Sheltered

by Debra Chapoton

  But Ben answered, “Nightmares are like yawns, very contagious.” He tried for a real laugh and Megan was quick to join in. “Anyway, I seriously doubt Cori would let us through her room to get to the attic.”

  Emily took her plate to the sink. She heard Ben tell Megan that he’d be back after he did some errands if she wanted to continue their conversation from last night. Emily frowned. Ben never stuck around here on Sundays. At least that was what he always told her. She turned the water on its hottest temperature and let it scald her left wrist. She felt a little better.

  She needed to comb her hair, wash her face, and brush her teeth, but that would mean ten more minutes for those two to talk alone. “Ben,” she raised her voice a couple decibels, “Ben. I’m ready to go.”

  ***

  Megan figured she had some time to shower and dress before Ben got back. She started up the stairs quickly then slowed to a quieter stealth when she remembered who was still sleeping up there.

  Haunted house, right, she thought. She liked a good zombie story or vampire movie same as the next person, but a nightmare couldn’t hurt you, bite you, kill you. She wasn’t as sure about Cori.

  The pounding on the front door was another matter. Who would be knocking this early on a Sunday morning? Her heart froze with the possibilities. If it was the police . . . something about Simon? No, they couldn’t know yet that she lived here unless . . .

  She went to Emily’s room and hesitated a second before pushing the door open. She went to the window, stepped on Emily’s nest of blankets, and looked out. Relief. The car out front was not a police cruiser. She could see tracks in the snow, but even with her face right up to the top of the window she couldn’t quite see who was down there on the porch.

  Another pounding on the door. Would Cori be roused by the noise? And what about the twins in the basement? It shouldn’t be her responsibility yet to answer the door. Whoever was down there was probably one of their friends.

  Two more knocks and the person stepped back and into Megan’s view. She jerked back and to the side, out of sight, as the man raised his face toward the window.

  “I’ll be back!” he yelled, his voice hardly muted through the old panes of glass. “Marty Kremer will be back!”

  Megan gambled on another look and watched the hugely obese man waddle back to the car. Marty Kremer? A relative of the woman she met? She should have gone down and let him in, but . . .

  “What are you doing in Emily’s room?” Cori demanded.

  Megan’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. “You scared me!”

  “I scare everybody.” Cori crossed the room, shouldered Megan aside, and looked out the window. “Who’s he?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, he hollered that he’d be back. Said he’s Marty Kremer.”

  “Shit. He’s huge.” She watched him struggle to fit into the seat, start the car, and pull away. “Didn’t look like the bitch’s type. She could do better.”

  Megan was ready to disagree, to say that the woman she met seemed like she’d hook up with any guy, but instead she stared at Cori.

  “What happened to your face?”

  Cori turned abruptly and spat out the words, “None of your business.”

  “Cori, please, can’t we be friends? After all, we’re living together.”

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Megan.”

  “Well, Megan, my kind and your kind can’t be friends.” Cori turned.

  “Wait. I know you went in my room. Did you take anything?” Megan stepped closer, not threatening, not even confrontational, but sure of herself.

  Cori sneered. “You don’t have anything I want. What are you, some stupid rich bitch that got grounded once? Why do you need to be here?”

  Megan cleared her throat. She never imagined that she’d tell this to Cori before Ben or Emily. “My parents disowned me. I had a baby.” The tears started to come, unwanted. “His name is Simon and I hardly ever get to be with him.” The sobs began and she lowered her head. Her whole body shook. She covered her face with her hands and cried in earnest. When she finally got hold of herself she lifted her head, ready to explain the rest.

  But Cori was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Chuck listened from the kitchen. New girl was crying. He scraped out a few chunks of dried eggs from the pan on the stove then took a box of cheerios into the living room. He took his pill and now felt kind of mellow. Hoped Cori would come down. Maybe she’d give him a hard time. As usual.

  She wanted him. She was clearly playing hard to get. I need a cigarette.

  No you don’t.

  Adam, just leave me alone.

  New girl is kind of cute. Maybe I could make Cori jealous by paying more attention to her. To Megan.

  That might make Ben mad. He was kind of into her last night.

  Chuck’s mind went blank and he stared out the window.

  ***

  Megan showered and dressed and went down to the living room to wait for Ben. One of the twins was sitting in the chair watching the road; a box of cereal was tipped at his feet.

  “Good morning . . . Chuck?” He was wearing the same Kid Rock shirt from the night before and since he wasn’t wearing a hat, she was certain she’d guessed right.

  Slowly he turned his face her way. His gaze was vacant, empty, and a tad frightening. For a split second Megan imagined that a demon was arched to pop out of his skull and attack her. The thought vanished when she heard a gurgle from his throat.

  “Morning,” he struggled to say. He twisted back toward the window and went rigid.

  “Um, last night Ben told me I could use the computer in the den. That okay with you?”

  His head nodded slightly. Megan left him to his stupor and entered the den.

  The small room was drafty, but she was too intent on her mission to be bothered running upstairs for a sweatshirt. She started a Google search with the address of the house and got 509,000 results in 0.46 seconds. The first thing was a map with a green arrow indicating the old house’s location. Real estate news, data, and statistics followed along with totally irrelevant stuff about Pottery Barn, a pizza place, and several libraries. She jumped ahead ten and twenty pages deeper into the search results and found nothing. The side bar caught her attention and she hit “news” under the search options and was disappointed again when no results appeared.

  Next she tried a search of newspaper archives. Pay dirt. She found an article from 1933 that detailed a horrific murder that took place two blocks from the new high school: Small towns are not immune to tragedies of this magnitude, the article began, but it is a shock just the same to have a calamity such as this occur here. In an extraordinary religious cult ceremony and orgy Bobby Joe Kinton killed his own mother and sister. Police officials have confirmed that a group of twelve Kentucky mountaineers relocated to this community in 1932 and continued to practice devil-worship, voodooism, and animal sacrifice. The bodies of the two women were found partially burned, stabbed, and dismembered. Neighbors on Elm Street had reported screams coming from the house next door on two previous occasions.

  Megan scanned the rest of the article. She wondered if she was now living in a house that once was the site of a human sacrifice. She chilled at the thought. What, besides the devil, would drive a son to kill his mother and sister?

  The reference to Elm Street and the “new” school sidetracked her onto another direction. She found the address of the school, built in 1928. Further sleuthing and she learned that the school was used as administrative offices in the 70’s and 80’s and then reopened in 2001 as the alternative school that Cori and the twins attended. Interesting, but she wanted to know more about the murder. She tried Bobby Joe Kinton’s name, but Google had no results, not even Facebook.

  Megan wondered if she could check the county records. The Freedom of Information Act must apply. Maybe there was a deed or something in the mother’s name, but, considering the type of people they were, her last n
ame was likely to be different from her son’s. She might as well drop the whole thing. Nightmares, ghosts, murders. She knew why she was distracting herself with this: she was avoiding thinking about how she blurted out her big secret to Cori.

  She’d have to say something to Ben now. So much for trying to impress a guy.

  ***

  Ben dropped the uber-silent Emily off at her work and then circled around to his mother and step-dad’s house. If he parked on the next street and came in through the walk-out basement they wouldn’t know the car hadn’t been in the garage all night. He had set the house alarm, but chances were good that they had been too drunk to think of re-setting it. But if they did, he’d have 30 seconds to run up to the foyer and disarm it. He could do it in 10.

  “Ben!” Ed Rose was on the weight lifting bench. “What are you doing?”

  Ben closed the door quickly and stomped his feet on the mat. “Uh, I went outside right before you came down here. Didn’t you see me?” He looked out the door window at the solitary tracks he’d made in the snow. That would be hard to explain if Ed looked.

  “No. Hey, come here. Spot me.”

  Ben threw his coat on the chair and slipped off his boots. Already his mind was inventing plausible explanations – lies – to cover himself. As he stood at the head of the bench he thought of something else: the Petersons. How could he bring up the subject of his step-father’s rental houses without arousing suspicion?

  Easy. Ed Rose thought his step-son was a bookworm, a geek, and a loser. A little flattery should play to the old man’s ego.

  “Um, Ed, we’re studying financial stuff in economics class. My teacher said nobody can make money in real estate now and I said Rose Properties does.”

  “Damn right.” Ed grunted with the weight, pushed it straight up.

  “Well, how come you do?”

  “Volume, low interest, steady renters,” he grunted again, “a number of things.”

  “Aren’t renters a hassle?” Ben hoped this was a good segue.

  “Only if they don’t pay on time.”

  “What if,” he hesitated, trying to frame the question, “what if your renters are, you know, unreliable or something. Like they wreck the house or have parties all the time or don’t mow the grass and the city gets after you.”

  “I kick ’em out in a heartbeat.” He finished and sat up, wiped his brow.

  “You can do that? Even if they’ve paid their rent in advance?”

  Ed’s laugh was not only evil, it was sardonic. “I’ve got people who can handle . . . evictions . . .”

  ***

  Cori stretched and yawned. It was almost noon on a Sunday. Perfect. The only thing wrong with this weekend was that it was close to being over.

  And her jaw hurt. Then she remembered. She came home at four or five a.m., saw something incredible, hit her head stumbling through her room, and passed out. A noise awakened her a couple of hours later and she confronted the new girl in Emily’s room. There was a fat guy outside and . . . the new girl was a mother. Holy sh–!

  She rubbed at her jaw and felt some dried blood. Her stomach growled. She’d had dreams in her life that had stayed with her long after and changed her perceptions; she’d had nightmares that blackened her head like the dye in her hair, coloring the thoughts of her mind but then fading to a haze. Cori took a moment to think – but she was better at reacting. She fled the room.

  When she reached the bottom step she listened before touching the door. The place was dead silent. She opened the door and took a step out.

  She was surprised to see the new girl in the den and Chuck in the living room. She kept her facial expression terse in that every-day scowl of hers and purposely crossed the living room and took the long way to the kitchen.

  “Hey, pizza-face,” Cori mocked as she passed Chuck.

  He turned as she spoke and flung a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred. His facial muscles hardened then relaxed. He did not speak until she reached the kitchen.

  “Hey, Cori,” Chuck replied, softly. He stood and stretched, rubbed his eyes, and followed her. “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Get outta my sight. Go screw a light bulb or somethin’.”

  “You need that pan? Lemme wash it for ya.” He grabbed the egg-encrusted pan and made for the sink.

  Cori smirked. “Did you make eggs? I don’t believe it.”

  Chuck’s shoulders slumped. He began to scrub the pan.

  “Hey, new girl!” Cori leaned into the hallway. “Come wash your dirty pan out. We’re not your slaves.”

  Megan appeared in the doorway and watched her housemates’ backs as Chuck cleaned and Cori hunted for cereal.

  “Shit, we’re outta Cheerios.”

  “I’ll get ’em.” Chuck’s long legs meant it only took him a couple of strides to and from the living room to retrieve the box. “Here, Cori.” He said her name like a kid with a crush.

  Megan took Chuck’s spot at the sink and finished washing the pan. The small room guarded their careful movements as they braided their way around one another. Despite Cori’s ill-temper Megan’s revelation put a chink in her scaly armor; Chuck’s devotion and her own insecurities broke her scowl, but neither Megan nor Chuck saw the change in her demeanor. Cori took her cereal bowl to the dining room and stood at the window to eat.

  “So, Chuck,” Megan began, “I was just looking up some stuff on the internet. Did you know there might have been a double murder in this house?”

  His reaction was not what she expected. Chuck’s lips parted, as if to speak, but he merely drew a breath in then let it escape with a sigh. “I love murder,” he whispered.

  Megan chilled. She stepped away from him and into the dining room. “Cori, Ben said there’s a way into the attic from your room. Can we look up there?”

  Megan felt colder yet as Cori’s eyes boiled at her with some dark and unnamed emotion. Then she spoke, “Listen, new girl . . .” Her jaw tightened. “Maybe we need some kind of initiation or orientation or . . .”

  “Hazing,” Chuck breathed.

  Cori ignored him. “Or whatever. You gotta learn the rules. Nobody goes in my room. Not even Mr. All-important-Ben.”

  Megan backed away then had a thought. “Hey, do you think Mrs. Kremer could be a descendant of the victims?”

  Cori rolled her eyes.

  “They could have left kids. Or the murderer could have had a kid.”

  Cori clenched her spoon. New girl was getting to her. She set her bowl down on the table and took a step toward Megan. “Tell me your impression of Mrs. Kremer. Describe her.”

  “Um, old, older. Brownish hair.”

  “Not blonde? How long?”

  “Not long, hardly over her ears. Short dirty nails. Trailer trash,” Megan said, remembering with a jolt how that term had been used to belittle her once.

  “Would you say she was a thirty-something business executive type?” Cori crossed her arms and moved further into Megan’s space.

  “No,” she answered, holding her ground. She sent a flickering glance toward Chuck who framed the doorway. His brow corrugated into lines of wonder, but he said nothing.

  Megan dug one hand into her jeans pocket and pulled out the piece of metal she found above the door frame yesterday. She waved it at Cori. “I dare you to go in her room.”

  ***

  Ben finally got away in the afternoon when he told his mom he had a project to work on at the city library. She was on her second glass of wine from a bottle that Ben had watered down. He left her to rattle around the big house alone.

  Ed had escaped earlier, after his workout, claiming that Sunday was the only day he could scout real estate, walk through open houses, and make deals. Funny how so many deals brought him home late smelling of smoke and booze.

  Ben drove fast, anxious to spend some time with Megan before she went to work. Some concern about leaving her alone with the others also affected his speed. He couldn’t trust Cori to hold her ton
gue and the comment with reference to Mrs. Kremer had him worried.

  He pulled into the driveway behind Chuck’s car. As soon as he opened the side door he heard the arguing.

  Three voices came from the back of the house.

  “What are you guys doing in here?” he asked as he entered the den.

  Megan was at the computer. Cori and Chuck hunched over either side of her.

  The look in Cori’s eyes stopped him before her words did. “We’re googling Mrs. Kremer. What’s her first name anyway?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. Why are you . . . what are you looking for?” Ben cracked every knuckle, moved closer to the monitor.

  “Try Marty Kremer. Martin, I mean,” Cori offered. Her scowl was gone and her face held more color than usual.

  “What are you guys doing?” Ben demanded again.

  “Some man . . .”

  “A fat man.”

  “Yeah, some fat man showed up this morning pounding on the door. Said his name was Marty Kremer.”

  Ben stepped back. How could this be?

  Megan stood up. “Ben, we’re pretty sure there isn’t a Mrs. Kremer. There isn’t, is there?”

  “What, what do you mean? You’ve all met her.”

  “We’ve all met somebody different,” Cori said. “Tell us, Ben, what does she look like?”

  “Well,” he looked from face to face then held his hand out as high as his ears, “she’s about this tall or this tall depending on if she’s wearing heels or not.” He lowered his hand a few inches.

  “What color is her hair?” Cori asked.

  “Like you, she changes it. So, I guess I don’t really know.” He pulled his thumb till the knuckle popped.

  Megan was looking at him more intently than the others, reading him.

  Ben popped his other thumb. “Listen, why are you guys so interested all of a sudden? Because of this Marty guy?” He unexpectedly struck on an answer and tried to look surprised. “Maybe it’s her husband. Maybe she’s not here much because she lives with him and this place is a secret.”