“Sorry we startled you. I didn’t realize you’d be here. Marley and I always pass through on our daily walk, hasn’t been anyone around in a long time.”
“It’s nice to see some friendly faces.”
The woman looked him over. “You must be Lenny Cates.”
“And you knew that how?”
“Meredith Kemp.” She offered a small, gloved hand.
“Sheena’s friend,” he said, accepting it. “Alec Kinney told me about you.”
“And Sheena told me about you.”
“Good things I hope.”
Meredith motioned to the house. “Plan on selling?”
“Yes.”
“Smart.” She nodded as if confirming it. “The locals will snatch it up.”
“I live in New York City, my life’s there.”
“Never liked cities much myself.” Attractive and petite, with piercing blue eyes and a rosy complexion, Meredith Kemp had the fresh look and effortless beauty of an aging girl-next-door. But her abruptness seemed in direct contrast to her soft, easygoing appearance. “Are you staying here?”
“Just a day or two.”
Marley ran off across the yard, bounding about playfully. She glanced at him briefly then returned her attention to Lenny. “The electricity’s off.”
“I have candles and a couple oil lamps.”
“Got the woodstove filled?”
“Not yet. But from that pile it doesn’t look like I’ll be running out any time this century.”
She laughed lightly. “Gus Gauvin used to cut wood for her. He had a crush on Sheena from the start and was always helping her out around here. She was nice to him. Most in town aren’t. He’d show up to chop and stack wood and be at it all day. Nice man, but he has mental problems.” Her expression shifted. Whatever humor she’d been reminded of had left her. “Then again, he may end up being the only one in this town who isn’t crazy.”
Lenny cocked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, why’s that?”
As if she hadn’t heard him, Meredith said, “Hey, it’s supposed to go below freezing tonight. Make sure that woodstove’s going strong or it’ll be freezing in there.”
“OK, thanks.”
“Have you had a chance to look around inside yet?”
“Not much. Why, is there something I should be looking for?”
“You never know.”
Keeping up with her little asides was quickly becoming more annoying than intriguing. “So were you and Sheena good friends?”
Her eyes took on a faraway quality, like she was remembering something specific. “We got to be really close before she died.”
“From what Kinney told me, sounds like she had a tough time.”
Meredith bent forward at the waist and clapped her hands together. “Come on, Marley! Come on, boy, time to get going!” The dog barked in response and started back toward them. “Let me give you some friendly advice. Put this place on the market, go home and wait for your check.”
“That’s the plan. But I hoped that—”
“If you need to talk before you go, just behind the workshop there’s a path. Follow it all the way, little over a mile, and you’ll end up at my place. I’ll make coffee, we can chat.”
“Thanks, that sounds nice,” he said, still not quite sure what to make of her. “Maybe you could fill me in a little more on Sheena’s life. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in years.”
“She told me.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a quick question then?”
She sniffled a bit then removed a ball of tissue from her coat pocket and dabbed her nostrils with it. “Go ahead.”
“I’m trying to understand why Sheena left everything to me. I mean, I know there weren’t many people in her life when she died, but you were her friend, why didn’t she just leave the house to you?”Meredith began to walk away without answering then stopped and looked back, her expression equal parts irony and pity. “She liked me.”
A burst of nervous laughter escaped him as she and Marley started off across the yard. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I have to go. Get some wood inside and start that stove.”
“Wait a minute, what—”
“In the morning, if you still need to talk, stop by my place, OK?”
Though frustrated, he acquiesced. “Yeah, sure, thanks.”
“Days are short in winter.” She looked to the pale gray sky stretched out over the treetops like an empty canvas. “It’ll be dark soon.”
With a sad smile, Meredith slipped into the woods, following the path for home, her dog trotting dutifully alongside her.
5
Propped in a dark corner of the workshop and covered in cobwebs, Lenny found a rusted but functional wheelbarrow. He loaded it, pushed it back to the house and stacked the wood in a metal holding bin on the floor next to the stove. Also in the bin was a small stack of old newspapers. He crumpled a few sheets of newspaper and tossed those in along with some kindling. Using the stick matches to get it going, he then added some wood. Once he had a decent fire underway, he closed the top and headed back out to return the wheelbarrow to the shop.
For the first time the biting fresh air felt good in his lungs and the physical exercise had his heart pumping and his blood flowing. He felt stronger, more alert and revitalized than he had in some time.
Once the wheelbarrow had been put away, Lenny padlocked the door behind him and started for the house. But something stopped him dead.
The stump next to the woodpile…an ax had been buried in it just moments before…and now it was gone.
He walked around the side and rear of the stump, hoping maybe the ax had simply become dislodged somehow and fallen to the ground, but it was nowhere in sight.
Turning back to the house, he noticed a steady stream of smoke churning from the chimney. Otherwise the property looked the same. His eyes panned slowly across the surrounding woods, back along the dirt road and then to the driveway. As they settled again on the house, Lenny found what he was looking for.
A misty plume of breath led him to a lone figure facing the rear of the house. Dressed in jeans, boots, a heavy flannel shirt-jacket, and a ratty-looking hunting cap with earflaps, the man stood completely still. He was large, at least six-three, well over two hundred pounds and powerfully built. Perhaps he was peering through the kitchen window, Lenny couldn’t be sure, but one thing seemed obvious even from a distance: the man’s stance coupled with the positioning of his arms indicated he was holding something relatively heavy in front of him up near his chest. Exactly the way someone might hold an ax.
Lenny reached for the cell phone on his belt but came up empty. He’d left it on the kitchen table when he came out to load the wood. His heart sunk. The phone gave him a sense of security he’d grown accustomed to, a constant link to the outside world—to help—and now that tether had been cut. He considered going the other way, following the path to Meredith’s house. Surely she had a phone and he could call the police from there. Then again, there was a good chance this was that Gus Gauvin character. Meredith and Kinney had both said he was a nice man, just a bit slow. Maybe there was no need to panic.
Lenny took a few steps away from the workshop. “Hello?” he called. “Hey! Hello?”
The man didn’t turn around, didn’t move at all. The property was eerily quiet; it seemed impossible the intruder hadn’t heard him. Lenny cautiously began to close the gap between them, attempting contact every few steps. “Hello! Can I help you? Hello?”
When he was within a few feet of the man, Lenny realized just how large an individual this was. He still couldn’t see the man’s face, but from the position of his head, he did appear to be gazing through the kitchen window.
“Excuse me,” Lenny said. “Can I help you?”
The man remained still.
“Hey, buddy.” He gently put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Can I—”
The man w
hirled round, ax raised.
“Whoa!” Lenny backed away, hands up. “Easy.”
Much of the man’s face was covered with a bushy and unruly black beard. His bloodshot eyes were crazed and consumed with terror, and he gawked at Lenny as if trying to identify exactly what it was he was looking at. Unwashed strands of hair dangled from beneath his old hunting cap, and as his chapped lips parted they revealed brown, chipped teeth. In a deep and gravely voice he asked, “Who are you?”
“My name’s Lenny,” he said, offering a smile he hoped might calm the man. “Are you Gus? Gus Gauvin?”
“How you know my name?” The man shook the ax threateningly. “How you know my name!”
Lenny took another step back, “Meredith told me you were friends with—”
“Why you here?”
“I own this place.”
“No,” the man said, moving closer. “This is Sheena’s house.”
“It was, yes, but Sheena passed away and now the house belongs to me. She left it to me, do you understand? I’m staying here for a few days.”
Gus looked around quickly, like he was searching for an avenue of escape. Or perhaps he was making sure Lenny was alone.
At close range the man smelled like he hadn’t bathed in eons. “It’s OK,” Lenny told him, fighting an urge to block his nose, “you can put the ax down. I’m a friend.”
“Sheena,” he said in a softer voice.
“Sheena died. You…You found her, didn’t you?”
Without warning Gus lunged for him and swung the ax.
As the big man gracelessly lumbered past, Lenny sidestepped him and threw a punch that connected just below his ear. Gus grunted then lost control of his legs and crashed to the ground. The ax fell from his grasp and landed a few feet away. The big man laid there, spittle bubbling from his mouth. He made no attempt to regain his feet.
Adrenaline racing, Lenny ran both hands up into his hair, pushing it back and away from his face as he let out a deep breath. He hadn’t had a physical confrontation with anyone since college and was shocked he’d been able to land a punch so skillfully without even thinking about it.
The big man suddenly began to cry. “They killed her, they killed Sheena!”
“Who did? Who killed her?”
“Nobody’s what they look like! She never hurt nobody and they killed her!”
Gus struggled to his hands and knees. Head hanging, he continued to sob and babble incoherently.
Lenny had never heard a grown man cry like that and couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “Look, it’s all right. Calm down. Are you OK?”
As he reached for Gus’s arm, the big man screamed something unintelligible and stood upright on his knees.
The last thing Lenny remembered was a huge fist slamming into his chin, his head snapping back, and the sky moving overhead, gliding past just before he hit the ground and it all went black.
* * * *
Sheer curtains billow and sway as a summer breeze blows through the open windows. In a room reliant on moonlight, the long, flowing curtains resemble ghosts flying through the tall windows, spirits from the dark city streets below beckoning the eye to their sensual, hypnotic movements. As if alive, the curtains swirl and slide across her naked flesh, wrapping her in a gossamer cocoon before unraveling and floating free. Fluttering higher into the air only to return seconds later, they gracefully descend upon her again and begin the process anew, servants of a night wind disguised as ethereal playmates.
Even then he remembers the first time he saw her, sitting on the steps at school, books in her lap as she stared off into space. He recalls her inexpensive clothes, lack of even the most basic jewelry or makeup, and an intense aura of loneliness. Her hair is dark red, nearly auburn, quite thick but styled in a short cut that covers only the tops of her ears. Deliberately mussed on top but held in place with a generous amount of gel, her salon hairdo is the most noticeable thing about her, and looks out of place on such an otherwise unassuming young woman. Despite her loose-fitting jeans and the unflattering blouse she wears, he can tell she possesses a medium build—she is neither heavy nor thin—with breasts large for her frame but not grotesquely so. There is a soft look to her body, one naturally feminine and naively sexy. But what stands out in her, he remembers, far beyond her physical traits, is an air not only of vulnerability, but weakness. Through predatory eyes she is the gazelle separated from the herd, slower and paying less attention to her surroundings than the others, a victim waiting to be victimized. And yet, he does not remember himself as a predator in the least, rather as a young college student himself, attracted to a sad and lonely girl deep in troubled thought sitting on a staircase. He remembers feeling empathy, as his life has been a struggle with loneliness as well, but he also knows he uses this as an excuse to erect walls and an arrogant persona to protect him from pain and to keep him focused on his plans for the future. He realizes even then he cannot let anyone or anything derail him from his dreams. But Sheena has no such barriers. Her pain is immediate and raw, her throat fully, submissively exposed.
He remembers moving closer and catching her attention as other students and faculty hurried past, none taking even cursory notice. He remembers her looking at him for the first time, how he winked at her, and how she quickly winked back, effortlessly following his lead. Something deep within him stirred as they stared at each other, a sensation Lenny had never before experienced, something organic and exhilarating, but base…primal.
“I like your hair.”
“Really?” Her voice is soft and breathy, stranded somewhere between woman and little girl. “My mom paid for a new hairdo for my birthday present.”
“Cool, happy birthday.”
“It was a couple days ago, but thanks.”
“Still looks really pretty.”
Her light skin flushes. “I was afraid it looked silly.”
“No way, it’s cool.”
She looks away and blushes deeper, a smile curling her thin lips. “Thanks.”
“I’m Lenny, I’m a theater arts major, you?”
“Sheena,” she says, “journalism.”
The fluttering curtains bring him back to the apartment in Boston she shares with four other students. Unlike most, Lenny takes a Greyhound home each night rather than living in an apartment or dorm, though occasionally he stays here with her.
“Sheena?”
She turns from the window, looks back at him over her shoulder.
“Do you remember the day we met?”
“Sure, it was only a few months ago.”
“Why were you sitting on the stairs all alone like that? You looked so sad.”
Sheena smiles; touched that he’s asked. “I was depressed, I guess.”
“What about?”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m wasting my time at school, like I’m kidding myself or something, like I’m here because I have nowhere else to go.”
“You don’t really want to be a reporter?”
She shrugs.
“That’s hard for me to relate to,” he says, reaching for his cigarettes on the nightstand. “I’ve known what I wanted to be since I was a little kid. Always wanted to be an actor, nothing but.”
“You’ll be great. You’re already so talented, half the time I can’t tell if it’s really you or if you’re just playing a part.”
“Me either. But maybe that’s not such a good thing.” He lights a cigarette then lies back against the cool pillows, his body slick with perspiration and still damp from sex.
“It’s OK, I like you either way.”
“I’ve never known anybody who believes in me the way you do.”
“You don’t need anyone else to believe. You’re so confident and…”
“Go ahead, say it.”
“Cocky. But that’s good, you need to be, that’s a really tough business.”
“You know, lots of times I think I’m wasting my time at school too. I don’t know if I’ll make it four y
ears here. Some days I just want to pack up my shit and go to New York or L.A. and get on with it, you know?”
She looks at him in a way that indicates she does not know, that she’d like to but cannot relate to such reckless abandon. Not yet.
He watches her in the dark room, the curtains dancing around her. She looks like an angel. “Either way, one day, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Pick up and go, whether it’s after graduation or before. And I can’t let anything or anybody get in my way. That’s why you need to understand, like I told you when we first met, I don’t want anything serious. I can’t have long-term commitments.”
“I know,” she says, doing her best to convince him she is as nonchalant about their relationship as he claims to be. “Like you said, no strings, just a good time.”
“And you’re sure you’re OK with that?”
“I’m not a child, Lenny. It’s not like I was a virgin when we met.”
He puffs his cigarette and chuckles cruelly. “Yeah, after dating for three years you let one dork boyfriend you had in high school bang you once.”
She nods, says nothing.
Guilt wells in him. Why does he behave this way with her? “I’m a dick, don’t listen to me. That’s how you should be, I mean, you don’t want to be some punchboard, do you?”
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
His eyes travel across her naked body, across her soft white shoulders, round full breasts, erect nipples and dark red pubic hair still moist from him, and he feels himself harden beneath the sheets. “Hey,” he says, butting his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Come here.”
She pads quietly to the bed and obediently climbs in next to him, sitting on the edge, her legs to the side and her feet tucked under her.
Lenny reaches out, cups her face and rubs his thumb tenderly across her cheek, slowly back and forth. He smiles, and she smiles back.
Slowly, he moves his thumb lower, until it touches her lips. He pushes it between them, and she opens her mouth, accepting it. Suckling it, she pulls the sheet back and begins stroking him with both hands, her eyes locked on his throughout.
Judas Goat Page 5
