Becoming Mona Lisa

by Holden Robinson

  “You're hopelessly flawed, but I don't see that. To me, you're perfect. You're beautiful. I would do anything for you,” Tom said, reassuringly.

  “Anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you take a shower, Tom? You must have sweat like a gladiator in jail, and it hurts me to say this, but you smell awful.” We laughed for a long time, and I let him kiss me, but for only a moment, since I was holding my breath.

  “Only if we both go, and we can pick up where we left off earlier,” Tom whispered.

  We did.

  Twenty-Six

  Sunday

  There is not a light at the end of every tunnel.

  At the end of some tunnels, there are very bad things.

  The smell of rich coffee roused me from sleep. I stumbled to the kitchen and found Robbie there, dressed in a yellow rain slicker.

  “Morning,” I mumbled, heading for the coffee pot.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Exhausted,” I said, noticing Robbie this time. “I thought it was supposed to be nice today,” I said, looking out the window. “It is nice today. What's with the outfit?”

  “It will protect us from the shit,” Robbie said.

  “Who's us?” I asked.

  “Me and Rob,” my husband said. I turned, and there was Tom “Paddington Bear” Siggs, in a matching yellow slicker.

  “What are you doing, Tom?” I asked.

  “I'm gonna help Robbie,” Tom said, refilling his coffee cup.

  I groaned. “What are you going to help him with?” I asked, wondering how much health, life, and home owner's insurance we had.

  “The roof. I can pound a nail.”

  “Have you ever pounded a nail, Tom?” I asked, and he laughed.

  “No, but how hard could it be?” I tried to roll my eyes, but my body was too tired to function properly.

  “Ready?” Robbie asked my husband, and I shook my head.

  “Try not to die out there, okay?” I asked Tom, who smiled and kissed me.

  “I'll do my best.”

  Tom went outside with his brother, and I plopped down at the kitchen table with my coffee. I read the morning paper, checked the obituaries to see if Thurman was listed, and ate some cereal.

  I was assigned to kitchen demolition, since everybody else was on the roof. I tied my hair back, donned some enormous plastic goggles and a paper mask, grabbed the sledgehammer Robbie had brought in, and got to work.

  I'd gotten one wall pretty much done when I saw Robbie and Tom pass by the window. It was hard to miss them in their yellow slickers, each one splattered generously with bird shit.

  I heard the front door open, and I set the sledgehammer down on the floor. If the Brothers Siggs brushed against anything in my newly-remodeled living room, I was afraid I might hit them.

  “What's for lunch?” Robbie said, strolling into the kitchen, and I peered at him through my goggles.

  “You're kidding, right?” I asked.

  “There's pizza,” Tom said, with his head in the refrigerator. “We could have that or we could have........., ketchup, mustard, or some ranch dressing that expired, in, um.......July. We should toss this, honey,” he added, and I stuck my tongue out, which was stupid, since he didn't see it, and all I got out of it was a taste of mask.

  “You'll have to eat it cold,” I said, and Tom arched a brow. “You blew up the oven, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten I did that. I seem to have reverse amnesia. I can't remember anything that happened before jail.”

  “You don't remember the oven in the tree?” I asked, and Tom laughed.

  “Now that you mention it, yes. I do recall that,” Tom said, emerging from the fridge with Joe's pizza, and two beers.

  “Do you think you should be drinking and roofing?” I asked, and Robbie shrugged as Tom took a long pull on his beer.

  I was starting to feel like I was married to Jeckyl & Hyde. Doctor Jeckyl wrote me love letters. Mr. Hyde was trying to put me in my grave.

  “What about the microwave?” Tom asked.

  That had been my doing. “I killed that when I pulled the cupboards off the wall. It was ancient anyhow.”

  “Hmm, maybe when Thurman dies we can write to Taco Bell and see if they want to open up a place across the street,” Tom suggested.

  “Maybe. For now you get cold pizza,” I offered.

  “Pizza's good cold,” Tom said, as a small stream of beer slid down his chin and dripped onto the floor. I rolled my eyes and took a whack at the second wall. The sledgehammer hit wall, then air, and I fell through the hole I'd made. I let out a string of bad words, which were muffled by the mask.

  “What the hell?” Robbie said, as I got to my feet. “What's back there?”

  “Jimmy Hoffa?” my husband asked, and his brother laughed.

  “It's a little room,” I said, as both Siggs brothers looked over my shoulders.

  “There's a secret room?” Tom asked. “What's in there? A bunch of collectibles?”

  “That's mean,” I whined, although I chuckled.

  I pulled my head out of the hole I'd made. Robbie and Tom had each donned a paper mask. “What's this?” I asked, through the mask I still wore.

  “We're going in, and it's hard to say what might be in there,” Robbie cautioned. I couldn't imagine how much protection we'd get from paper masks, and thought Hazmat suits might be of more use, but I was excited to get into the room, so I kept my mouth shut.

  One by one, we crawled through the hole, looking like three doctors turned archaeologists, and Robbie flipped on the flashlight. “Doesn't look like much,” Robbie remarked.

  The room was nondescript, and covered in cobwebs. The walls were wood, and the floor was dirt covered. There were various artifacts, covered in filth, but at first glance it was impossible to tell what they were. “Doesn't look like Fangerhouse stuff,” I said.

  “I'll bet Ida had no idea this was even here,” Tom said.

  “Obviously not, or it would be filled to the ceiling,” I replied, and my husband chuckled.

  “Hey, there's something in the floor,” Robbie said. “I'll get a broom. Remember when you said you wished the kitchen was bigger, Mona?”

  “Yeah, it was yesterday, Rob, and jail amnesia doesn't appear to be a sexually transmitted ailment,” I quipped, and Robbie laughed, and clapped his brother on the back.

  “Good one, Mona,” Robbie commented, and Tom looked like he was blushing around the mask. “Well, you could have that bigger kitchen. No reason we can't expand back here.”

  “Woo hoo!” I started jumping up and down, which in retrospect might not have been wise, and the floor splintered, and I fell down the stairs.

  Stairs?

  “Robbie, Mona fell through the floor!” Tom yelled, as I surveyed my injuries, which thankfully, were minimal.

  “I broke a nail,” I whined.

  “Hey, Mona,” Robbie said casually, as if it wasn't surprising to see a Siggs had fallen through the floor. “Man, Mrs. Siggs, when you go on a demolition spree, you really go on a demolition spree.”

  “It was wood, and it was rotten,” I complained. “I think it was hiding the staircase.”

  “There's a staircase? Where does it lead?” Tom asked. He shined the flashlight into my eyes, and momentarily blinded, I managed to fall the rest of the way down the old staircase.

  “Mona's checkin' it out,” Robbie said, and I blurted out of a few more choice words.

  “Throw me the flashlight!” I yelled as a thunk sounded overhead. “What's going on up there?”

  “I dropped the flashlight, and I can't seem to find it without a flashlight,” Tom hollered back.

  “Dear God give me strength,” I mumbled. I'd only waited in the dark for a few moments when something hit me in the head. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

  “I found the flashlight!!” Tom announced.

  “You could have warned me it was coming!” I yelled back. I shined the light a
round me, and was astounded by what I saw. The entire room was made of stone, with the exception of a wooden door.

  “Hey, there's an old door.”

  “There is?” Tom said, and I could hear him descending the staircase. Robbie quickly followed, and suddenly, we were all crammed into the small space.

  “It smells bad down here,” I said.

  “Yeah, you're right,” Robbie said, wrinkling his nose around the mask.

  “Where do you think this door goes?” Tom asked.

  “Well, it's facing the wrong direction to go into the basement. Maybe a root cellar?” I suggested.

  “Hmm. It does kind of smell like rotten food,” Robbie said, triggering my gag reflex.

  “Gross,” I mumbled.

  Robbie started wrestling with the door. “Wow. The whole world is falling to pieces and this damn lock won't give. I need a bolt cutter,” Robbie said, turning to look at Tom.

  “Don't look at him,” I said.

  “What's a bolt cutter?” Tom asked.

  “Told ya,” I said to Robbie.

  “Why don't we get out of here for a few minutes. It's damp as hell,” Robbie suggested, so we plodded back up the stairs into the kitchen, and took up residence at the table.

  “So, do we just forget about the door for now?” Tom asked.

  “Who, us?” I said.

  “Good point,” he replied. “Okay, let's regroup. We need groceries desperately. Now we need a bolt cutter, and we need roofing nails.”

  “So, what's the plan?” Robbie said.

  “Well, Mona can go to the grocery store and we can go to Lowe's. We'll meet back here and go exploring,” Tom said.

  “I have to go to the grocery store? That's sexist,” I complained.

  “Do you wanna go pick out nails?” Robbie asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Then you can do the shopping,” Tom said.

  “All right,” I groaned. “But if you get back first, do not go down there without me. It's my find,” I demanded.

  “We're gonna check on Mom. You'll definitely be back first,” Tom said, as Robbie laid a dollar on the table.

  “What's that for?” I asked.

  “It's your 'finders fee,'” Robbie offered.

  Tom lifted my mask and kissed me. “Stay the hell out of there if you get back before we do. It could be very dangerous.”

  “There is no way I'm going down there alone,” I assured him.

  Famous last words.

  Tom and Robbie left, and I surveyed the contents of the refrigerator, which were pathetic. I didn't need a list. I'd just buy everything.

  “I'm going,” I said to an empty house. The kittens stared at me from the doorway.

  “I know. You don't like dry food,” I said, and I would swear, under oath, that Daisy smiled.

  I headed out to my new Toyota, hopped in, and checked my appearance in the rear view mirror.

  “Nice,” I muttered. The part of my face that had been left exposed was filthy, and the elastic from the mask had left indentations from my cheeks to my ears. I cleaned myself up with a baby wipe from the glove box, and ran my fingers through my hair. I looked like hell, which was okay for grocery shopping on Sunday afternoon.

  I returned an hour later with a truckload of groceries, and a seriously depleted checking account. No one else was home, so I lugged the payload into the house by myself.

  “Now what?” I mumbled. I separated the items that required a stay in the fridge, from those that didn't, but those that didn't had no home. The kitchen cabinets were gone.

  I piled the bags in the corner of the kitchen. “Holy schnookies,” I whispered. This domestic thing was a gigantic pain in the ass.

  “Meow,” Daisy said from the doorway.

  “Give me a sec,” I said, as I pulled a can of cat food from the closest bag, and began tugging at the lid. I had to wonder how many fingers or hands were lost annually to the dangerous task. “Where's your brother?” Duke was nowhere to be found. “Duke?” I called, almost certain I could hear a faint mewing.

  It was coming from beyond the gaping hole in the wall.

  “Shit,” I whispered. “Duke? Here kitty, kitty.” I made some kitty-calling kissing sounds and spit down the front of my shirt.

  I stuck my head in the hole, and sure enough, the mewing got louder and more demanding.

  Daisy was still staring at me.

  “I know. Bad idea, right?”

  Bad idea or not, my need to rescue a feline in peril won out over common sense. I grabbed the flashlight from the table and crawled through the hole.

  “If I don't come back, take care of Tom,” I said to Daisy, who ignored me in favor of her food dish. “Thanks for your concern.”

  The dank smell enveloped me immediately, and I returned to the kitchen long enough to grab the mask. “Here we go,” I whispered, as I descended the stairs. Duke was not in the stone room, and his persistent cries were coming from beyond the locked door. “Awesome,” I mumbled.

  The room was exactly how we'd left it two hours ago, about twenty by twenty, stone walls, stone floor. I crossed to the wooden door and knocked.

  Why not?

  Maybe someone would answer.

  They didn't.

  “Duke?” I said, and he meowed in response. His mewing was decidedly closer, but it was not coming from beyond the door. It seemed to be coming from behind me.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said as I turned, but the cat was not behind me. I was no longer anxious about being alone in the unexplored space. Now I was just pissed.

  “What in the sam hell?” I whispered. “Duke! Where the hell are you??!!”

  I crossed the room and stood before the wall behind the staircase. “Duke?” I said softly, and the kitten meowed in response. “No fucking way,” I muttered. I reached out and timidly touched the wall. It was real, and it was solid. “What the hell is going on?” I said, then fell silent. I stood for a moment, praying for the sound of footsteps in the house. There were none.

  The same words played over and over in my head.

  Go back upstairs and wait. Go back upstairs and wait. Go back upstairs and wait.

  I didn't.

  I pressed my ear and body against the wall, and the damn thing moved. I have absolutely no idea what happened next, except that I found myself moving involuntarily, the flashlight went flying, I fell to the floor, and wet my pants.

  I was terrified, but on the upside, I'd found Duke. He was rubbing against my face.

  The flashlight was on the floor about ten feet from where I'd landed. It cast its beam along a stone floor.

  Dirt clung to my wet jeans, as I shimmied along the floor. I grabbed the flashlight and panned across the space.

  I was in a furnished room. Filthy, but furnished. An ancient looking bed was pressed against the wall. A dust-and-cobweb-covered quilt was thrown over what I assumed was a mattress. A pitcher and bowl sat atop a shabby wooden table. Everything was covered by a layer of dust that hadn't been disturbed in years. Whoever had lived here had been away a good, long while, and hadn't hired a maid to tidy up in their absence.

  There were no windows. I saw what appeared to be the back side of the wooden door, and another door exited the room on the far wall. Both doors were locked. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten into the room, but it was obvious I was going to have some trouble getting back out again.

  “Sonovabitch,” I mumbled. “This cannot be happening.”

  “Meow,” Duke wailed in his, “I am hungry,” cry.

  “Don't start. This is clearly your fault.”

  I sat on the bed and pouted. Doris Siggs could keep my boys tied up all afternoon, which meant I could be sitting in my pee jeans for hours.

  “Meow.”

  “Shut up.”

  Minutes passed like days. The silence was almost deafening, but was eventually broken by a noise across the room.

  “Duke?” I whispered.

  The room grew silent again.

  �
�Duke? What are you doing over there?”

  I shined my light across the room. The door was no longer closed. It was ajar and there was something - someone - in the doorway.

  I let out a scream that could have shattered the sound barrier.

  “Mona!!” Tom yelled, as he and Robbie burst through the other door. I threw myself into my husband's arms. My body shook so hard I could swear I heard my bones rattling.

  “What the hell happened? How did you get in here? I've been searching for you for an hour,” Tom rambled.

  “Duke got in here somehow and I was trying to find him, and I fell, and suddenly I was in here.”

  “What's through there?” Robbie asked, pointing toward the other door, which still stood ajar.

  “I, I,....I don't know,” I stammered. “I checked that door and it was locked, and then I heard something and pointed the flashlight, and the door was open and there was someone standing there.” I paused to breathe, but couldn't continue. I was shaking too badly.

  “What is it, Robbie?” Tom asked.

  “There's a tunnel of some sort. What is all this?” Robbie asked.

  “I have no idea,” Tom said, as he pulled me closer. “Are you wet?” he asked me.

  “I peed my pants,” I whined.

  “This is absolutely wild,” Robbie said. “What do you think this tunnel is for?”

  “I have no idea, but whatever it is, I think it's haunted. Please, please, please get me out of here,” I blubbered.

  “Come on, babe.” Tom took my hand and led me through the door.

  “Robbie, get Duke!” I pleaded.

  Tom and I were about to climb the stairs when Robbie let out a shriek that sounded like a nine-year-old girl.

  “What?” I whined. “What?”

  “I saw something. Let's get the hell out of here!!” Robbie yelled.

  Something crashed behind us and we all took off like the devil himself was on our heels. I clambered back up the stairs, crawled through the secret room, crashed through the half-demolished wall, and landed on the kitchen floor. Tom and Robbie followed, and we all sat on the floor, panting like we'd just run the Boston Marathon.

  “What in the name of God just happened?” I asked, once I'd regained the ability to speak.

  “I have no freakin' idea, but I damn near pissed myself,” Robbie admitted.