnecessary. Teresa thought otherwise.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she said, whisking eggs expertly. “Philip gave you a job and you accepted. Sit down.”
Dave sat while Uncle Fred made coffee.
“Fred,” Teresa continued, pouring the eggs into a hot pan. “You should help Laurena with the apartment. You’ve been in this house too long.”
“So have you,” he grumbled, putting a mug of coffee in front of Dave. “I’m not leaving you with a stranger. Your mother would skin me.”
“He’s not a stranger. Philip hired him to help us.”
“I don’t know why Philip hired him,” Fred said, staring hard at Dave. “How about this? You come with me and we leave Magnum PI here to watch things.”
“I have a truck and four specialists arriving in one hour to load paintings.”
“Fine. Then we all stay.”
Knowing his silence bothered the other man, Dave kept it up. Though he did compliment Teresa on her eggs, which beat the heck out of that diner. He was pleasantly surprised to see her wolf down the food. No anorexic nibbling. Fred ground his teeth and ate little. When his phone buzzed, he jumped up and left the room to answer.
“Do you have to?” Teresa asked, corralling eggs with a heel of toast.
“What?” said Dave.
“Get him worked up. Not that it takes much.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
“I know. It’s the smug way you sit there quietly that does it.” Then she sighed and waved a hand. “Sorry, I’ve been around him too long.”
“Well,” said Dave. Shamed, and annoyed about feeling that way. “You’re not wrong. I don’t like your uncles much.”
“You’re working for one of them.”
“It’s not unusual to work for people you dislike. Anyway, I’m with Fred, I don’t know what Philip wants out of me anymore.”
“What do you want?” she asked, locking him in place with her black eyes. The similarity to Luisa seemed superficial now. A little in the face and build, nothing at all in the voice and manner. He preferred seeing her like this. Her own person.
“What do you imagine I want?”
“Save the mystery-man bullshit for Audrey,” she said bluntly. Dave felt slapped. Had he read her wrong?
“All right. I want to get paid so I can get away from your disturbed family.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, not offended or put off. “You knew how disturbed we were before. You came back for some reason.”
“Masochism.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “What else?”
“Leave it alone,” Dave said, menace creeping into his words. She did not flinch.
“No.”
He pushed his plate away and rubbed a hand over his face.
“What business is it of yours? Maybe I want to get some closure for an old wound.” Now why the hell did he say that? If she pressed him one inch farther he would go. Just get up and walk away, however much it might embarrass him later.
“Yeah,” Teresa said softly. “Me, too.”
Dave’s hands shook, so he put them in his lap. She had gotten under his skin too easily. Probably because the attack was unexpected. Yet he saw no meanness or manipulation in her. She needed a friend. Perhaps she had already made him one in her mind, and finding the real him stubbornly reticent had set her off. He would not easily excuse such behavior in someone else, and wondered why he was doing it for her.
“I’m happy to listen,” he said. “I’m curious. But don’t expect reciprocation. I don’t find that sharing pain helps anything.”
“Never mind. Something is going on, Dave. Not fifteen years ago, right now.”
“And you say that because...”
“I don’t believe my grandfather died a natural death. And I’ve seen someone creeping around this property at least twice. Probably more than twice.”
“Okay,” he said, grabbing the coffee mug to keep his hands busy. Here was something solid to wrestle with. “You saw him and I didn’t. But dead people often have ugly expressions, especially if they die in pain.” She did not speak, only waited for him to continue. “The prowler is a different story. It’s hard to guess what his presence means without knowing who he is. I gather it’s you and James who saw him?”
&nbs
p; “Right, the crazy ones.”
“Come on, I didn’t say that.”
“Audrey said it to you,” Teresa maintained. “Some version, I’d bet any money.”
“It’s cute how you all talk about money when none of you seems to have any. Is that some affectation of the formerly rich?”
“I was never rich. Fred saw the prowler, too. You can ask him.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Dave replied. Swirling the coffee as if a vision might appear there in the tiny vortex. “What did he look like?”
“The first time he wore dark pants and a green jacket. I couldn’t see his face. He started toward me and I ran. The second time...” She looked away.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“The second time I couldn’t see anything. Because he had a cloth draped over him.”
“Over his head?”
“Yeah.” Her voice had become small and tight. “Head and shoulders. But I think he could see through it, because he was looking in the window.”
“And Fred saw this, too?”
“I don’t know what he saw exactly, but he chased someone into the woods. There’s an oak tree just a little way in, with a crumbling fort.”
“I’ve seen it.”
“He lost him right around there.”
“That’s where I ran into Pete Mulhane,” Dave told her. “Up in that fort, laughing at me. He swore it was the first time he’d been in those woods since prison.”
“I heard you tell Audrey.” She rubbed her nose. “It might be true. There’s this jacket the same color in the mudroom. Everyone uses it.”
“So you’re thinking not a prowler? Someone in the family?”
“It’s only me and Fred staying here.”
“Who has keys?”
“Good question,” she said, forehead creasing in thought. Or irritation that she had not considered this before. “The lawyer gave me Grandpa’s to use this week. Philip has a set that he gave to Fred. I don’t know who else. Ilsa, for sure.”
“Your mother?”
“No. But maybe... When we were kids, Audrey was always stealing keys. She could get into any part of the house.”
“Imagine that,” said Dave. “This person would also have to know the house alarm code.”
