by Lisa Unger
“Shh,” said Josh. “She’s still sleeping.”
“A reputation now,” said Rhett.
“The business,” said Josh. “I’m fair. I’m honest. I finish what I start on time and on budget.”
Rhett lifted his palms. “Okay, okay,” he said.
His brother walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a six-pack he’d stashed in there. No alcohol of any kind in the house, not even cough medicine or mouthwash. That was like AA 101. And beer was Josh’s gateway substance. Once he’d had a few of those, there was nothing else he wouldn’t do. Rhett held out a beer to Josh, who shook his head.
“That’s right,” said Rhett. “Clean and sober. Good for you.”
Rhett cracked open the beer, and just the sound was enough to start that ache for it. He could taste the tingle on his tongue, feel the cold in the back of his throat—the way all the hard edges smoothed right out after that first sip, the warmth in his center. Josh took and released a breath, looked away.
“Aren’t you sick of it all?” asked Rhett. There was some kind of light in his eyes now. Josh recognized it. Damn if it didn’t excite him as much as it scared the hell out of him, that look.
“Working for all of them?” said Rhett. “Doing the shit jobs they offer you?”
Something tickled in the back of his mind. Something ugly. “No,” he said. “I like what I do, the people that I do it for.”
Rhett frowned, shook his head like Josh was the biggest idiot he had ever seen.
“So, if you won the lotto,” he said. “You’d still be doing it?”
Josh pushed out a breath. “I’m not going to win the lotto,” he said. “And neither are you.”
Rhett pulled up a chair and sat across from Josh, leaned extravagantly across the table. He smiled, bright and wolfish.
“Oh no?”
“No.”
“It’s there, Josh,” said Rhett. “It’s been there all this time.”
Rhett lay a copper key on the table between them. Josh didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about. The guy was obsessed with that fucking money.
Rhett pulled some folded pieces of the paper from his pocket, blue legal-sized sheets. He lay them out over the key, flattening the creases with his big calloused hands. Josh recognized it immediately as the survey for the Bishop property. Claudia had them tacked up on her refrigerator.
“How’d you get those?”
“Missy works in records now,” he said. “We stayed in touch. She’s still smoking hot, you know.”
Missy. Rhett’s old high school sweetheart. She was hot the way a cattle prod was hot. She was the only person Josh knew who was as mean and sadistic as Rhett. In high school, she worked in a vet’s office. The rumor was that she was the one who volunteered to put the animals down.
“Look closely,” said Rhett. “What do you see?”
Josh looked. “Nothing,” he said. “Just the house and the barn. I’ve been through every inch of both.”
Rhett tapped on the page, between the two structures. Josh leaned in close to see two faint blue lines.
“What’s that?” he asked, digging through his memory for the various survey codes and markings. “Plumbing? Electric?”
Rhett shook his head, that smile practically gleaming. “It’s a tunnel, connecting the two buildings.”
Josh leaned in to take a closer look.
“I don’t know,” said Josh. He’d never seen anything in the house or the barn that looked like any kind of door. But to be honest, and maybe Rhett picked up on this, when Josh was looking for that money, a big part of him was trying to prove that it wasn’t there. Because he didn’t want it to be. They’d done a horrible thing; they didn’t deserve a big reward. Now that Rhett was back, the enterprise of looking had taken on a different energy.
Rhett fished the key out from under the papers. “That’s where it is. Has to be, baby brother. There has to be access from the house, probably in the basement. A million dollars just sitting there, waiting for us.”
The basement was a disaster. Truth was—those fallen beams, the mess down there, the heavy mold in the air—maybe. Maybe he hadn’t looked as hard as he could have.
Josh nodded toward the key. “Where did you get that?”
“Never mind.”
“You’ve been talking to him,” said Josh. “The old man.”
“He says he had his doubts until now,” he said. “Something happened. Something to do with Didion’s murder.”
Josh blew out a long breath. “Let me guess.”
“He says if we go back for it, we split it with him. Fifty-fifty.”
“If he’s so sure it’s there and he knows where it is,” asked Josh, “what does he need us for? Why doesn’t he go back for it himself?”
“Hey,” said Rhett. “I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, you know.”
“We get half,” said Josh. “And you and I split that?”
“Well, we have to cut Missy in.”
“Wait,” said Josh. “She knows about it? About everything?”
“She’s cool,” said Rhett. “Don’t worry.”
God, Rhett was so fucking stupid.
“So we do all the work, take all the risk. He gets half, and you and I each get a quarter. Minus whatever you promised Missy. Who now knows what we’ve done, what we’re about to do.”
“She always knew,” said Rhett, with a wave of his hand. “She’s been cool all this time. Anyway, look. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t even know about the money. We never would have known about it. Think of him as a contractor; we’re doing the work for him that he doesn’t want to or have time to do for himself.”
Josh wished with all of his heart and soul that they didn’t know about the money, that they never had. That Rhett hadn’t come into his room that night, that he hadn’t gone with his brother. How, how would his life have turned out differently if he’d only had a backbone?
“No one will get hurt this time, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Rhett, making his voice softer.
“That’s what you said last time.”
He still dreamed about it. He still heard the girl and the woman screaming, still saw their eyes wide and wet with terror and confusion. The woman, she begged for her daughter. Please, she said with her last breath. Please don’t let them hurt her.
“It wasn’t me,” said Rhett. “It was Didion.”
That was a lie. It was both of them, two wolves in a pack, taking their fill.
That’s the thing about addiction, Lee always said. It’s not the substance you’re addicted to. It’s the person you are, the way you feel, when you’re high or stoned or drunk.
Looking into his brother’s face was like looking into the amber face of a cold beer or smelling that first tang on the air when someone lit a joint. It wasn’t the taste, the first drag, it was the moment right after when Josh’s whole body seemed to release the tension it was holding, when everything that worried or frightened him just receded like players from a stage.
There was something about who he was when Rhett was around. It was like Rhett knew that somewhere inside his little brother, down deep, there was a guy who wasn’t that much different than Rhett. There was something dark hidden inside Josh, like a feral animal in a burrow, one that only needed to be lured out.
Rhett took a long swallow of his beer. Corona Extra. Rhett never bothered with the lime.
“We could be drinking this on a beach in Anguilla,” said Rhett. “And think about Mom. Think about how comfortable we could make her.”
Josh shook his head, had to smile. Rhett knew. He knew how to push every single button.
“And what if it isn’t there?” said Josh. “What if that’s just plumbing lines or nothing at all?”
“Then it’s done,” he said, lifting his palms and raising his eyebrows in a show of sincerity. “We move on and start making money the old-fashioned way.”
It was a nod to the old man. Their dad love
d imitating that old guy on the commercial for an investment firm or whatever it was. We make our money the old-fashioned way. We eeeaaarrrn it!
Just remember, Lee had warned. That guy, the one you are when you’re high. He’s a fiction. He doesn’t exist. When you wake up with all of your regrets, he’s long gone. It’s the real you who has to bear the consequences of his actions. And trying to blame it on him, is like trying to blame your imaginary friend. Everyone knows it’s just a lie—even you.
“Look, Rhett,” Josh said. “You don’t need me. Just do it yourself. Take the money and go.”
He felt that surge of strength he always felt after he talked to Lee. Right talk, right speech, words that connected him to that good place inside.
“I do need you, brother,” he said. “The big man wants you, too.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all in this together from way back,” he said. “And because you can just walk in the door. I, on the other hand, will have to break in or sneak in. And no one knows what will happen then. You know what I mean.”
That was so true to form. Coax, and if that didn’t work, threaten.
“That’s a real pretty woman,” said Rhett. “And that girl. Oh my god.”
Josh felt a hard dump of raw fear, tried to keep it off his face. But Rhett saw it. The predator always saw fear. Jesus, Josh couldn’t have any more blood on his hands. He took a deep breath, summoned his strength.
“Then I’ll go in alone,” Josh said. “I’ll bring you all the money. I don’t want it. You take it, go, and don’t come back.”
Rhett actually looked hurt for a moment, blinking, pushing down the corners of his mouth. And for a moment Josh actually felt bad.
“That’s going to break Ma’s heart,” said Rhett.
“She’ll forget,” said Josh. “That’s what she does. She forgets the things that hurt her.”
Rhett seemed to consider. “When are you going back? Today?”
“Monday.”
Rhett shook his head. “That’s not going to work. He wants the money tonight; he wants to disappear, says things are getting hot for him. He’s coming tonight.”
“It’s got to be Monday.”
Rhett’s face went dark.
“You find a way in there today,” said Rhett. His voice, too, had gone flat and cold. It was almost a relief because now Josh saw the real man behind the Rhett mask, all the masks he shifted around, trying to find the one that would get him what he wanted.
“If you don’t,” Rhett went on. “Then I’m going to find my way in there tonight. And just hope that no one gets in my way.”
twenty-five
Things That Go BUMP in the Night . . . and other problems with living in a HAUNTED HOUSE
It has been an interesting couple of days. First, I hired a handyman. And he’s going to help with the few (million) things that are beyond my DIY skills.
It will be shocking to some of you that 1) I need help, and 2) I’m willing to admit it. But those of you who have been with me from the very, very beginning remember that this is an important lesson, one that I learned after R was born and the specter of depression loomed. I got help, and it worked. Sometimes you just don’t have the right tools in your belt to help yourself. Sometimes you have to call in the professionals.
It was the wallpaper in the kitchen that really did me in. So many (ugly!) layers glued on so thick—I tried the rented steamer, scraping, peeling. But it just came off in these narrow strips, most of it staying fast. I’m sure there’s a metaphor here. Help me out!
Or maybe it was really the barn door falling off in the middle of the night, scaring the bejesus out of R and me, leading us to call the cops.
Or maybe it was just that the handyman showed up, eager and ready to help. Or maybe it was some combination of all of those things. Anyway, he’s coming on Monday and hopefully that means faster progress toward turning this place from overwhelming project into a happy home.
Given what I learned this weekend, hence the title of this blog, you’ll probably be surprised that I even want to stay. I am a little surprised myself.
Last night, I woke up and looked out my window to discover someone sneaking around the property. I called the police (again!). And the same young officer who came out the first night was at my doorstep. He and his lovely young partner (is that sexist to say she was so pretty! And nice!) both grew up here, and they filled me in on the sad, horrible history of this beautiful house.
A family was murdered here. Their young daughter was tortured but survived. The men were never caught. People apparently have been sneaking out here, daring each other to explore the “haunted house.” There’s a rumor that the killers were looking for money that is supposedly hidden here. And people still come out to search. It was probably someone like that on the property last night. I’ll wait while you process the horror of all of this.
Okay. It’s bad. I’ve been sick about it. And I did have about an hour where I thought about packing it in.
But the more I reflected, the more I saw the poetry of the situation, the relevance to me and my journey. Once upon a time, a horrible thing happened to me. A man broke into my home and raped me, leaving me for dead.
I could have abandoned myself. I could have succumbed to the aftermath of trauma, not sought help, sunk into depression and despair, and let those things darken the rest of my life. Instead, I clawed myself back into the light. It wasn’t easy. It took time. And the road is winding, with lots of switchbacks and dark patches, even now.
But, likewise, I won’t abandon this house. In fact, maybe we found our way to each other for a reason. Maybe we were meant for each other.
Meanwhile, lots of drama with R. The specter of her biology haunts us. Over the years, many of you have encouraged me to face the truth, whatever it is. Especially now that it’s what my daughter wants, many of you feel that it’s time. I’ve been stubborn. And I just realized that I’m doing what I said I would never do. I’m allowing a dark corner to stay unlit. I have been choosing the dark place of ignorance. And my reasons are selfish. If it turns out that my daughter is my rapist’s child, then—would I have to find a way to love him? Because even in the hatefulness and the horror of his actions, didn’t he give me the most important and beautiful gift of my life? How hard it will be to accept that. How deeply we resist forgiving someone who hurt and violated us, how impossible to imagine loving them. But it’s not just about me. I have decided that if it’s what my daughter really wants, she can have the test. And maybe this is a step forward on my journey, too. Maybe the truth will light the way toward true and total release and forgiveness. Because I will have to help R embrace her biology, and to do that, I will have to embrace it, as well. Jeez. Heavy.
I will move forward and help this house move on, too. We will embrace our past and, in doing so, create a better future. We can make this place a home for us, and be a home for the house, as well. A renovation and rebirth for all of us.
“MOM,” SAID RAVEN FROM BEHIND her. “You can’t publish that.”
Raven had been standing behind her for quite some time, which Claudia barely noticed because it was the usual state of affairs.
She turned to look at her daughter. “Too personal?”
“No,” Raven said. “Well, yeah, but what else is new? I mean about the money.”
“What about it?”
Raven threw up her hands. “Mom! Think about it! People are going to read that, and even more weirdoes are going to come out here.”
The kid had a point.
“But there’s no money,” said Claudia. “No one knows it’s us, or where the property is.”
“You really don’t know that,” said Raven. “What if someone does know? It wouldn’t be hard for locals to make the connection.”
“Okay,” she said. “How about I call that guy Josh, and he helps us look in the basement, move some of the bigger things we can’t budge.”
“No! Are you crazy?” Raven s
aid. “Then everyone in this one-horse town will know about it.”
“So what? Everyone does know about it. Everyone knew except me.”
“Okay, just think about it,” said Raven. A lot of times Raven seemed to be summoning her patience, much as Claudia used to do when her daughter was an intractable toddler. “What if, just if, the money is down there?”
She stared at Raven. What if it was down there? A million dollars. Troy was standing behind Raven now, leaning on the door frame, holding his eternal smartphone.
“We wouldn’t want anyone to know about that, right?” said Raven.
“We’d have to call the police,” said Claudia. “Of course.”
“Money that belonged to a drug dealer?” asked her daughter, looking incredulous. “Why? So the police could return it to him?”
“The money,” said Troy, raising his hand as if he were giving an answer in class. “If it’s down there, is evidence in the case of the murdered police officer and his wife. They would probably test it for DNA. It might lead to the solving of a crime. Right?”
Claudia and Raven both stared.
“What?” said Troy, shrugging. “You don’t watch Criminal Minds?”
“Also,” said Raven. “Those men who were looking for it and didn’t find it and who are still out there? Maybe they hear about it. And they come back. Maybe they think what we think. That it’s still there.”
Claudia blew out a breath.
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t post the blog. I don’t call the police. I don’t call the handyman. Then what do we do?”
Troy and Raven exchanged a look. “Come back downstairs with us.”
• • •
“SO,” SAID TROY.
They were back in the basement. He was reclining on one of the boxes, his back against the wall, staring at his phone. “It says here that some historic properties in Lost Valley and surrounding areas have tunnels and hidden rooms, and might have been part of the Underground Railroad,” said Troy, turning the phone so that Claudia could see.
She squinted at the phone but couldn’t really see without her glasses.
“Most of the properties have already been discovered,” he went on. “But what year was this house built?”
