The Grave House

by David Garaby

  "May I turn on the lights?" he asked.

  She nodded in jerking bops.

  There was a small secretary desk next to her nightstand and he pulled out the wooden chair and sat in front of her.

  She looked diminutive. Her feet couldn't touch the floor. She wore a pink nightgown and pink socks that strangled her ankles. She had red and purple on her legs. Her arms were long and draped with loose skin. Her hands were like ligaments, parallel cylinders of blood and meat bound together underneath pale flesh and liver spots. The old woman's face was soft and weak, as if a kiss to the cheek would cause the soufflé to cave in. He observed the strands of her hair which fluttered when the air conditioning system turned on and the way the light reflected against her shiny skin, giving her a glossy, yellow coating. Her eyes were a blur. She focused on Adam but could only see shadows.

  "Who are you?" she said, and tilted her head.

  "My name is Adam," he replied.

  She smiled at him. "Are you here to kill me?"

  He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "No. No Ma'am. I'm not here to kill you."

  "But I am here to ask you some questions."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "About your daughter. About Margo."

  The old woman never stopped smiling.

  "I'm writing a research on her."

  The old woman lifted her head lazily. "You're here to write about my daughter?"

  "Yes ma'am."

  "She never visits me."

  "But she lives here with you."

  She shook her head, "I live alone. I am always alone."

  There were flashes of light coming from the television set. "She always turn off my television. Why does she do that? At least it keeps me company."

  "Who?"

  "That Bertha. I hate her."

  "She's terrible."

  "Look what she does to me," she reached for the bed straps. "She ties me up here. I tell Doctor Waller, but he never did anything about it. Tell her to come and see me. Tell my Margo what she does. I don't think she knows what she does."

  Adam felt his heart breaking, what kind of a monster would tie up an old woman to a bed.

  "You want to hear about my daughter?"

  "It's not important, Ma'am. You need your rest."

  She reached for his hands. "Don't go," she said, her hands pleaded and tugged at his shirt as he rose. "Don't leave me alone. I will tell you what I know."

  "What you know," he sat back down.

  "Yes. Just don't leave me. I am always alone."

  The old woman tapped on her chest lightly. "She's suffered. She's a very strong woman, but she's a suffered woman. She's lost her husband, she had that awful accident when she was sixteen—-two of her friends died in that crash, and the miscarriages; I think those hurt her the most. She's a miserable woman. She's successful, yes. She's got this big house and that hateful Bertha she pays, but life has not been good to her. My baby has had a bad life. She's been in a bad way for a long time."

  "What can you tell me about Sebastian?"

  The old woman stared off, as if scanning her mind's eye, dusting off the shelves, looking for the right book to pull and read from.

  "The day it happened he didn't come down for breakfast. Margo was in Norton City and when she came home she found him. She told me not to go inside the house. The judge and the sheriff asked if I had heard anything, but I told them I hadn't. The gun was big—like the ones that the police use. It was brand new, too. They told me that the gun was wrapped. With a towel I guess. I don't know how he did it. They told me the bullet went through the back of his ear and it didn't come out. They said he did it in the morning, just after Margo left. The sheriff didn't let anyone touch the gun. I never understood why he had so many guns. He had about ten. I told Margo, why does he want so many guns if he's not going to war?"

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I think you're talking about her first husband, Robert Sullivan."

  "Yes, Robert. She loved him very much. It was terrible when he killed himself."

  "I'm sure she did. But I wonder if you remember about her son named Sebastian? Do you remember him at all? Does she even have another son?"

  The old woman paused and turned to him. "Sebastian?" she repeated lightly, her eyes lit up suddenly, as if a fire had been lit inside her mind's eye. The old woman began to shake her head gently and her eyes began to slowly well up. "The boys," she looked around the room. "She always wanted children. She can't have children and they came to her one afternoon. She found the boys, Sebastian and Daniel by the river."

  "She can't have children?"

  "No," she sucked her teeth. "No. Those boys are not hers. She kept them. She gave them this life."

  Adam was quiet while the old woman told her story.

  — 2 —

  THE OLD WOMAN spoke softly:

  "They were both beaten, black and blue. They were small, Sebastian was thirteen and Daniel must have been eight, we never found out. Daniel had a cut on his stomach, Sebastian was cleaning with the shirt off his back. Margo brought them home and bandaged up Daniel and tried to get them to tell her where they had come from. Who was their family? Where were they going? But they never said a word about it. They were so small, scared. I remember the way her second husband, Patrick, reacted when he saw the children. I never liked him, I don't understand why she kept his last name. He was a bad one, he had a very ugly heart, I could always see that in him. A mother knows when her children marry monsters.

  "They had crossed the river, didn't speak a word of English and she didn't want them to be sent away. Well, they stayed here in this house for a few days and Daniel began warming up to Margo. She bought them clothes and she took a liking to Daniel very, very quickly. It was a soft side I had never seen before. It seemed frightening, she told me once she had never been interested in children, she didn't understand why someone would rip themselves open to bring another person life. She said that the end we're all alone anyway, there's no point in lying to yourself. But I never paid attention to my Margo, she was and will always be a mystery to me. But I did love the way she opened up with that little boy, there was something in her, it was almost magical. The way she spoke to him, speaking in Spanish even though she swore it off so long ago. I loved seeing the way she came alive in those few weeks, I've never seen her look that way again. She's not his blood but she loved him like he was.

  "Now the brother, Sebastian, was another story. He really wouldn't speak to anyone, pretty much kept to himself the whole time he was here. A very, very quiet boy. And you could tell that Daniel would encourage Sebastian and tried convincing him to warm up to Margo, but it just never worked out. I think Margo seemed almost offended, it was almost an insult against her. You know how she can be. How could this little boy she rescued deny her his affection? It was a slap in her face, a crime, it was something she couldn't forgive.

  "I remember I would talk to him in Spanish and try to get him to open up to me as well, but he would just open up those sad, angry eyes and turn away. You could tell those children were suffering, I suppose that's why Margo related to them so much. She could relate to them and figured since her life was so miserable she could at least find some satisfaction in bringing a bit of hope and love to these boys. But as hard as she tried, Sebastian would not budge, he never spoke to her. Daniel was the one who told her what he had done. The poor boy found him hanging on the mesquite tree. He saw his own brother's body dangling, a belt wrapped around his neck.

  "Margo didn't want to call the police because she was afraid they would take Daniel away. I took Daniel inside the house and she said she would take care of everything. When I asked her what she had done, she told me she would never tell me. She never did.

  "Margo paid for a therapist a few days later and in time the memory of Sebastian faded. Daniel was a kid, it's easy to forget when you're so young. He started calling her 'momma,' soon after that. I think Daniel forgot Sebastian, at least that's what I think,
he never talked about it again. But sometimes I ask myself, how can you forget something like that, somewhere in your mind to have to think back and remember, and fear, and think about what you saw and it surely must haunt you. I wonder if he dreams of the body. The dangling. I know it's not something I can ever forget. How can you just erase such a terrible event from your mind? How can you continue existing after seeing such horror? That type of trauma doesn't go away so easy. I don't know who is stronger... Sebastian for having the courage to take his own life, or Daniel for having the power to shut that memory out so tightly."

  — 3 —

  "BUT THAT WAS a very long time ago. Many tears ago. I haven't seen Daniel in several months." Her smile drifted away: "Ah, my little Daniel, I haven't seen him in a long time. Is he doing all right?"

  Adam didn't have the heart to tell the old woman that Daniel had been murdered. That his body had been dismembered and stuffed in a barrel.

  He nodded, "I think he's in a good place."

  She smiled. "That's good. He's had a hard life. I hope he's doing alright and that he comes and visits me soon."

  He gently patted her hands. "I'm sure he will."

  "Can I ask you for a favor?"

  "Anything."

  "Can you tell them to pull down the boards. I won't tell anyone about the woman."

  "What woman?"

  "The strange one they keep in the little grave house. Please tell my daughter. I want to see the courtyard again. I like the little birds. The yellow and red ones. Will you? Will you do that for me?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  She turned to the window. He walked towards the window and looked through an opening in between the boards that covered it. He could see Nina outside, circling the grave house. What was down there?! What the hell was going on here? He smiled at the old woman and was about to say goodbye when he heard the door knob rustle as a key was inserted.

  — 4 —

  "VIRGINIA," CALLED BERTHA. "You awake?"

  "Go away," said the old woman.

  "What are you doing up," she entered the room and closed the door.

  "Why do you care?" the old woman said.

  "Who were you talking to, smart mouth?"

  "To myself. Who else would I talk to? No one comes and visits me!"

  Bertha circled the room, inspected the closet and the bathroom.

  She turned off the television set. "Has Doctor Waller come by yet?"

  "Si. The doctor came earlier."

  "Is that why the lights were on?"

  "He didn't turn them off. I told him to."

  She shook her head and pointed at her pillow, she snapped her finger: "Get into bed. Come on."

  The old woman struggled, wormed her way under the sheets. Bertha reached for a bottle of Kemproxin from the nightstand. There were several unopened needles in a box, she pulled one out and filled the syringe.

  "Go to sleep," she said firmly.

  "I hope I never wake up," she said before drifting away.

  "I hope you don't either," said Bertha. The straps were placed before Bertha exited the room and locked the door.

  Adam crawled from under the bed, shocked by what he had just heard. How could Bertha be so cold? So horrifyingly hateful? He stared at the old woman and could feel his heart split. How easy it was to shut out the elderly, the infirmed. How easy it was to keep them in a perpetual state of hibernation, keep them hidden, out of sight and out of mind. He kissed Virginia's forehead and loosened the straps.

  Before he left the room he slipped a needle and a vial of Kemproxin into his pocket.

  A Grave Woman

  ADAM DIDN'T UNDERSTAND any of it, and he didn't like the story he just heard. How could someone just find a child and keep it? Claim them as their own? Who did she think she was? And to "take care" of the problem with Sebastian. Everything about her seemed so twisted.

  He turned and saw a giant portrait of Margo hanging from the living room and felt a repugnant knot in his stomach. He remembered what Hudd had said earlier, he was right, he should never have met her. He regretted ever setting foot inside the house. He made his way down the stairs and back out to the courtyard.

  He looked up towards the old woman's room and shook his head. Adam couldn't believe they boarded up her room. The more he thought about it, the more he puffed away at his cigarette. He had never smoked so hard, not even when he found Justin alone with one of his classmates, the way they were sitting next to each other just a little too close for comfort. The way Adam's friend, Randy, made every attempt to touch Justin, and the stupid look on Justin's face when he brought it up, the smirk, the fucking laugh of his. He liked the attention, Justin wanted Adam to raise his voice, to pry and ask, it made the insignificant prick feel superior, it made him feel wanted.

  Adam reached for another cigarette and heard a noise coming from behind him. It was Nina, she looked as if she had just woken from a long sleep, her hair, unkempt, the oils glistened in the moonlight. Her face, void of any expression, her eyes, just as lost.

  "Give me one," she said weakly.

  There was an unclean scent to her, as if she hadn't showered for some time.

  "What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

  I don't know," she said.

  He touched her arm gently. "I saw you earlier. What were you doing near that grave house?"

  Her eyes lit up. "The grave house?"

  "Why do you keep going there? What are you not telling me? What is she making you do?"

  Nina abruptly backed away, "Get your hands off me. She's not making me do anything."

  "I know what I saw. Why won't you talk to me about it? I see you, you keep going there! I want to help you!"

  "You want to help me?" she scoffed, "you can't even help yourself. There is nothing you can do to help me because I don't need anything, Mister Sister. I'm perfectly fine. I'm perfectly content to be in my own personal hell," she raised her hands fancifully, mockingly at the Castilian.

  He leaned in, "It doesn't have to be this way. Why don't you leave? You could leave. I'm leaving as soon as my work is done. You could come, you could come with me." He wanted to help her, wanted to know all the dark corners she ran through. The sadness, he smelled it on her, too. He knew she was a good person, lost in a labyrinth of bitterness and deceit. Something had to be done to rescue her.

  She pulled back, brushed his hands away from hers, "Go with you? Why on earth would I do something like that? There is nothing you have I want, and nothing you can offer I need. You are just a beautiful face in an ugly world," she stepped closer to him. "But eventually the ugliness that surrounds each and every one of us, the things that rots us all will rot you, too. And the thing that makes you 'you,' the carefree expression, the handsome face, the chiseled features and the piercing eyes will collapse. You will be one of the nameless, one of the forgotten and fallen, because in the end—Adam—we all fall. We crumble and decay. So don't come and tell me there is something you can do for me when there is nothing you can do for yourself."

  "What the hell happened to you. Jesus, what the hell turned you this way?"

  "It's really very simple, Adam. Do you know what it's like to wait for years to find some semblance of a life, some semblance of love and have it taken away just when you needed it the most?"

  "I do."

  "I loved Daniel. I loved Daniel more than I loved myself and it's pathetic and I know it is. It's pathetic but there is nothing I can do to change that. For five years he was my world; I woke when he woke and I slept when he slept and as sad as that is, it was the happiest time of my life. We were nowhere near here. I hate this fucking place. I hate this fucking house. I hate everything about it and now I'm stuck here without a husband and only cries to keep me company."

  "You still cry, don't you? You still cry for him?"

  She wiped her eyes, "I don't want it to end this way. We are often remembered for the things we do later in life. And who wants that? Who wants to be remembered as the silly little wife
who got carried away with grief, lost all sense of reality? I don't want that because that's not what happened and the only reason I'm here is too complicated to explain."

  "Why are you here? You're clearly miserable in this place. What keeps you here?"

  "I really don't know where else I would go if I weren't here. When he died he took everything with him, nothing was mine, the house in Boulder —gone. The savings account—gone. I even gave up most of my friends for him, for years it was just me and him, just one. And when you isolate yourself and distance yourself from the people you love, it's hard to get back on board. It's very difficult to rekindle the past, and don't get me wrong, I've tried to talk to some of my friends, while I've been here, but it's not the same. And I have one sister, but we don't have the best of relationship, so when Margo asked if I wanted to come and live with her, she said we could heal each other together. I thought that was a very genuine offer. I didn't realize this would be my prison. I didn't think my life would end this way."

  "But your life is not over."

  "I think life ends when you no longer see a future. When you no longer have any hope or dreams. I don't dream anymore, I remember. I remember the way things were and I live in the past and I know this I am well aware of my flaws, but that doesn't make it any easier to stop doing what I'm doing. I don't expect anything anymore, not even disappointments, those are a given. But I think I have a way, I think I see a spark again."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Another reason I've stayed in this house is because," she paused.

  "Because what?"

  "Because I still hear his voice."

  "Who's voice?"

  "Daniel's voice. I still hear his voice."

  "How can you hear his voice?"

  "I hear him through the wall. I hear him calling me. I hear him on some nights. And just the other night I heard him very clearly again. I heard him tell me to go to the little mausoleum at the end of the estate. He told me to go to the grave house. He says he's in there. He wants me to find him."