“Buzz.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s buzz of a chainsaw. Not sound.”
“Oh. My apologies.”
“I see you’ve been reading my novel.”
“I have.”
“I don’t appreciate you snooping through my things.”
“Well I don’t appreciate you ruining my life, so I guess we both have boundary issues.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. He continued to stare at the ceiling and I continued to stare at him. When the silence was finally broken this time, it was him that spoke first.
“It’s fascinating, you know.”
“What’s fascinating? That I haven’t killed you yet? That the tables have turned on you? That the citizens of this country let the government get away with so much? Or perhaps you’re referring to the price of gasoline. Or maybe America’s love affair with guns. There are a lot of possibilities here, Ron. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“No. It’s fascinating to me that out of all the passages in that book, you would choose that paragraph to memorize.”
“I didn’t memorize it.”
“You certainly did. Otherwise how would you have been able to quote it to me?”
I shrugged, though he wasn’t looking at me. “I don’t know. Maybe because it was the last paragraph I read. Or maybe because it stuck out to me.”
“What made it stick out to you?”
“I’ll tell you why it stuck out to me. It was the way it was worded.” I paused, thinking of all the other pages in that book. “You’re a mystery to me, Ron. The things you say, both orally and on paper are so well said, so poetic, even in their gruesomeness. I’m amazed and confused as to how you can be so eloquent with your words and at the same time be a psycho.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. Just like, I don’t understand how the upstairs floors of your house are so spotless, so immaculate, yet there’s so much gore in the basement. Bloodstains on the floors and walls, pieces of human skin here and there, and of course the jars of feet on the shelf. I mean, how can that be? It’s like you’re two people in one body. One second, you’re nice and articulate, and the next, you’re screaming like a psychopath and cursing like a sailor. How is that possible?”
He didn’t answer.
“I’m completely serious here. Have you ever seen a shrink? Because I think you would make a great case study. Well, you would’ve made a great case study. The chance for that happening is over now. You’ll never see the outside of this basement. Not alive, anyway. How does that make you feel? To know that you’re going to die in the same room where you killed so many women?”
Still no answer.
“Does it make you sad? Angry? Frustrated? Happy? Honestly, Ron, with you, I never know how you’re going to feel. It’s what nearly drove me mad, you know? Always trying to guess what you wanted me to do or say, and how you would react. It’s maddening and exhausting.”
I shook my head and looked at the floor in front of my feet, remembering what it was like to always be on edge, to never know which of the words I said were going to be the ones that set him off and sent him flying into a rage.
It shocked me when he said, “I always feel torn.”
Looking up at him, I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. Unsatisfied with that answer, I prodded him for more.
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since I was little, I’ve always felt as though I were experiencing two emotions simultaneously. Something would make me happy, but at the same time I would be mad.”
“Why was that?”
“Because I knew that whatever had made me happy wouldn’t last. That it wouldn’t be long until the happiness went away and I would be sad again. That made me mad. It worked the opposite way as well. If something made me angry, I was also happy because I knew that eventually something would come along and make me happy again.”
“So you were never satisfied?”
“Exactly. I was never satisfied.” He rolled his head to the side and looked me directly in the eyes. “Not until I met you.”
And here we went with more of his bull shit.
“It wasn’t until I met you that I knew what real happiness was. With you, I never felt two emotions at the same time. Only one. Happiness.”
For a second there, I thought I had made real progress with Ron. I thought I had learned a little bit about him, about what drove him to do the things he did. But every word he said to me was just another lie in an attempt to manipulate me.
“That’s funny. Because I’m pretty sure you weren’t happy with me when you chained me to a pipe in your basement, naked, and left me for days. Or when you forced rotten dog food down my throat. Or when you chained me to the concrete floor of the basement and sprayed me with water, turned a fan on me, and left me for dead. That’s not what most happy people do.”
“You had made me angry.”
“So, not happy then?”
“Overall, I was happy with you.”
“Well that’s not what you said. You said you never felt two emotions with me. Only one. And that one emotion was happiness.”
“I know what I said,” he shouted.
I smiled and watched as he immediately tried to regain the composure he’d so quickly lost.
“Look, the point I was trying to make was that with you, the voices in my head quieted down. They let me see things more clearly.”
“So now there were voices in your head?”
“There were always voices in my head, Nicole. Until you came along.”
“Right. So two emotions at the same time, voices in your head…what else? Did your neighbor’s dog talk to you too?”
“Fuck you, Nicole.”
“Hey, I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“I thought I made you happy.”
“I wish I’d never met you.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You know what I should’ve done? I should’ve taken you straight down to the basement, chained you up, and showed you what happens to insolent little bitches.”
“But you didn’t know at the time that I was insolent.”
His mouth snapped shut, the muscles along his jaw line flexing under the pressure.
“Why did you even come down here, Nicole?”
“I came down here to see if I could understand you. I thought that by reading that book, I’d learn something about you, some details that would explain why you are the way you are. But all it’s done is raise more questions. I feel that I know less about you now than I did when I started.”
“You want to know about me? You want to know why I am the way I am?”
I didn’t think he would tell me. At least not tell me the truth. So in the hope of making him talk, I once again used his words and his lies against him.
“If we’re ever going to have a chance of living a life together, don’t you think we need to know everything about each other? You already know about me. I was honest in everything I told you, but I know almost nothing about you. Don’t you think you owe me the truth?”
He thought for a second, and then began.
“Everything you know about me is a lie. Even my name. I know I told you that I grew up poor in a large family that moved around a lot. Another lie. It was all lies.”
“Why’d you lie?”
“It’s easier for people to believe that story than the real one. If people think you grew up under such circumstances, they pity you. They feel sorry for you and are less apt to hate you, especially if you’re doing something bad. They always blame it on your upbringing, giving you an easy out, almost an excuse for doing it.
“But the truth of the matter is I was one of only two children. My family was wealthy and I never even so much as saw a bad neighborhood. I attended private schools and had a driver that chauffeured me back and forth. I wanted for nothing.”
> He paused, reflecting back on his youth.
I wanted to know more.
“Go on.”
He sighed. “When I was seventeen years old, I raped my sister. Actually, I had been raping her since I was fourteen, but it wasn’t until I was seventeen that she finally told on me.”
“How old was she?” Not that it mattered. Rape was rape.
“When I was seventeen, she was twelve. I didn’t see a problem with it.”
Of course he didn’t. He was sick and twisted.
“I was adopted, so we weren’t really related. The way I saw it, it was just sex. Not incest.”
“It wasn’t just sex, Ron. It was rape. Did she say no?”
“Oh yes. She put up one hell of a fight, which did nothing except turn me on more. I liked her spunk, much the same as yours. She had a lot of fight in her, which I found exciting. But when she told on me, I was furious. I never thought she’d tell, and when she did, it broke my heart.”
He paused again, so I coached him to continue.
“But she did.”
“Yes, she did. My parents were angry. It was late at night when she barged into their room, crying. They came to my room and told me that the first thing in the morning, they were alerting the authorities and having me removed from their home. They told me that charges would be pressed and I’d undoubtedly go to jail.”
He looked at me with wide eyes, expecting me to feel sorry for him.
“I couldn’t have that, Nicole. At only seventeen years old, I was just starting my life. I couldn’t go to jail. I wouldn’t. So I waited for them to fall asleep, and then I sneaked into their rooms and killed them. I set the house on fire and waited by the front door as long as I could. When the fireman arrived, I ran out, covered in soot and smoke, coughing profusely. It wasn’t hard to fool people into believing that I had survived a devastating house fire. I’ve always been charismatic and charming. Plus there were fireman as witnesses who saw me run from the burning building.”
I shifted my weight from one leg to another and waited for him to finish his story.
“Their estate was mine after their untimely deaths, deaths which, by the way, were ruled an accident. I went about my life, trying to recapture the feelings I’d had of having sex with my sister. I longed for that fight, that struggle. That rush I got from having power and control over a woman. That’s why I bring women to my basement.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, Nicole. That’s the truth.”
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s the same story you gave for a character in another one of your books.”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ve been reading more than just the one file on your computer.”
He chuckled.
“You’re smarter than I give you credit for, Nicole.”
“I certainly am. It’s a shame for you that I’m not stupid. That’s the only way I’d ever believe anything you had to say.”
“Well you can believe this because I mean every word. If you let me go and we start a life together, I’ll tell you every single thing about me, starting at the beginning. I’ll leave nothing out and won’t fabricate one detail. I’ll even tell you my real name.”
Now I laughed. He was a fool to think I’d fall for that nonsense.
“Think about it, Nicole. I know you’re upset about your husband and son, but I can be a better husband to you than he ever was. I can give you as many sons as you’d like. We can have our own children, be our own family.”
The rage I’d experienced before was nothing compared to what I felt now. It was hearing him talk about my husband and son that started it. How dare he think he could be a better husband than Wade? And how dare he think that Mason was replaceable? But when he mentioned giving me a son, my thoughts turned to Austin and I lost it.
“You son of a bitch,” I shouted. “It’s because of you that I’m not with my husband and son. It’s because of you that I had to get rid of Austin.” My fists were clenched into tight balls at my sides and my cheeks burned with anger.
Ron’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and he asked, “Who’s Austin?”
“Who’s Austin?” I screamed. “Who’s Austin?” I stepped over to the steel table and looked down at Ron. Calmly, I said, “I’ll tell you Austin is. Austin is the son you gave me.”
His eyes widened and his jaw fell open.
I nodded. “That’s right. I had your baby.”
A medley of emotions crossed Ron’s face. Shock, anger, curiosity. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could utter a word, the doorbell rang.
23
Nicole told Ron that if he tried to scream for help, she’d kill him. It was an unnecessary warning though. He was struck speechless by her revelation.
She raced up the steps to deal with whoever was at the front door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He had a lot of questions to ask her when she returned. How? Why? When?
He found it disturbing to know that something like that had happened without him being aware of it. He’d always considered himself to be quite observant, and yet this had escaped his attention entirely.
Unsure of whether he should be angry with Nicole or himself or both, he chose to turn his anger on her. After all, it was her fault. She’s the one who got pregnant. She’s the one who had his baby without telling him. And it was because of her that he had never seen his son.
When the shock wore off and the anger took hold, it didn’t take long for him to become furious with the bitch upstairs. The bitch who just so happened to be the mother of his only child.
The mother of his child.
Such odd words, words that he’d never before said or even considered. Now here he was, bound in his own basement by the very woman that had bore him a son. An heir. A young mind to mold and to teach.
He was devastated that he had to learn of being a father under such awful circumstances. He now wondered if he’d ever get to hold his son. Would he ever be able to look into his eyes? Would he be able to teach him all the things that a father should teach his son? How to ride a bicycle. The correct way to cast a fishing line. The sure-fire way to woo a woman. How to slice open her throat deep enough that she can’t scream for help but not so deep that she dies instantly.
It certainly didn’t seem like it.
A long time passed before Nicole came back downstairs. When she did, she carried a tray in front of her.
Trying to play his cards just right, Ron asked, “What’s that?”
“I felt bad about earlier so I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”
“That’s very nice of you.” He watched as she set the tray on the work table. “Who was that at the door?”
“Oh it was nobody.”
That was probably the truth. For the first time in his life, Ron regretted that he never had social callers. The only people that graced his doorstep were those in the service industry, people delivering things to him like the mail if was too much to fit in his box, take-out food that he’d ordered over the phone, and other various deliveries. It was never a neighbor or a friend.
“I made you some soup. I hope you’re hungry.”
That was a stupid question. Of course he was hungry. He was starving.
“It’s nothing fancy. Just something I whipped up for you to make amends. I hope you like it.”
Nicole turned and walked over to him, holding a steaming bowl of soup in her left hand, the spoon in her right.
His initial response was to panic. That soup was hot and that bitch was crazy. His throbbing feet were testaments to that fact. He was afraid she intended to dump the bowl on his face. That was probably what he would’ve done had their roles been reversed.
Instead of dowsing him with the scalding soup, she dipped the spoon in and fed it to him, one bite at a time.
As he ate, he wondered if perhaps she’d poisoned
the soup. He didn’t detect anything strange, but there were a great number of poisons that couldn’t be tasted by the human tongue. Besides, poison didn’t seem like something she’d choose to do. It was increasingly apparent that she wanted to see him suffer greatly. Poisoning him wouldn’t bring her the kind of satisfaction she sought.
He wanted to ask about Austin, but was afraid of setting her off again. Especially while she was still holding the bowl of hot soup so close to his face.
Minutes passed while she fed him what was undoubtedly the most delicious soup he’d ever had. The fact that he hadn’t eaten in so long was probably a factor in that assessment, but he didn’t care. It was good and it was hot. And it wasn’t soaked with piss. At least he didn’t think it was.
When he was nearly finished with the soup, Nicole began to talk in a soothing tone, the way a mother might speak to her ill child.
“You should’ve seen him, Ron. You really should’ve seen him. He had your eyes and nose. Your hair. He favored you quite a bit. And he smelled so refreshing, the way only babies can smell.”
He saw her lips tremble, her chin quiver, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done with the boy. He hadn’t failed to notice that she spoke of Austin in the past tense. This piqued his curiosity.
“Where is he now? I want to see him. Will you bring him to me, Nicole? Even if you don’t let me up from this table, would you please bring him here so I can see him?”
“He’s already here.”
Confusion washed over Ron’s face. “What do you mean? He’s here now? Where? Upstairs? Is that who was at the door? Did someone bring him here?”
“No, silly. Right here.” She held up the bowl of soup.
It took a few seconds for her words to register with Ron, for him to understand her implications. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, a lump that had risen with the soup that was threatening to spill out of him.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your baby is right here.”
“You mean…in the soup? You cooked the baby and made soup out of him? And then fed it to me? Is that what you’re saying, Nicole? Is that what you’re saying?” His voice rose as he spoke, and by the time he was finished, his throat throbbed and his head pounded with each word, the veins popping out in his neck and forehead.
Held & Pushed (2 book bundle) Page 31
