Room Beneath the Stairs

by Wilde, Jennifer;

  I went down to the third landing, standing directly beneath the bright white bulb. I peered at the final flight of steps. Something was sprawled out on the concrete floor just beyond them. Slowly, as though sleepwalking, I moved down. The dim yellow bulb was burning too. It shed feeble rays over the large, crumpled body in the tight black uniform. He looked like an enormous rag doll some vicious child had hurled to the floor in fury. Arms and legs akimbo, head to one side, he looked like a grotesque toy, one side of his head covered with sticky red paste. I knelt down beside him.

  “Burke,” I whispered.

  It was futile. Burke was dead.

  A light burned in the room beneath the stairs. It spilled out over the basement floor. The door had literally been torn from its hinges. It was on the floor, broken into several pieces. I stood up, stepping into that small room with its hideous colored faces, with the long grooves that had been gouged out by human hands. He wasn’t there. I came back out, looked around the large basement room filled with its clutter of boxes and discarded furniture. Corners were thick with shadows. I saw a dark form crouching behind a stack of cardboard boxes. I could hear his breathing. I could feel him watching me.

  “Please come out,” I said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I don’t wanna,” he whined.

  “Please, Grey.”

  Slowly, cautiously, he crept from behind his place of concealment. His feet shuffled on the floor. He was still in shadow, his white sweater a blur. Watching me apprehensively, he stepped into the light, several yards away from me. He was still wearing the jeans, the sweater he had worn when he left with Evan yesterday afternoon. The sweater was covered with dirt. His blond hair was matted, falling in a heavy fringe over his forehead. He clutched the teddy bear to him with one arm. His other hand gripped a hammer. The head of it was smeared with sticky red wetness.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  He shook his head, confused. His gray-blue eyes were wide, the eyes of a child. There were dried tears on his cheeks. He was frightened, but his stance was belligerent. His mouth pouted defiantly.

  “I’m Carolyn. Don’t you know me?”

  “You have a gun. I wanna play with it.”

  His voice was the voice of a seven-year-old, thin and reedy.

  “Gimme it,” he said.

  “No, Grey. You—you can’t have it.”

  “You won’t play with me,” he said petulantly. “Burkie wouldn’t either. I wanted to play, and he was ugly to me. I got mad at ’im. You’d better be nice to me.”

  “Grey—”

  “You’d better be nice!”

  He hurled the teddy bear away from him. It sailed through the air and crashed against an old lamp. The lamp fell to the floor, the glass shade shattering into a hundred pieces. Chest swelling, eyes filled with anger, he moved slowly toward me. I backed away. I forgot all about the gun in my hand. I couldn’t have used it anyway. This was a nightmare, a grotesque nightmare. My whole body trembled. I tried to say something. The words stuck in my throat. I stumbled against a chair, almost falling. He giggled. It was a horrible sound, ringing throughout the basement, echoing against the walls.

  “This is fun!” he cried enthusiastically.

  “No,” I whispered. “No—”

  I was crying. I hadn’t thought I could cry. Everything shimmered and blurred, seen through tears. The room began to spin. I was going to faint. My knees wobbled. I swayed. He giggled again, moving closer, gripping the hammer tightly. I stumbled back against the stairs. My knees gave way. I fell, toppling painfully over the lower steps. He was smiling, only a few feet away. His eyes were alight with excitement as he raised the hammer, swinging his arm back.

  “Grey!” I cried.

  Everything happened at once. The blast was a deafening explosion that shook the walls. A streak of orange and blue soared past me. Grey’s eyes widened. He dropped the hammer. He stumbled backward, clutching his chest. I screamed and screamed until my throat was raw. He fell to his knees. He looked at me with bewildered eyes.

  “Carolyn—” he said. “Carolyn, what happened—”

  He lurched forward, falling face down on the floor with his arms spread out. A red pool began to spread beneath him. I wasn’t screaming anymore. The tears coursed down my cheeks. Sobbing, I reached for the handrail and managed to pull myself up. Through my tears I saw Carlotta standing on the landing beneath the light bulb. She was wearing the red caftan, the silver bracelets. Her face was withered and old in the harsh light. Her blue eyes were filled with incredible pain. Curls of smoke still rose from the rifle in her hands.

  “I heard,” she said. “I knew you were alone in the house. I knew you would come down here. I tried to stop you. I called, but you didn’t hear—” Her voice broke. Tears spilled over her lashes. “I had to do it. You must understand that. He would have—he didn’t know what he was—” Her shoulders began to shake. She dropped the rifle and covered her face with her hands. “God forgive me. Oh, dear God, please forgive me.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Looking out the window I could see the silver tip of the wing and, below, a bank of fleecy white clouds. We were losing altitude now. In a moment we were flying through the clouds, the plane surrounded by billowing mist. Beside me, Ellie put down her fashion magazine and sighed, looking gloriously tan and fit after our three months of touring the Greek islands, traveling through Italy and sunning on the French Riviera. Evan had insisted on the trip, had made all the arrangements. I had protested at first, but he had been firm, brooking no argument, and he had been right. The prolonged trip had accomplished everything he felt it would accomplish. I had come to terms with myself. I was whole again. Ellie had been wonderful, as firm as Evan, refusing to let me brood. Her vitality and gaiety had been infectious, and after the first three or four weeks I had actually begun to enjoy myself.

  “I could use another cocktail,” she said, tensing as the plane dipped lower.

  “You’ve already had the limit,” I replied, smiling.

  “I adore flying, really I do, but landing always makes me so nervous. I wish we could see.”

  “We’ll be out of the clouds in a few minutes.”

  Ellie sighed again and tightened her seat belt, even though the flashing sign hadn’t come on yet; then she reached for my hand and held it. Her velvety brown eyes were suddenly filled with concern.

  “Are you—glad to be coming back home?” she asked quietly.

  I nodded. It was true. The trip had been marvelous therapy, but now I was ready to start living again in earnest. Life goes on. I had learned that the hard way. I had no idea what was in store for me. I was twenty-four years old, ready now to go on with my life. The sadness would be there inside for the rest of my days, a part of me, but it would not mar any happiness that might come in the future. Ellie released my hand and sat back, staring resolutely ahead. I looked out at the mist, wondering if Evan would be at the airport to meet us.

  That last week on Greycliff Island was a blurred memory. Only vaguely did I recall the conferences with the police, the inquest, the explanations. Evan had taken charge of everything. He sat beside me on the long trip to the cemetery on the mainland. I remembered little of that day. A fine, misty rain had drizzled down over acres of tombstones. People I had never met huddled under umbrellas, staring at the bronze casket, listening to the solemn words. There had been flowers, so many flowers. Veiled, numb, I watched them lower the casket into the hole beside the mound of freshly turned earth. Evan held my arm tightly, and later, when we got back, he took me into the sitting room and talked to me for a long time. All questions had been answered, all mysteries explained. I knew the whole story now, a tragedy for everyone involved. As the plane dipped lower, clearing the clouds, I thought about it without flinching, without tears.

  Grey had been a happy, robust little boy, full of high spirits, extremely affectionate. He had loved both his parents with all his heart, and they, in turn, had spoiled him deplorably. He had
been accustomed to having his own way, and on the rare occasions when they refused him something he had been resentful and surly. They had refused to take him with them to the mainland that day. They had planned an outing for just the two of them and didn’t want the child along. Crossed, Grey had decided to play a boyish prank. He had slipped into the boathouse and emptied the petrol tank, leaving just enough fuel to start the boat and carry it halfway across. He told them goodbye and watched them climb into the boat. He smiled and waved as the boat took off with a mighty surge, and he laughed, knowing the motor would splurt and the boat would stop and they would be stranded out in the middle of the bay. He was still laughing when he saw his father take out a cigarette and light it and toss the match aside. It landed in the pool of petrol Grey had accidentally spilled.

  The boat exploded. Flames shot up fifty yards high like some gigantic bonfire on the water. His mother and father were killed instantly, incinerated along with the boat. Grey had seen it all and had known that he was responsible. He had screamed and screamed, until one of the servants had rushed to the boathouse. As she tried to control him, he continued to scream, telling her what he had done, that he was a murderer; and then he had pushed her aside and run wildly away. It was two days before they finally found him. He was hiding in a warehouse, cowering behind a stack of boxes. The shock of what he had seen and the knowledge that he had been responsible had caused a severe trauma, and he had been catatonic when they found him. The doctors said his mind had been damaged beyond repair, and they felt he should be put into an institution, but Helen and her husband had flatly refused to have him committed. The disgrace would have been too much. He received the best, the most expensive treatment available, and little by little he began to respond. When his recovery seemed complete, they took him back to the island, despite warnings that he might have a serious relapse. After a while he was as rowdy, as jovial and exuberant as ever, though there were times when he didn’t talk, when he seemed moody and belligerent.

  A few months later, Henrietta was found on the front steps. She had been brutally mutilated. Grey had loved the dog inordinately. He cried and cried, unable to understand what had happened to her. She was buried on the bowling green with her own little tombstone. Later, when they found the bloodied knife in his room, a conference was held. He should have been sent to an institution then, but the Porters were adamant. Burke was hired. He had spent several years working in a mental hospital. The problem seemed to have been resolved. Burke loved his charge, watched after him tenderly and with great care. When Grey had fits of insane temper, he was placed in the room beneath the stairs, surrounded by toys. The fits grew less and less frequent, finally ceasing altogether. But Burke wasn’t infallible. Grey sometimes slipped off to play in the caves. He was always punished, but he still managed to elude his elders. Years passed, and then the little girl was found in the caves, horribly mutilated, just as Henrietta had been.

  The crime was never solved. The police said it had been done by a maniac. Grey stared with wide, innocent eyes when his uncle questioned him, swearing he knew nothing about it. The murder weapon was never found. Although none of them could be sure Grey had done it, the Porters arranged for the little girl’s family to receive a mysterious inheritance. They emigrated to Australia. Grey was watched more closely than ever. Several months later he managed to slip away and row over to the mainland, where he met another little girl, a little girl with mousy brown braids and large blue eyes. He took her across to the island and showed her the caves. Evan found them, and he sent Grey home and brought the little girl back to the mainland.

  Only a few times during the years that followed did Grey have one of his spells, and then only after some unusual stress. When it happened, he reverted to childhood, becoming a five-year-old again, expressing through violence and outrage the emotions he had experienced when he witnessed his parents’ deaths. He never recalled any of those spells. He was naturally confused and bewildered when he came to in the room with the barred window. It was explained to him that he suffered from epilepsy and was placed in the room whenever he had a seizure. The spells grew rarer and rarer. Grey matured into a handsome, charming, energetic young man, apparently normal in every respect. He had been educated by a series of hand-picked private tutors, and he had no interest in further education, which was fortunate under the circumstances. Carefree and irresponsible by nature, he was content to lead a rather limited existence on the island. He took frequent trips to London with Evan and Burke. He met many charming young women. Unbeknownst to Grey, his sex life was carefully supervised.

  And then he met Valerie. Knowing that his family didn’t want him to have anything to do with any of the village girls for fear his “epilepsy” might be discovered, Grey managed to conduct the affair in secret, slipping out of the house at night to meet the girl. One night Burke followed him. The affair was ended abruptly, and Grey was infuriated. He decided to have a life of his own. Stealing a large amount of money from the safe, he fled to London. Private detectives were hired to track him down, but Grey changed hotels frequently, always using an assumed name. Then he met me, and it was only after we were married that he sent a telegram to Evan. We left for Greycliff Island. I remembered Grey’s moodiness. I understood now that he had been worried about his “epilepsy” but was unable to tell me about it, afraid of his family’s reaction to his sudden marriage.

  The pressure had been too much for him. He felt guilty about marrying me, guilty about deceiving his family. He felt guilty about Valerie, too, and that first morning he had slipped off to see her. During their meeting he had a momentary blackout, spouting childish gibberish, bewildering her, and that night he had a full-fledged spell. Burke managed to get him down to the basement room but was unable to restrain him. When Grey came to, he found Burke unconscious at his feet, a dark purple bruise beginning to show on his cheek. He came back up the basement stairs just in time to find me in the darkened hall, a candle in my hand.

  That morning Evan reached a major decision. He realized that things had gone much too far. Grey’s spell had been particularly violent. There was only one thing to do, what should have been done years earlier. Evan phoned several doctors and made arrangements to have Grey committed to a private institution near London where he would receive the best of care. He planned to deal with me later, after Grey was safely put away. Burke took Grey to look at the boat, getting him out of the way lest he suspect something, and they were gone when Valerie arrived. She was upset, demanding an explanation for Grey’s curious conduct. When Evan told her Grey had been drinking, she refused to believe it. He lost his temper, shook her, and told her to mind her own business and to keep quiet about what had happened.

  Afraid that Valerie might attempt to see Grey, and knowing that Helen was tense and might give something away, Evan took Grey with him to the cannery that afternoon; and although he was sullen and plainly bored, Grey seemed to be perfectly all right. When they returned, he disappeared, apparently vanishing into thin air. Burke and Evan searched the house, the grounds, looking everywhere. Helen came to my room, distracted, almost out of her mind with worry. I went into the woods to meet Valerie. Grey had been hiding there all during the time Burke and Evan were looking elsewhere. I remembered the shrubbery rustling behind me when I was in the clearing, the stealthy footsteps moving away. Why he left, why he attacked Valerie instead would always remain a mystery.

  Evan and Burke had begun a thorough search of the woods. They heard me running. Evan found me there on the path, and a short while later Burke discovered Grey wandering through the woods, totally confused, having no idea what he was doing there. Heartsick, Burke led him back to the house and locked him in the basement room, filled with sadness as he realized that his beloved charge would never have freedom again. After much deliberation, Evan phoned the police and told them of my discovery. He didn’t mention Grey. He intended to tell them everything after Grey had been safely removed, knowing he might well be committed to a public ins
titution otherwise. Right or wrong, he took that responsibility upon himself. He wanted just one more day.…

  It was over now, all over. The police and officials had been most understanding, realizing Evan’s motives and sympathizing with them. Through some miracle of influence and power, most of the story had been kept from the press. There had been a brief, insignificant story in the back pages; nothing more. Sensational though the events on Greycliff Island had been, the tabloids hadn’t gotten wind of them. At least we had been spared notoriety.

  “Did you feel that?” Ellie exclaimed.

  “It was just an air pocket, Ellie.”

  “I hope that pilot knows what he’s doing. He’s rather divine, by the way—six feet three, stern leathery face, wavy brown hair, gorgeous in his uniform.”

  “You met him?”

  “At the airport, while you were powdering your nose. He has a three-day layover in London. He’s taking me to dinner tonight. I’m to wait for him in the lounge after we land.”

  “You’re incorrigible,” I teased.

  “A girl has to do the best she can these days. Besides, I figured you and Evan might want to be alone.”

  “I—I’m not sure he’ll be at the airport. He didn’t mention it in his letter.”

  “He’ll be there,” Ellie said knowingly.

  We were flying much lower now. Through the window I could see a vague blur of misty green and brown patches, a network of gray. I thought about Evan’s last letter. It had been full of information. He had sold the business to one of his competitors and intended to come to London and practice law. A firm of investors was interested in buying the big house, hoping to turn it into a hotel for tourists. It was ideally located, and though the villagers resented the idea, it would ultimately mean more business for all of them. Helen, he wrote, was going on a trip around the world, had already departed. Carlotta had startled everyone by buying a cottage in the country sight unseen, picking it out from a real estate catalogue. She was wildly enthusiastic and was driving him mad with talk about fresh eggs and real butter and simple, decent folks who were the salt of the earth and knew all there was to know about herbs and poultices and breeding animals and things that mattered. The place was really quite nice, he informed me, and Judy and Ned, recently married, had agreed to live there with her. Carlotta was embarking on a grand new adventure, I thought, and her neighbors were going to have quite a few surprises when she settled down in their midst.