The Dark House

by John Sedgwick

  She turned toward the garage across the street and pointed. “That one?”

  “Yeah,” Rollins shouted.

  She darted across the street—just missing a Buick that came squealing to a halt in front of her. The driver gave her a shout, and Marj gave him the finger back. She was in the shadows of the garage when Rollins finally caught up to her.

  “What floor?” she demanded.

  “Third. The stairs are over there.” He pointed to the entrance.

  “Come on!”

  “So that’s when you left?” he asked, once they were inside the dim staircase. His words echoed around and up the bare stairwell.

  Marj climbed ahead of him, her running shoes making angry sounds on the steps. “Not right then.” She was breathing harder now. “I was still looking at it when the kid, Heather, asked me, ‘What are you doing?’ I didn’t even know she was awake and then, bam, she was right there.” She paused to catch her breath. “I nearly died. I thought she was going to start screaming. But she went real quiet, staring right at me. So I said, ‘I didn’t know your mom knew Jerry Sloane.’ And she says, ‘Yeah, we spent the night there just last week, when I was sick.’”

  Rollins, scrambling to keep up, remembered how Heather had said she’d stayed “near water.” Of course! The Mystic River flowed right by the Sloanes’ house. And Tina had been so pushy, so curious about everything.

  “Then Heather said, ‘But you’re not supposed to know that.’”

  “And that was all?”

  “She said, ‘I’d better go tell mister.’ That’s you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cute. That’s when she started pushing me out the door.”

  They’d reached the doorway to the third floor. “It’s down this way,” Rollins said, and he grabbed Marj’s hand and led her down the row toward his Nissan.

  The garage was silent at this hour, except for their shoes beating on the concrete floor as they moved along. The morning light slanted through the soot-smudged windows, casting long shadows. He expected complete vacancy all around him, with all these empty cars. But, as he hurried along with Marj, he sensed a human presence somewhere to his left. One of the cars wasn’t empty. He could feel it. He turned, and he saw a shadowy head outlined against the incoming sunlight in one of the sedans in the row to his left. It was hardly anything, just a dark shape where there should have been nothing at all. But it sent a wave of electricity through him.

  “What?” Marj asked.

  “Keep going,” Rollins said evenly.

  He unlocked the Nissan, and the two of them climbed in.

  “He’s here.”

  “Who?”

  “Jeffries.”

  “Who?”

  “The gaunt man.”

  Marj’s face bore a look of panic. Rollins jerked the car out of its slot and sped for the down ramp. He’d lowered the window a few inches, to listen. A car started up somewhere behind him.

  “Okay, hang on,” Rollins said. He gave the car the gas and careened down the ramp. He braked only for the exit, shoved his ID card into the slot, and spun out onto Hanover Street, cutting off a Yellow Cab. Behind him, the furious blast of the driver’s horn, which he ignored.

  “He back there?” He glanced up into the rearview.

  “I don’t see—wait, there it is. An Audi, right?”

  “That’s him.”

  Rollins took a right, then a quick left. “How ’bout now?”

  “No. I think he’s stuck at an intersection.”

  Rollins started to breathe again. “Okay. Good.” He swung back onto Commercial Street, his eyes darting about the different rearview mirrors in search of the Audi.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Up onto the expressway. He won’t see us up there.” He hooked a left onto Causeway by the FleetCenter, then climbed up onto the elevated highway that cut through downtown Boston. “Now?” Rollins asked.

  “I don’t see him.”

  “Good.”

  The highway was nearly deserted at this hour. Rollins floored it, and the Nissan flew ahead.

  “Now what, Rolo?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked at the dashboard clock. Five forty-five. “We sure can’t go to work.”

  “Not dressed like this.” Marj looked down at her running clothes.

  “Let’s think—” Rollins tapped the wheel. “What do they expect us to do?”

  “Leave town, probably. Go to Indianapolis or to Morton, which is looking pretty good right now, I’ve gotta say.”

  Rollins turned to her. “So we stay.”

  “But I don’t want to be anywhere near those people! They’re all over us, Rolo. Every time we turn around, they’re right there.”

  “Okay, okay.” Rollins checked in the rearview, then slowed and pulled into the right lane. “We’ll check into a hotel.”

  “Oh, Rolo, I don’t know.” Her voice had defeat in it.

  “A nice hotel.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “With room service.”

  “This is too scary.”

  But Rollins had already put on his blinker.

  “Wait, where are you going? Where are you taking me?”

  “To the Ritz.”

  The Ritz was at the corner of Arlington and Newbury, facing the Public Garden, a deep green now except for the black waters of the duck pond. It was almost six when Rollins pulled up in the Nissan, but two uniformed valets were on duty, and one of them rushed smartly out to greet him. “You’ll be staying with us, sir?” He started to write up a claim ticket for the car.

  “That’s right.”

  “Luggage in the back?” the valet asked.

  “No luggage today.” Rollins got out of his car. They were seriously underdressed, but the valet seemed not to notice and merely handed Rollins the ticket. “Have a nice stay.”

  Rollins and Marj stepped together up the thick red carpet that extended over the sidewalk, then pushed through the heavy glass door and into the long, ornate hall that led to the reception counter in the lobby. The elegant wallpaper, the heavy sconces, the glittering respectability all reminded him uncomfortably of his parents’ house.

  Rollins approached the sole receptionist on duty at this hour. “We need two rooms, please.”

  “Actually, one would be fine,” Marj piped up at his side. “But make it a really nice one, okay?” She turned to Rollins. “I don’t want to be alone right now, all right?”

  “Perhaps we can make do with one,” Rollins told the receptionist, an earnest young man with a buzz cut.

  “Do you have a reservation?”

  Rollins shook his head.

  “We just came from a fire,” Marj explained. “We lost everything.”

  The receptionist glanced down at his computer screen. “I’m afraid we have only suites left.”

  “Perfect,” Marj said.

  “How much is it?” Rollins asked.

  “Five twenty-five.”

  “A night?” Marj interjected.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’ll take it,” Rollins said bravely.

  “What name?”

  “Sinclair,” Marj said, nudging Rollins slightly.

  “Yes, ah, Peter Sinclair,” Rollins said.

  “Would you fill this out, please, Mr. Sinclair?” The receptionist handed Rollins an address card. Rollins filled in the name as Peter Sinclair, and gave his old address on Commonwealth Avenue.

  When Rollins handed over his American Express card, however, he braced himself for some questions about the discrepancy between the name he gave and that of the cardholder, but, to his surprise, the receptionist said only, “Sorry about the fire, Mr. Sinclair.”

  A uniformed bellhop named Rafael led them to their room, which was down at the end of the hall. “There you are,” he said. The suite was indeed quite splendid—a sitting room and bedroom, both done in the classic English manner. The bedroom had a nice view of the park, and the Common beyond, ringed with Fe
deral-style town houses that were barely visible through the trees. While Rafael explained to Marj about the operation of the TV remote control and the location of the mini-bar, Rollins went around to all the windows, checking the sightlines, then drawing the blinds and pulling tight the drapes against the now-bright morning sun. He took comfort from the fact that the street was four stories below, making it impossible to see in from that angle.

  “Do you think we should rent a VCR?” Marj called over to him. “It’s only twenty bucks a night. It seems to have a pretty good list of movies.” Marj held up a page from the hotel’s welcoming brochure.

  “Whatever you think.”

  The bellhop said he’d bring the VCR by as soon as one became available. “We can have some spare clothes delivered to your room, soon as the stores open,” he added. “What are you, a thirty-nine, forty regular?” he asked Rollins.

  “Forty-one.”

  Rafael made a note. “And I’m guessing, thirty-five waist?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “Thirty-four inseam?”

  “That’s right.”

  Rafael smiled. “I used to work at Louis’, that’s how I know,” he said, referring to a prominent Boston haberdashery. “I’ll have you lookin’ good.” He turned to Marj. “Anything for you, ma’am?”

  “No thanks. I’m fine.”

  “All right then.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Sorry about the fire.”

  “Thank you.” Rollins handed him a ten-dollar bill.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  When he left, Marj locked the door behind him. “You sure no one will find us here?”

  “Not today.”

  “Smart of me not to use your name, huh?”

  “Extremely.” Rollins said it mindlessly as he glanced around the room. When he looked back at Marj, some of her usual radiance seemed to have gone out of her.

  “You have been very smart about—about a lot of things,” he said quietly.

  “Well, I’m glad to get a little appreciation.” She glanced around at the furnishings again and took a seat on a faux Queen Anne chair by the wardrobe in the corner. “Pretty fancy. But they’d better be at these prices.”

  Marj shifted in her chair. “She was spying on you, you know. The whole time, your neighbor was spying on you. I can’t believe it. That bitch.” She stood up and went to the TV console, and flicked on the remote control that was on the top.

  Rollins watched Marj’s eyes, which were bright with the reflected image of the Today show. “It is hard to believe.” He thought of Tina’s hands on him, from his dream.

  Marj clicked off the TV again, and slapped the control down on the countertop. “Have you thought about why?”

  “It’s what you were saying last night. Sloane must think I’ve been following him.” He hesitated a moment, his eyes downcast.

  “What?”

  “You were right. I remembered something. I’m pretty sure I saw Sloane about a month ago.” He explained about the Land Cruiser being parked in by the Caprice he was following. “It was about a week after I’d been in Londonderry.”

  “That’s just what I was talking about! He thinks you’re following him.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he murdered your cousin. It’s gotta be.”

  “Now he’s a murderer?” Rollins asked. He’d been puzzling about this ever since he heard the Caprice tape. “What’s the motive?”

  “Maybe her money.”

  “But she hardly had any at that point. Seven hundred fifty thousand, tops.”

  Marj looked at him. “Well, how much does it take?”

  Rollins didn’t like the direction the conversation was going. “What I mean is, the real money came later, after she disappeared. But he was never going to get it, anyway. That money goes to her beneficiaries.”

  Marj shrugged. “Well, maybe he’s one of them.”

  “I doubt it. It’s more likely she’d name me.”

  “Well?”

  “And she didn’t. I’d have been contacted by now.”

  “So maybe they were lovers, and she dumped him and he got mad.”

  “She’s not interested in men, remember?”

  “Simple. He wanted sex, she didn’t, and he killed her.”

  “I don’t know, Marj.”

  “There’s got to be some explanation.” Marj retreated to the bed, and dropped down onto her back. She lay there for a few moments. “So, what do we do now, Rolo? Any bright ideas about that?” Marj kicked off her running shoes and sat down on the bed with her feet up straight out in front of her, like a child on a swing. Rollins was standing by the bureau. He noticed that, where he’d draped his hand, he left behind a foggy imprint of his fingertips on the bureau’s shiny top.

  “It’s a nice big bed, at least.” Marj’s voice was quieter, as though she were closer to him, physically, than she actually was. Marj slid her hand out across the mattress. “Want to try it?”

  Rollins felt his stomach tighten.

  “Maybe we could relax a little?” Marj scooted farther back onto the bed. “Come on, sit down.” Rollins did as he was told. The mattress lurched, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. Her thumbs pressed deep into the flesh about his collarbone, the fingers reaching, fanning out to his shoulders. “Feel good?” She gave off a light, soapy sweetness, with just a hint of sweat, as she worked the muscles in his neck with her hand. “God, you’re so tight. All through here.” She reached under his shirt collar with her fingertips. “Hot, too, feels like.”

  “It’s been quite a morning,” Rollins said.

  “We’re safe now. You said so yourself.”

  “For a little while.”

  A slender hand reached around to pop the buttons of his shirt. A nail scratched him, where it dug underneath.

  “You won’t need this,” Marj said. She came around, and deftly loosened the buttons all the way down.

  Neely had taken off his clothes. Late one night after she’d taken him to the movies. He lay on the bed, pretending to be asleep. He felt the clothes slide off him, one by one. So cool, his skin then, before the wrinkled pajamas came on. So warm, her touch.

  Marj’s tongue protruded slightly from her tightened lips as she undid the rest of his buttons. Finally, his shirt parted in front of him. Marj slid her hands inside and up, slipped the shirt off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. “Better?” she asked.

  “Marj, I—” He felt nervous, vulnerable without his shirt.

  Marj pressed a finger to his lips. “Sssh. It’s better if you don’t talk.”

  She moved around beside him. “You can relax a little.” Marj kissed a shoulder, then nuzzled his neck. The ends of her hair were on him, and her light hands, dropping lower and lower, down his sides. She removed her hands for a moment. Then a rustling sound of what could only have been her pulling off her own clothes. But he didn’t dare turn to look.

  “There,” Marj said. “Lay back down, Rolo. Close your eyes. Just keep breathing, real easy.”

  Rollins did as he was told, and he could feel his pants sliding off him, then his underwear, too. He was conscious of the rough cloth under him, and nothing above. He reached for Marj’s head, to bring her close to him, but she was out of reach.

  “Hey,” she said from the foot of the bed. “Uncircumcised. Cool.”

  Rollins looked up: She was naked, too. Slender, with smallish, up-curving breasts, a narrowing slimness that gave way to a slight swelling at her waistline, then a scraggly triangle of dark fur below.

  Marj was looking down at herself, cupping one breast, then the other. “What do you think—my boobs okay? I sometimes think they should be bigger.”

  “They’re, ah—they’re fine like that. I mean, they’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Rollins’ mind was going too fast. “Really.” He reached for Marj again. He placed a hand softly between her breasts, closed his eyes again to try to calm his thoughts, and stroked her downward along her belly, grateful for her cool
solidity, her Marjness.

  “Careful.”

  Rollins withdrew his hand.

  She gave a little purring laugh. “Just joking, Rolo.” She crouched down by the bed. “Come on, relax.” He could feel her hands caressing his feet. Gradually, slowly, she drew her hands up between his legs, releasing a torrent of fiery sensation. “Feel good?”

  His eyes shut tight, Rollins inhaled sharply through his nose.

  “That all you can say?” Marj spoke teasingly, her voice nearly all breath as she reached over, pushed a hand between his legs, and slowly drew it forward. Rollins felt one breast surrounding his shoulder as she leaned against him. Rollins’ thoughts contracted to the scalloped line of her nails advancing towards his privates.

  Rollins’ eyes roamed to a reproduction of a gaudy Renoir over the head of the bed. He thought of Tina, his dream. Thought of Neely and what he’d seen so many years ago, and all the horrors that had led to. Thought about the scene at the Overnighter. Thought of Stephanie, floating. His brain pulsed: too many jarring visions flashed before his eyes. He watched himself watching. Marj’s electric touch was on him, now, the very base and center of him, slithering lightly over his testicles. He glanced up at her, and her face suddenly loomed huge as she trained her eyes on his groin, of all places. Then she was pulling the foreskin back, lightly, as if she were removing a tiny sock. It was the most tender, most beautiful moment of his life, but instead of pleasure, Rollins felt something closer to pain, as if he were being scratched where he did not itch. His prick remained limp, wounded.

  Marj played with him lightly, stroking him. “We can fix this,” she said finally. Then she ducked her head down toward his middle. She had just started to kiss him, right there, an act of such generosity it nearly brought tears. But, knowing the whole thing was hopeless, he nonetheless eased her away.

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Marj asked. The bed quaked for a moment as she lifted off it, just long enough to jerk the bedcovers up over her front.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” She was staring at him again, he could feel it. “Are you one of those guys that just watches, like that’s all you can do?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you do it with anyone? Not even, like, small children or something?”