Karen popped a cigarette in her mouth and lit it. She breathed in its sweet, comforting tang. “Your father is sick...” Karen managed. “I'm going to go with him to the doctor...everything will be fine once he’s got his medicine.”
“What about Dad’s office?” Marcus pushed. “He hasn’t been to work for ages. Are we going to move again?”
“Your father needs time. He’s been under a lot of stress and I think a little time away from the office will help him…he needs our support.”
Karen reached out for Marcus’ hand. Her son allowed her to take it. Her eyes pleaded with him.
Marcus seemed to accept her explanation, even if reluctantly, because he asked no follow up questions. Sophie was just happy with her ice cream in hand.
80
Karen sat peacefully on the toilet. She had longed for an escape from the kids. She loved them dearly, but with Halloween and now the Thanksgiving holidays upon them, she hardly had a moment’s peace to herself.
Karen needed a few minutes alone. James’ behavior compounded the disconcerting events and stresses with the house. Her smoking had gotten worse. The craving for nicotine in times of stress was growing. She sometimes felt like she was going insane. A break, even just to pee, was a Godsend for her.
Karen closed her eyes, savoring the quiet stillness. She could hear birds singing outside the bathroom window and the rustle of golden leaves along the embankment of the lake.
It relaxed her breathing; its rhythm slow and easy. She felt something wet touch her undercarriage. It confused her for a second and she looked down. Water was rising from beneath her. She jumped from her seat and got tangled in her underwear and un-hoisted jeans.
Bubbling water greeted her from the edge of the toilet bowl. Karen rushed out the door and down the stairs, pulling her clothes on as she did so.
“James! James! The toilet’s blocking up again!” she shouted. There was no reply. She stopped outside the basement door.
Karen stared at it and reluctantly opened it, her eyes avoiding the freshly plastered wall to her left. The police had confiscated all of the furniture inside, but the hidden room still made Karen uneasy.
“James?” Karen whispered down the stairs, afraid of shouting too loudly.
“Yes?” A terse voice replied.
“The toilet’s blocked up again...”
“I’ll be there in a minute, darling.” The voice sounded wrong. The words sounded foreign. There was no warmth in them. Their inherent loving meaning made her even more uncomfortable.
Was that even my husband I was speaking to?
Karen remembered the toilet and rushed into the kitchen and slid across the floor on her knees as she neared the sink. She tore the cupboard open and rummaged for the plunger. She knocked it over in her crazed sweep of the hand and with it, dozens of bottles and sprays, all with their specific cleaning duties.
Karen grabbed the rubber cone and left the tumbling cans and atomisers on the floor as she bounded back up the stairs to the bathroom.
The toilet had stopped bubbling and the water appeared to have stopped at the rim of the seat. There was overlap and trickles of water ran down the side. A small puddle had gathered around the toilet on the recently re-laid floor.
Thank God, Karen thought. The last thing they needed was to have to spend their savings on replacing floorboards again after only 2 weeks.
Karen fetched a pile of towels from the hot press and flopped them down around the foot of the toilet. She knelt down and arranged them. She felt the moisture seeping through onto her hands. Karen rubbed and then removed them, replacing them with fresh, dry towels.
“Did it happen again?” Marcus voice asked from the doorway.
“Oh, hey, honey. Yea...I didn't even flush it or anything. It backed up all on its own. I said to your Dad. He's gonna sort it out. Thankfully it’s not as bad as before; it stopped before going over the bowl...mostly.” She laughed over her shoulder. Marcus was casually leaning against the doorframe, observing his Mom as she tidied.
Marcus had a lot of respect for his mother. She had dealt with a lot in her marriage to James Dawson. She had helped make him the successful lawyer he was before he screwed it up. Again, she supported him in this crazy uprooting of the family.
She seemed preoccupied now. She was carefree before Blackwater. Even in Jamaica Plain, when they barely had any money, she had been happy.
Marcus thought of all the strange happenings. He thought about the body in the wall. All of his classmates were asking if he saw the body. Billy Mason even suggested his father killed her. It took all of Marcus’ composure not to hospitalize him. He had been lucky to not do so before. He was more worried that Sophie would hear and be upset, but so far there had been no questions from her.
Marcus’ mind wandered to the night the whispering awakened him. He shuddered and tried to push it from his mind, but the body swinging from the rafters, volleyed its way back in; the large pressured eyes staring down at him.
Karen carefully placed the plunger into the water. She pressed slowly downwards and brought the wooden handle shaft upwards. There was a counter action from the plunger. She compressed and pulled again. The suction of the rubber cone against the submerged toilet bowl fought her. She tried once more and there was a popping sound as the plunger came free of the bowl’s floor. A faint tinkling of water reverberated upwards.
With a groan, Karen pushed herself off her knees.
“Right, that’ll keep it ‘til the man gets here. He’s gonna think we take massive poos!” Karen tee-hee-d.
Marcus snorted and then collapsed into hysterical laughter.
Sophie trotted in beside Marcus. Both her mother and brother were in a fit of giggles. Sophie giggled too. She liked this.
“Well, you been flushing your pets down the toilet again?” The powerfully built man said as Karen opened the door.
Karen smiled politely, “Come on in.” She closed the door behind him. “This time, the toilet backed up all by itself. No one had flushed it or anything. I got it to drain with the plunger but we obviously don’t want to chance it!”
“Too right. Don’t want to go to the john and have it on deck literally...oh sorry...excuse me, ma’am.” He grinned wryly. “I guess I better open up the hatch again and see what’s stuck in there.”
Karen nodded and smiled but with less warmth. She didn't like his coarse tone. She followed him out the back door and to the hatch for the septic tank.
Where is James, she thought, looking back to the house.
Terrell heaved backwards as the plate lifted off.
There was the stench again.
Humans are disgusting creatures, Karen thought repulsed. Only we would store our excrement in a giant plastic tub and get other people to empty it for us.
Terrell produced from his bag, a small hooked rod, not dissimilar to the one for the windows that James had used before, but a quarter the length. With a quick flick, the red plastic rod extended outwards. He then lowered it into the brown sludge.
“Got an upgrade since last time!” he said smiling up at Karen. She was covering her mouth with her hand. “Plastic extendable – won’t rot.”
Terrell moved it around and then showed resistance against something.
“Ahah! I think we’ve got it!” He lifted. He was puffing and beads of sweat broke out on his vein-riddled forehead. “It’s freakin’ heavy whatever it is!”
“A dog this time?” Karen suggested. She didn't want to see a poor dog trapped down there. She couldn’t bear the thought of it drowning in the filth. Karen turned her head away but didn't close her still fixed eyes.
The object came free of the water and Karen saw what is was. Marcus was hanging limp and sodden from the end of the pole.
All color drained from Karen’s face. She felt her legs wobbling beneath her. She couldn’t breathe. Karen couldn’t speak. All the terror from their stay in Blackwater had culminated in the ultimate horror; the death of her child.
Karen conjured the strength to run back into the house, crying as she did so.
“Marcus!” She howled. “Oh no! Oh, Marcus!”
She burst in through the back door of Blackwater and as she did so, Marcus appeared.
“What’s up?” Marcus said. His face dropped when he saw the tears streaked across his mother’s face. “What’s wrong?!”
He moved to her but she backed away. She stared at him in horror.
Marcus opened his mouth and then closed it again. He tried, “I heard you calling me…did I do something?”
Karen moved towards her son, taking baby steps, fearful that his face would morph and her son would no longer be standing in front of her. She was convinced Clark was mocking her.
When she reached Marcus, Karen put her arms around him and pulled him in tight. She sniffed his hair and recognized the familiar aroma of her son. It was definitely Marcus.
“Oh, I'm so glad you’re safe…” she sniffed. “I thought something had happened to you!”
“Mom! Mom!” Marcus was struggling to break free from his mother’s grip. He was laughing though.
Karen attacked Marcus’ forehead with a rain of kisses. He giggled. Tears still hung in her eyes.
“Well, I'm ok, Mom.” Marcus said. He turned to go back to his room and stopped. “You’re sure your okay?”
Karen paused. She wondered if she should tell her son what had frightened her. The body of a child in your house was not something you told your pre-teenage son, especially after they had already discovered one.
“I'm fine. Just a little fright, that’s all. Don’t worry about me, I'm okay now!” Karen offered Marcus what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It was sufficient enough to send him on his way.
81
“And sir, can you tell us exactly what happened when you opened the tank?” Detective Joyce said, looking at his notepad.
“I put the pole in, thinking I’d be pulling out a dead fox or some stupid freakin’ dog that got itself stuck in there...instead, there’s a...a little kid!” Terrell, the waste tank man blubbered.
Detective Krasinski stood with his arms folded. He observed the man with disgust. He had no respect for a grown man who cried while a woman maintained her composure. Krasinski had witnessed enough domestic abuse cases and murders to see that a woman could remain calm and helpful, whilst under an abusive coward’s thumb or after a tragedy. When she was left alone, and she had no airs to maintain, then he was sure she would cry. Krasinski knew she would beat the walls with her arms in a futile attempt to distract herself from the pain and torment, but not until she was alone. She had too much pride for that.
Detective Joyce produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offered it to the burly repair man.
“And you didn't recognize the boy?”
Terrell shook his head pathetically.
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins.”
Joyce turned to his partner and said, “Shall we interview Dawson now?”
“Sure.” Krasinski liked Karen. She was strong woman. Cute as a button too.
They approached the woman who held herself; her hands cupping her elbows.
“Hello again, Detectives.” She gave them a slight smile. “Didn't think I would be seeing you again, especially so soon!”
“Yes, ma’am, it is very unfortunate circumstances.” Joyce nodded sympathetically.
For Chrissakes, Joyce, she’s not some delicate fuckin’ flower! Krasinski thought infuriated. Not like that septic tank guy!
“We just have a few questions.” Joyce continued. “Was the child familiar?”
“No.” Karen said. She remained detached during questioning. “I'm afraid I didn't recognize the boy.”
Joyce nodded and noted this down. He looked back at Karen with a patronizing smile.
Krasinski jumped in now. “Mrs. Dawson, where is your husband?”
“James?” Karen looked taken aback. She had not expected this question. “He’s...down in the basement.”
“May we speak with him?”
“I guess...” she turned. Her movements were jilted and hitched as if her feet were not her own and she had to somehow learn their use.
“James?” she called down the open basement door. “The police detectives would like to speak with you!”
“Fine.” The voice that called back sounded exasperated, almost put-out by the whole thing.
Krasinski heard the harsh footsteps slowly ascend the stairs. The heavy placement of the feet again seemed to suggest that James Dawson was not happy that he had to speak with the Law.
Interesting, Krasinski thought.
“Officers, what can I do for you?” James said, proffering a hand but with little enthusiasm in the greeting.
“Detectives, Mr. Dawson.” Krasinski interposed before Joyce could start his questioning all over again.
James made no move to correct himself.
Figures, Krasinski thought with aversion.
Joyce gave Krasinski a quick disapproving look and turned back to James, “We had a few questions about the body of the boy found in your septic tank---”
“Body?” James said stepping forward.
Krasinski instinctively went for his gun. This man was aggressive in his approach.
“Yes, sir. The body of the boy...that was blocking up the septic tank...?”
James turned to Karen. His jaw was belligerently set, jutting out in anger and disbelief.
“Honey?” James Dawson said the words with such venom that Krasinski became suddenly interested in the man for more than professional reasons. He might be a suspect for any future crimes, especially any involving his wife or children. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I...It happened so fast, James. I told you something blocked the toilet up but you never came up. I found the kid and called the police, or should I say Terrell did.”
James stared at his wife a second longer and then returned his attention to the two detectives who had been observing this exchange.
“May we show you the body, sir? To help with any identification?” Joyce offered.
“If we must...” James said, bored.
Krasinski escorted the man outside to the van that housed the deceased boy. Karen followed, keeping enough of a distance to avoid any law enforcement requesting she vacate the area.
Joyce pulled the sheet back to expose the bloated face of the child.
James cocked his head and slowly studied the body, as if viewing some intricate artistic invention.
Finally James shook his head. Nothing.
“If I told you, that this was the body of Benjamin Clark, would that jog your memory?”
“I don’t know who that is...should I?”
“Yes. He is one of the boys who lived here ten years ago. His father murdered him in his bed. In the room that your son now sleeps!”
James scratched his cheek with one lone finger.
“Mr. Dawson?” Joyce said when the man made no response.
“I'm from Boston. I never set foot in Blackwater until a few months ago...why would I know who some dead kid is?”
Krasinski frowned deeply. “Because, Mr. Dawson, finding the body of a child who has already been dead and buried for over ten years in your septic tank is highly suspicious!”
“Is it?” James met Krasinski’s stern expression with incredulity.
Krasinski’s rage was building. Who is this dupek? He thought.
Krasinski turned; arms still folded and whispered in Joyce’s ear, “I think we oughta take this guy in...”
Joyce tilted his head to his partner. He looked to him and raised his head slightly in affirmation.
Joyce stepped forward and with one swift, smooth motion, relayed a pair of handcuffs onto James’ wrists and whipped his hands behind his back.
“What do you think you're doing?!” James demanded.
“We have reason to belie
ve that you are a suspect in the desecration of a grave and the subsequent placing of the body in this septic tank.” Krasinski barked.
“You can’t be serious?!” James screamed. His voice broke with his crazed rage. “Why on earth would I do that? I didn't even know the kid!”
“Sir, it is not my job to question your mental state. That’s a psychiatrist’s job. I simply observe and make reasoned deductions. You, sir, are a suspect.”
Joyce pushed the cuffs together and there was a clicking zip sound as the cuff’s serrated teeth connected and tightened into place.
Krasinski then placed a firm hand on James’ shoulder and led him to the front door. Karen was leaning against the door frame in the kitchen, her left eye just protruding around the corner. Krasinski spotted her and nodded.
Karen quickly whipped her head back into the kitchen, but she smiled.
That Krasinski ain’t no beat cop, Karen thought.
“Where’s Daddy going?” Sophie said from the top landing.
Karen ran forward, her hands clutched to her chest.
“Oh baby, he’s just going somewhere with the nice policemen. They want to ask him some questions about something.”
“Daddy’s not in trouble is he?”
“No, baby. They need your clever Daddy to explain stuff to them. Go back to your room.”
Karen looked at the two detectives and her crazed husband. His eyes whirled in his head, seeing neither Sophie nor anyone.
He's gone now.
“I’ll be back soon, honey...real soon!” James looked at his wife now. She felt a chill take over her. She shivered and the man in the handcuffs laughed.
Karen turned her head away in revulsion from the crazy-eyed, drooling man. He reminded her of a nightmare. Clark’s disembodied head floating in front of her sleep deprived eyes; his sinister laugh a long forgotten nightmare of Clark and the girl.
Blackwater Page 24
