The Dark House

by John Sedgwick

  Her voice guided him back. Rollins nodded his head to show her that he’d heard, although he could not speak. Gradually, as he followed the voice, the blackness everywhere turned to purple and then to red and finally to pink. And then he opened his eyes and saw her, just inches away. Her lips were there, and he kissed them, also her eyes and the sides of her face. When he finally pulled away, her cheeks were stained with his tears. Smiling, she wiped them dry with the end of his shirtsleeve. Then she helped him off the floor and guided him toward the bed. He felt like a child as she eased him down on top of the covers, and then pulled off his shoes and socks. “Just a sec,” she told him. She went into the bathroom and came back with a cool washcloth and bathed his face. When she was done, he reached for her and kissed her again. And she said: “Actually, I was thinking a bath might help. But then I thought, noooo, maybe not.” She brought her finger down on the tip of his nose just the way Neely had, and then down over his lips. “How about a shower, though? Might make you feel better.”

  He still had trouble walking, so she helped him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet seat and she helped him remove his clothes, then she opened the shower door and got the water going. She steered him into the stall. He closed the door behind him and he leaned against the tiled wall and he let the water beat down on his back and his shoulders.

  Then there was a rush of cool air as the shower door opened, and Marj was naked beside him. “Hey, scootch over,” she said.

  Rollins made room, and Marj reached for the little shampoo bottle on the small shelf by the shower nozzle. “We just need to clean you up a little.” She shampooed his hair, her soft belly pressing against his rump, then turned him around to soap him all over, slowly. Her hands on him, everywhere, made him feel better, more himself, more the self he’d always wanted to be.

  “Marj,” he said. “Oh, Marj.” He pushed his hand down her belly and between her legs. She met his eyes as he stroked her fur, which was wet and scraggly. He felt adventurous, as though he was exploring a secret part of her, as he rode his hand up and down through the tangles. Running his hand along, he could feel the cleft of her vagina loosen under his touch. She tipped her head against his shoulder as the shower water beat down upon him. He could hear her breathing deepen. “Inside,” she whispered, lifting her pelvis toward his hand.

  He slipped his middle finger inside, feeling the beginnings of the slithery wetness within. She leaned against his chest as if they were slow-dancing. “Deeper,” she whispered.

  He pushed his finger in, and the slipperiness opened, inviting him.

  She clung to him, pressing her breasts hard against his chest, and he could feel her lean her pelvis toward his hand.

  He slipped another finger inside. It thrilled him to sense that he wasn’t just touching her, but actually reaching her somehow. He was leaving his past, leaving himself. And he was getting inside to where the true Marj was.

  She tensed for a moment, held him still, as he continued to slide his fingers into her. He’d never felt so connected to anyone. He slid his hand in harder, rougher. “Oh,” she cried from deep in her throat. Then her breath caught, and she tightened her grip on him, and shuddered. Finally, she relaxed with a sigh and kissed the side of his neck.

  His erection brushed against her side. It was so hard it ached, and she reached for it and leaned back against the shower stall. “I still want you inside me,” she whispered as she raised herself up. Her mouth open as if she were stepping into cool water, she guided him to her.

  His arms about her shoulders, he slid himself up inside her and held himself there without moving for some time. He wanted to live in this moment forever. “This is where you belong,” she told him as she hugged him to her chest. “This is us.” Her eyes on his, she brought herself up and down on him. Meeting her gaze, he pushed and pulled against her. A kind of dance. Soon they were both moaning, and then gasping, and then shouting, and then Marj was screaming in his ear until, with one last frantic thrust, he burst up inside her.

  The phone rang when they were drying off. Marj answered it and passed the receiver to Rollins. “It’s Al. He’s on his cell phone.”

  The detective had a cigar going. “Sounds like you made it back okay.”

  “Yeah, we’re here.”

  Schecter’s voice was cool, with little of its usual cocky ebullience. “You better watch yourself. You’re playing with fire here. I tried to cool Jerry Sloane down for you. I told him to put Jeffries back in his cage, and I said if he didn’t lay off I was going to tip the feds about the illegal sale of Cornelia’s house. Jerry didn’t bite. He told me to get lost. Then he pulled a gun on me—right there in the hospice. I don’t know what you did, Rollins, but he’s definitely aggravated.” Schecter took another puff from his cigar. “Say, you all right? You sound like you’re only half there.”

  Rollins told him about his father’s affair with Cornelia. “That’s why Elizabeth was trying to get in touch with me. She thought I should know.”

  “God, you just keep getting in deeper and deeper, don’t you?”

  “I guess.” Rollins wasn’t paying much attention to what Schecter was saying.

  “Look, I’m still by the hospice. I’ll keep track of the two of them for you.”

  “Don’t bother.” Death behind him, death ahead. Rollins was exhausted. He could barely hold up his head. “What’s going to happen is going to happen,” he told the detective. “There’s no point trying to stop it.”

  “Where’d you get that?” He mimicked Rollins, “‘What’s going to happen is going to happen.’” The intonation sounded snotty, which Rollins didn’t appreciate. “These guys are bad guys,” Schecter insisted. “They can hurt you. And they can hurt the girl, too.”

  “My father—”

  “Listen to me,” Schecter interrupted. “You’re tired, you’re not thinking well. Let me do this for you, all right? I’m in my car. I got Jerry’s car up the street. Big one. Land Cruiser, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s his.”

  “He came out to use the car phone. Jeffries was with him. I’ll try to keep track of them for you, let you know if either of them starts heading your way. Nobody else knows you’re there, right?”

  “Just you.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. Just lay low. If we’re real careful, maybe we can ride this thing out.”

  “How about Elizabeth—she okay?” Rollins asked.

  “I didn’t see a body come out, if that answers your question. Stay put, all right?”

  “Sure, Al.”

  After he hung up, Rollins gave Marj a sanitized version of Schecter’s update on Sloane, emphasizing the part about how the detective had offered to keep an eye on Sloane and Jeffries for them.

  “Both?” Marj asked skeptically.

  “Nobody knows we’re here, Marj.”

  “Nobody was supposed to know we were going to that hospice, either.” Marj sat back on the bed and pulled her legs up under her. “I wish I liked him more.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Al. All the macho crap. I’m not sure I like being ‘the broad.’”

  Rollins moved to her. He needed to reassure her, boost her spirits. “Marj, we need him, and he’s been good to us. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t know anything.”

  “How badly did he hurt Tina?”

  “Not too badly. He slapped her a couple of times.”

  Marj shook her head. “While you watched, I bet.”

  Rollins was too tired for this. “No, Marj. Please—don’t be like that. Not now. He might have hurt her worse, but I—I stopped him. I held him off her. We had to find out what she knew.”

  “Okay, Rolo.” She smiled sleepily. Rollins was conscious of all the empty space around them.

  “I can’t believe it about the money,” Marj said finally. “Everything goes to Jerry. Wow.”

  “It doesn’t end there, Marj.” With some effort, Rollins got up off the bed again. “I’ve been thinking there’s
got to be more to it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think Sloane’s operating on his own. He couldn’t have set it up to get all that money.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “When Cornelia disappeared, she didn’t know that she was going to inherit anything from her grandmother, right?”

  Marj nodded.

  “And it certainly didn’t look like Elizabeth knew, either.”

  “So who told him?”

  Rollins had only to look at her.

  “Your father,” Marj said.

  Rollins nodded. “It’s got to be.”

  “How would he know? He’s out of the family.”

  “Maybe he’s not.”

  Through the narrow gap in the curtains, Rollins could see the fading light outside the window. He could just make out the swan boats in the public garden that were tied up for the night, and the gaslights glowing like fireflies along the pathways. Questions nagged at him on every side, like unseen hands, poking and prodding.

  He went over to the couch in the adjoining room, kicked off his shoes, and put his stockinged feet up on the coffee table.

  “Your father in with Sloane?” Marj persisted. “I’m really glad I didn’t try to trace my dad. God only knows what he’s been doing all these years. He’s probably selling children, or spying for the Chinese, or—”

  Rollins raised a hand to quiet her. “I’m sorry, Marj. I need to rest for a moment. I’m really tired.”

  Marj fell silent, and Rollins eased back and closed his eyes. In moments, he could feel Marj leaning him forward to insert a bed pillow behind his back. Then a light kiss on his forehead.

  He was running down a long, dimly lit hall. His sneakered feet were beating soundlessly on the thick carpet; a wind was in his face as he rushed along. Neely was ahead of him, her giggles echoing behind her. Her blond hair tossed as she raced along on her long, tanned legs. He was panting, straining to keep up. The hallway was endless, and it kept turning this way and that. Neely kept laughing and laughing as she darted along. But Rollins kept being surprised by walls that loomed up unexpectedly, and sudden corners, and staircases that dropped out beneath him. Still, he ran and ran and ran.

  Something was ringing. An alarm, was it? No, a telephone, far away. And then a voice. “Yes, I’ll get him.” And then a warm hand on him, and Marj speaking. “The phone, Rolo. It’s Al. He says it’s urgent.”

  Rollins got up, rubbed his eyes, and reached for the receiver.

  “Listen to me,” Schecter said. “I’m in my car, heading north on 16. I’ve got Sloane up ahead, but Jeffries has split off. It looks like he might be heading to town.”

  “What time is it?” Rollins was surprised to see that it was pitch dark out, except for the glow from the streetlights. He’d expected morning.

  “About ten.” He raised his voice: “Rollins, I think he may be headed your way.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “You said we’d be safe here.”

  “Maybe you are. You’re using cash, right?”

  “Credit card.”

  “Oh, Christ. Don’t you know anything? That’s traceable. Get out of there, Rollins. You and the girl. Now.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere. Just go. Christ almighty.”

  Schecter gave him his cell phone number. Rollins told him he could leave a message for them at Marj’s, and he gave Schecter that number.

  “Got it. Okay, my friend. I gotta pay attention here. Now go on. Get out of there.”

  Rollins set down the receiver. “Jeffries may be coming,” he told Marj.

  “Here?” She slumped down on the end of the bed. “I thought we were safe here.”

  Rollins was afraid she might cry.

  “It’s because of what Al did to Tina, isn’t it?” Marj asked.

  “Maybe.” He pulled on his California clothes again and stepped into his shoes.

  Marj was already in her running clothes. She sat there for a moment, her head drooping. Then she stood up, went to the closet where her new clothes hung. She took them off the hanger and tucked them under her arm. “Well, I’m all packed.”

  He was already waiting for her at the door.

  “Your work clothes, Rolo?” Marj asked, gesturing toward the closet where his blazer and flannel trousers hung.

  “I’m done with them,” Rollins said. They went out to the corridor, then hurried down the emergency stairs and out to the sidewalk on Newbury. The air was still warm and soft with humidity. He glanced about uneasily, checking for Jeffries. All seemed clear. He grabbed Marj’s hand and dashed across the street to the Ritz’s parking garage. He handed the receipt for the car to an attendant, then plucked two twenties from his wallet and told him they were his if he brought the car up in two minutes. The Nissan was there nearly in one. Rollins handed the attendant the money, Marj tossed her things into the trunk, and they took off.

  Rollins drove down Newbury, and then swung around Copley Square a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t being followed before heading back through Chinatown to get up onto the expressway to 93.

  “Wait—where are we going?” Marj asked.

  “New Hampshire.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve got to get that strongbox.”

  “But Jeffries—”

  “It’ll be all right. He doesn’t know we’re going there. Besides, I promised.”

  For a long time, as they drove along, Marj kept checking around them for Wayne Jeffries’ Audi. But she gradually wearied of the job as the miles passed without any sign of him. The next thing Rollins knew, Marj was sound asleep, her head slumped over at an awkward angle, her running shorts bunched tightly around her thighs.

  It was a few minutes past eleven when Rollins turned onto Pelbourne Road. A thin moon had climbed up over some distant hills to the west, and the New Hampshire sky was thick with stars. Rollins found the entrance to Cornelia’s driveway and pulled over a few yards beyond it. Marj stirred as the car slowed. “We there?” she asked, looking around.

  “Yeah, back there on the right.”

  Rollins reached for the door handle, but Marj stopped him. “Don’t we need a shovel?”

  Rollins slumped back in his seat. “Damn.”

  Marj glanced around again. “You know anyone around here?”

  Nicky Barton’s chunky neo-Colonial was dark when Rollins drove up. But Nicky’s Taurus was parked in the driveway. While Marj waited in the car, he tried the doorbell, which sounded some chimes inside. He had to hit it a few times before an upstairs light flicked on. “Who is it?” Nicky called out from inside the door.

  “Rollins,” he said.

  “Cornelia’s cousin? From the other night?”

  A bolt loosened, and the door swung open. Nicky stood before him in a black bathrobe. “It’s a little late, isn’t it?”

  “We need a shovel.”

  Nicky looked at him for a moment. “Do you.”

  “I want to set Cornelia’s stone in a little better.”

  “At this hour?”

  “We were just passing through.”

  “‘We?’”

  Rollins gestured back toward Marj in the car. “A friend and I.”

  “All right.” Nicky stepped past him, and went across the driveway to the garage. She disappeared inside for a moment, then came back with a heavy shovel.

  “Perfect,” Rollins said, taking it from her.

  “And you got one of these?” She held up a flashlight.

  “Actually, no.”

  Nicky handed it to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “Just leave the stuff in the garage when you’re done.”

  “Certainly.” He turned back toward the car.

  Nicky called out to him. “This is all for Cornelia’s stone, you say?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rollins assured her as he returned to the car. He put the shovel in the backseat and climbed into the Nissan, handing
the flashlight to Marj. When he flipped the headlights back on, Nicky was watching him from the front steps.

  They drove back up Pelbourne and pulled over a little ways past the memorial stone that Rollins had put up for Neely. Rollins and Marj stepped out and shut their doors quietly behind them. Carrying the shovel, Rollins led Marj up the asphalt road.

  “So this was Cornelia’s?” Marj whispered when they reached the heavy stone pillars guarding the mouth of the drive. The big Victorian was just visible up ahead through the trees, outlined against the starry sky.

  Rollins had forgotten that Marj had never been here. He thought by now that their lives had merged completely. “Yeah.”

  “Another huge house,” Marj noted.

  Wary of the loose-gravel driveway, Rollins stuck to the grass just to the left, and Marj followed behind him. He carried the shovel over his shoulder. Around him, the wind in the trees moved like an alien presence, one that had somehow been disturbed by their arrival on these grounds.

  Before him, the lawn sloped down to his left. The garden was at the foot of the lawn, along a stone wall by the hayfields. Rollins checked behind him, to see if they’d been followed. Seeing no sign of anyone, he continued on. In the distance, the pond glistened a dull silver, and the surrounding forest was a gathering of darkness. Up to his right, the big house loomed, but it was black and still. He passed across the lawn and angled down toward the garden. It was a slim rectangle in the English fashion, divided by the path that led down to the pond. The near half had a few vegetables—he could make out some tomatoes and beans—encroaching into what Rollins had always remembered as exclusively a flower bed. But the far half, where the peonies were supposed to be, was still all flowers. Rollins spotted some familiar leaves down at the end.

  “There,” he whispered, pointing. “You see?”