The story had run on the news that night. Of course, it was sandwiched between stories about a puppy that needed a home and some controversy on the local city council.
Still, Frank had thought that maybe, just maybe, someone had seen something-something out of the ordinary-something worth reporting. No calls came into the station. So here they were, back at peg one with no wild cards to play.
“There’s got to be an answer.”
Frank walked back to the bed and lay down. Still, it would be a long time before he was able to go to sleep.
14.
Bentley cleaned up the bathroom. The tub was easy. All he had to do was run the water and let gravity take care of the rest. Of course, he did go over it with the scrub brush that had been on the rim of the tub, just to be sure. The Master never demanded neatness, this was something that Bentley demanded of himself.
The floor was a little harder. Bentley used paper towel, because he could throw them away. There were only little splotches of blood anyway.
He looked at the carpet for a long time. There were seven blood drops, they all led to the bathroom, but the last one stopped right at the stairs, so it was conceivable that when they looked at the mess, they might decide that he had went down the stairs and not into the bathroom.
Still, Bentley felt the urge to get down on his hands and knees and clean it up. Yet, without some powerful carpet cleaner he knew it wouldn’t do any good, and he didn’t want to be in the house longer than he needed.
So, Bentley walked passed the drops on the carpet and into the parent’s room. Grabbing his pants, he looked at the bodies of the two adults one more time, a large grin plastered across his face, and then he moved on to the boy’s room.
The clothes that he piled on the floor had been far away from the action and they hadn’t gotten any blood on them. Bentley took off his shirt and added it to the pants. He placed them in a corner of the room and then, naked, he picked up the boy’s clothes.
Bentley walked out of the room and set the clothes down in the hallway. Then, he went back into the room and grabbed the wallet from the dresser. He walked back and placed it on the clothes.
One thing at a time, Bentley thought to himself. Just remember one thing at a time. It was another lesson from The Master, and one well remembered.
Bentley reentered the room; he needed something to put the old clothes in. His eye happened on a backpack sitting in the corner.
He walked over and grabbed it. Then, he walked to the clothes. He looked from the backpack to the clothes for a long time before walking back to the hall and setting the backpack on the clothes.
One thing at a time. One thing at time.
Bentley walked back into the room and looked around again. He didn’t want to search with his hands, even though he was wearing gloves, he wanted to search with his eyes.
A white plastic bag sat in the corner near a door that must have been the closet. Bentley walked over and looked inside. There was a large cardboard box on it with the number ten in white lettering. Bentley reached in and pulled the box out; Nike was emblazoned across the top. He opened the box, two white tennis shoes sat inside.
“Two for one.”
Bentley took the shoe box outside and came back in. He grabbed the bag and threw the dirty clothes inside. Then, he walked back to the hallway, closing the door behind him.
The backpack was nearly empty. It had two notebooks and some pens in it. Bentley stuffed most of the clothes in, saving a pair of jeans and a shirt to put on. The knife, now clean, he put in one of the outer pockets.
That done, he dressed and was on his way.
15.
Sheila woke up on the day of funereal with a massive headache. The alarm clock blared into the still morning air. She reached over and hit the snooze button and then closed her eyes again.
“Mom!”
Katie was staring at her from the door to the bedroom. She had on a dark blue dress and what looked like a good amount of makeup on her face.
“You shouldn’t have put so much mascara,” Sheila said. “It’s just going to run.”
Katie fixed a steely stare at her. It was a look that Sheila was getting used to. “You should get up; we have to leave in fifteen minutes.”
Sheila looked at the clock, she had gone back to sleep for nearly an hour and yet it only seemed like a minute or so.
“Shit! Is Karen ready.”?
”Yeah,” Katie said, her voice dripped with contempt. “I got her ready. Now unless you
need my help to, I suggest that you get yourself dressed and meet us outside.”
Katie walked out of the room and Sheila rose from the bed.
Thoughts raced as she washed her face and tried to tame the snarled mess that was her
hair. She thought about Katie. At first, Sheila had tried to put a rein on her eldest’s attitude and then she had given up. It was clear that Katie was going to have to work things out for herself.
As she took the black dress from the hanger and went through the process of slipping it on and fastening all the buttons, she thought of George. He had never been the best husband; he was only human after all. Yet, he had been the best husband that Sheila could imagine. After all the problems that they had gone through, the talk of divorce, the lies, it seemed like he had forgiven her. Still, the pain was too immense; she wouldn’t let herself feel it.
After the dress was on, Sheila opened the top drawer to her dresser and pulled out the bottle with the long neck, the one that was going to get her through this whole thing. She took a few swallows and then replaced it.
By the time she got downstairs, Katie was in the passenger seat of the car with the motor running.
Sheila walked over to the passenger side and waited as Katie let the automatic window roll down.
“Where’s Karen?”
“She’s in that goddamn playhouse of hers. You should really try to get her to stop going there so much. I tried to get her to come to the car, but she said she wanted to wait until you were ready.”
“Honey, we’re all dealing with this in our own way. You can’t blame Karen for wanting to take her mind off of it by playing.”
Without saying anything, Katie rolled the window back up.
Sheila walked into the backyard and saw the house. It was a tiny replica of the kind of houses that you would see in the northeast. Sheila thought they called them Victorians.
George had built it over the course of two weeks. He had never been very handy with things like that, but he had gotten all the plans and insisted on doing it himself. Sheila didn’t really think that he’d be able to do it, but when he was finished it looked just like the picture. Katie had been thrilled; then, later, Karen had inherited it.
There were two windows on the house and Sheila could see Karen through the second one. It looked like she was sitting at the little table inside, there was a tea cup set out in front of her and three of her stuffed animals occupied the other chairs.
Time spun out for Sheila, lost its meaning, while she looked in on her daughter’s secret life. Being a parent, she found that you always got a few moments to see what your children were like when they didn’t realize you were watching. It was better than reality TV.
Sheila watched as Karen poured from the kettle and laughed with her stuffed friends. Sheila wanted to go play with her, but she knew that it wouldn’t be the same. Karen wouldn’t have been able to be herself with her Mother there. This was a private world that she had created. Sheila thought that Karen had developed the healthiest coping mechanism.
Reluctantly, she walked over to the house and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me honey.”
“Hi mom, are we ready?”
“Yep, are you?”
There was a second of silence and then the door flew open. “I am now.”
Karen’s smile nearly broke Sheila’s heart. She reached down and Karen jumped into her arms. Sheila could only take t
he heft for a second before she had to let her back down on the grass.
“Come on.”
16.
Bentley sat in the principal’s office. He was smiling as Principal Sheath looked at his license, school ID and birth certificate.
“You know, normally the parents come in for this sort of thing.”
“I understand,” Bentley replied. “But as I explained they’re in Europe right now. My Father’s away on business. I gave you the note they signed right?”
“Yes,” Sheath said. He leafed through the papers on the desk and picked it up. His voice was soft and distant. Bentley didn’t like it.
“I know that I may look a little different from the picture.”
“Well yeah,” Sheath said. His words rushed out like a great release.
“I don’t really like a lot of people knowing this, but I am in cancer remission. Which is the reason I have hair in the picture and…” Bentley ran his hand through his clean scalp. “…none now.”
“Your face is a little fuller in the pictures too.”
“I’ve lost quite a bit of weight.”
The principal looked into Bentley’s eyes. “I bet you did. What kind of cancer was it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Lymphoma. I had a real tough go of it for a while, but the doctor’s think that I’m coming through nicely. It’s one of the reasons that I want to transfer to this school. I don’t want everyone to know me as the cancer kid.”
Sheath nodded. “Sure I can understand that, and you can be sure that I won’t be telling anyone, but…” Sheath trailed off.
“But what?”
“What do you intend to tell your classmates?”
Bentley tried not to smile. In Sheath’s mind he was a student already.
“Oh I don’t know, probably that I just decided to shave my head, if anyone asks.”
“I’m sure they will.”
Sheath gathered up the papers in a pile on his desk and seemed to relax. “Well I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem getting you enrolled. I’ll just have your previous school send over your transcripts. It’s Thursday today, so how about you plan on staring on Monday.”
Sheath went to stand up, but Bentley placed his hand on the principal’s desk.
“Please sir, I would really appreciate if you could call the school now. I wanted to start as soon as possible, tomorrow if I can.”
“You’re eager to get out of there.”
“You can’t imagine how cruel they’ve been.”
“Jesus, son, you had cancer there was nothing you could do about it.”
“You know how teenagers can be.”
“Yes, of course. I suppose that I could call and have them put the transcripts in the mail today. I’ll let you talk to the counselor and sign up for classes today. You can start tomorrow. I’ll take your word for things until the transcripts come. If they put them in the mail today, they should be here by Monday.”
“Thank you sir.”
Sheath stood up, but Bentley remained seated.
“Is there something else I can help you with Brandon?”
“Oh, I was just going to wait until you called.”
“You…want me to call them now?”
“Sooner the better.”
Sheath nodded slowly and sat down again. He picked up his phone and looked at the number on the sheet that Brandon had given him.
“Hello is this the administration office? Yes, my name is Harold Sheath; I’m the principal here at Valley High school in San Ignace. Yes. I have a student here, Brandon Mullins. Yes that’s correct. His parents and he have indicated that Brandon will transfer here to Valley. Yes, that’s right. I just need you to get me his transcripts. Well, today if you could. They are very interested in him staring as soon a possible.”
Bentley tensed; he could feel the muscles in his neck draw up. There was a long pause.
“Oh, well that’s great. Yes, I’d still like you to put the paper copy in the mail today, but yes do that too. Okay great, thank you very much.”
Sheath set the phone down and smiled across the desk. “Good news, they’re going to email me your transcripts, so it looks like we’ll have no problems finishing your paper work.”
“How wonderful,” Bentley said. Now he did stand up.
Sheath followed suit. “Let’s get you to the counselor’s office.”
17.
There weren’t many at the funereal. Besides Sheila and her two kids, were George’s mother and brother. A few friends from work also attended, Sheila didn’t know many of their names.
Robert, George’s brother, gave the eulogy. Sheila had wanted to, but there was no way that she could have stood up in front of even the small gathering.
Afterwards, they went to the cemetery for the final rights. Then, they returned to Sheila’s house, where the real mourning began.
“A mother should never outlive her children,” Margaret said.
Sheila nodded. How could you respond verbally to such a statement?
“Do you know what the worst part is?”
“No,” Sheila said. “What?”
“That he was alone when it happened. He should have been here, with his family. That’s how people are supposed to go, not alone along some highway that you should have never been on.”
“That’s true,” Sheila said, feeling the sting in her throat and knowing that at least some of it must have come out in her voice. Margaret seemed to pretend not to notice.
“Why do all the good ones have to go so soon? George was such a good husband, a good son, a wonderful father. Oh listen to me go on, this must be just as hard for you.”
“It’s been a real struggle,” Sheila said. She glanced around looking for a way, any way, out.
“Where’s Karen?” Margaret asked.
Sheila snapped her focus back on her mother-in-law. “She’s out in her playhouse.”
Margaret’s face drew down and her eyes went from sad to stern. “Oh yes, Katie mentioned that she’s been spending an awful lot of time out there.” Margaret’s voice rose at the end like a teacher talking to a mischievous student.
“It’s just her way of coping with things.”
Margaret shook her head. “Still, it’s not healthy. Shouldn’t she be in here with her family?”
Sheila looked around. There were, perhaps, seven people in her house. On a normal basis the girls would have seen them once or twice a year.
“We all deal with things in our own way.”
“Well I’m sure you know what’s best.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go to the kitchen for a second.”
18.
An hour after his meeting with the principal, Bentley was back in the shack. Only this time he had company. A small dog sat in the corner. There was a rope tied around its neck, holding it to a beam on the shack’s wall.
Bentley didn’t know what kind of dog it was, just something that he had seen on the way home, a mutt without a home, like him.
The dog whined in a low voice, as if it thought that using a sterner voice would only cause trouble.
Bentley sat in the other corner, the new pants were off, he had put them back in the backpack. His shirt was tossed in the corner; he wouldn’t be wearing it again now that it had blood on it.
The dog lowered his head and licked at the blood on its injured paw. There were seven slashes across, a minor thing really; it caused some pain but nothing that would kill it.
Bentley sat and watched the dog as his hand moved up and down. It seemed like things could never be perfect. Either he had to kill fast and then go somewhere else to experience the second part of his pleasure, or he could take his time, only it wasn’t a human, but some dumb animal.
The dog whined again and Bentley moved faster, he could feel his testicles rise, could feel the slow building. He wanted it to come out, he wanted to get it all out of him, but he took his time, knowing that if he did, the reward would be all the
sweeter.
The dog looked at Bentley; its eyes were sad and confused. Bentley stared back, he and the dog locked in a moment, and for a second Bentley wondered what it was like to be on the other side of this exchange. The release closed out that thought, as well as any others like might have surfaced.
The gel poured out onto his hand and he pumped a second longer to make sure that the last little bit came out.
“Come on slowpokes,” he said and chuckled.
He spread the stuff on his upper thigh, rubbing it in to the skin. When that was done, he got up and walked over to the dog. It followed him the whole way, looking up at him as if he were a god.
“Come on slowpokes,” he said again and laughed some more. He continued laughing as he plunged the knife into the dog’s neck.
It let out a yelp that was almost a human scream and tried to nip him. Bentley skirted his hand out of the way and ripped up on the hilt of the knife that was still buried in the dog’s neck. It ripped through the skin, tearing up into the mouth and splitting it in two. Bentley ripped so hard that the knife snapped the dog’s lower jaw and it ripped back out and towards Bentley.
The dog fell over on its side. It was still breathing. Bentley watched as its eyes found his face. It wasn’t trying to make any more noise. He leaned forward and tasted the blood as it poured out of the massive wound. It tasted fine, not as good as the girls’ blood was going to taste, but mighty fine.
19.
The guests stayed too long. Margaret even asked if Sheila needed her to stay the night. She seemed disappointed when Sheila told her it wouldn’t be necessary.
The night folded in around the house and Sheila cried on her bed. There was a photo album opened in front of her with pictures of her and George on their wedding day. They had been so much younger then, ready for anything.
Sheila pounded the mattress with her fists and buried her head in the pillows as the sobs tore out of her. What finally got her to stop was the knock on the door.
Beneath the Mask of Sanity Page 5
