Vogel House

by John Forrester

  “You fucking bitch—that hurts! You hit me with a goddamned frying pan.”

  My chest heaves from the tension and exertion, but I still try to lift the pan again, still intent on smashing his nose into his brain. I’m slow and weak this time, and he just leans in towards me, screaming and red-faced, and grapples my arms down to the ground with the weight of his body pressing against mine. I wriggle for a while against him, trying to twist free, but after I’m unable to escape, I tire and give up.

  He’s breathing so heavily sitting on top of me, the stink of his mouth makes bile-laced dry heaves come up from my stomach. His eyes change from anger to arousal, the same filthy eyes he gave me at the restaurant. I can feel his erection pressed against my pelvic bone, disturbingly larger than Keary’s. I hear Phillip moving towards us and Howard wraps his long fingers around my neck and squeezes so hard I can’t breathe. His eyes send a warning glance to Phillip.

  “Try something against me again and I’ll kill her.” He releases the pressure on my neck and I take a huge gulp of air and feel the blood rush up to my face. His eyes caress my breasts and he leans in closer, breathing quickened, and grinds his cock against me. I want to take the scissors from the floor and cut it off like Delilah cut off Samson’s strength.

  “You smell like your mother did—”

  I spit in his face and enjoy the shock and anger in his eyes. “Your breath smells like dog shit.”

  He slaps me, weaker this time, and I laugh at him, a loud, mocking laugh that makes his cock go flaccid in his executive pants.

  “I bet you couldn’t even keep it hard enough to fuck a sheep, let alone the girl your son happens to be in love with.” He strikes this time, backhanded, and his knuckles smash my lips against my teeth. Pain surges through me at the blow and I lick my lips and taste blood. I don’t care how many times he hits me; I’m beyond caring—I live to make this worthless bastard feel like shit.

  He clicks his tongue and pushes himself up, winces and groans in pain, then lumbers over to pick up the gun. His eyes give Phillip and me slow, calculating stares as if weighing his next move. I can see the chess master behind the bloodshot eyes and drunk face. He steps towards Phillip, pulls him to his feet, and presses the gun against his forehead. A tear dashes down my face at the sight of my brother’s terrorized, pleading eyes and trembling body.

  “I could fuck a sheep all right, and I could also fucking blow your brother’s brains out all over this lovely wall. Oh, you’ve shut your witty-bitch mouth now, have you? You do remember that I also have your parents locked away in some shithole, do you not? I’m sick and tired of dealing with this family!”

  Howard takes several massive, emotion-choked breaths and raises the gun and his fists towards the ceiling, his face clenched in an expression of misery and self-hatred.

  “What am I doing?” he screams. He kicks through the wall behind him, then grimaces and whimpers in excruciating pain, as that’s the leg where I smashed his knee with the frying pan. Unable to help myself, I laugh at his stupidity and he whips the gun around and fires a shot at my head that I feel whizzing past my left ear. I raise my hand to feel if the side of my head is still intact, heart pounding, and stare dumbfounded at his roiling, furious face as he smashes the wall repeatedly with the butt of his gun.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He collapses to the ground in a fit of curses and tears, bringing his hands up to his eyes. I hope he accidentally shoots himself in the face. Phillip and I remain unmoving, transfixed by the outburst, not daring to say a thing that might provoke another bullet.

  A deep, agonizing moan escapes from Mason’s lips and we all swivel around to watch the man grabbing his head like it’s on fire. Then he gingerly touches his ruined nose and grimaces at his fingers as if expecting blood.

  “What ha—ow! Goddamn, my head!” Mason whimpers, curls his body up like a man being kicked on the ground, and cradles his head protectively.

  Pity flashes in Howard’s face as he gapes at Mason. “Get the man a Tylenol for Christ’s sake.”

  I obey, push myself up, and lumber towards the kitchen cabinet where we keep the medicine. As I rummage through the rows of pill jars, trying to find a suitably strong painkiller, I sense shapes stalking towards me from the grand foyer. Aleksey, the boy from the warehouse, and another brutish man with a pig’s-snout face, hold menacing-looking guns as they fan out, shifting closer.

  Aleksey gives me a questioning look, and I tilt my head towards the family room, where Mason is still moaning in pain.

  CHAPTER 21

  ALEKSEY’S EYES GLITTER with childish mischief as if this is all a game. He motions the older, brutish man to circle back around through the grand foyer, to where there’s another way to the family room. With his eyes he gestures for me to hide in the bathroom. I leave the cabinet door open, medicine untouched, and walk away from the violence waiting to happen, saying a prayer that Phillip will remain unhurt.

  “Where are you going?” Howard shouts, and I hear his footsteps coming towards me. “I told you to find some—”

  A shot fires out, followed by a second muffled shot farther away. I turn in time to see Howard, eyes full of rage and shock, with a third, bleeding eye in his forehead, fall to the ground. When he slams onto the hardwood floor, the gun in his hand goes off and the bullet shatters the rare Ming Dynasty vase guarding the entrance to the family room.

  The boy from the warehouse marches up to Mason and aims the gun at his back. Mason ignores the gun and gapes at his employer, who is lying in the pool of blood spilling from his head. I would scream—I have every cause to scream at the sudden violence—but I can’t. I’m so completely stunned that all I can do is stare at the lifeless body of Howard McNaughton sprawled on the floor. The only thing I regret is not being the one who pulled the trigger.

  Aleksey motions the boy towards the duct tape and then to Mason. The boy quickly tapes up Mason’s eyes, ears, mouth and hands, and leaves him moaning on the floor. The brutish man puts his gun in the back of his pants and helps Phillip to his feet. I rush over, find the scissors, and cut him free.

  Finger over his lips, Aleksey gestures for us to head back to the entrance, then whispers in my ear, “Time to complete our little transaction, Miss Clarise. Your parents are safe in the car.”

  Tears flood my eyes as I picture the scared faces of my parents, alone in a strange car. My brother’s frightened yet relieved eyes study me. I nod my head to Aleksey, climb the stairs, and jog to my room, mopping my face with my sleeve. I ask Aleksey and my brother to wait outside in the hallway, and close the door to my room and walk to the bathroom. In the mirror I see the image of an unknown girl, her expression fierce and determined—and ruthless in a way I never knew was possible.

  I wash my hands and face with cold water and scrub away the filth. Feeling somewhat settled, I take off all my clothes and change into Mother’s clean, white dress she bought me for my birthday. I am new again. I can’t believe I’ll actually be able to be with my parents on my birthday. Who cares about a party and birthday cake? I just want my family around me.

  The safe opens easily and I take out all of Grandmother’s gold and jewels and the remaining cash and stuff it into the leather bag I used before. This time I’ll let it go completely. I don’t want it back anymore. I’m finished with all this.

  I call my bank and ask them to wire $1 million to the offshore bank account number that Aleksey sent me via text. It takes me a long while to convince them this is what I want, but finally a manager helps me in my request, and the transaction goes through. I ask them to send me an e-mail confirmation so I can show Aleksey.

  I suddenly feel queasy about my future: I realize that after paying my tuition for another year, and spending so much since we arrived home from Martha’s Vineyard, I have only a little more than $30,000 left in my account. Staring at the money, gold, and jewels in the bag, I realize I could leave some behind for myself—but I won’t do it. The gift Aleksey gave me, the lives of my family, is w
orth everything I promised him.

  I carry the heavy bag outside and hand it to Aleksey. He whistles at the weight, and I show him what’s inside. He withdraws several pouches filled with jewels, and settles on one bag loaded with diamonds.

  “What is the saying? Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, is it not so?” His fatherly smile disarms me, and he cinches up the pouch and hands it to me. “Keep them, but don’t use them for money; keep them as a gift for your daughters and your granddaughters. You will see, the future is not so bleak as this day.”

  Is it stupid for wanting to hug him at this moment? But I do want to hug him, so I give in and wrap my arms around him, and he chuckles and pats my back like I’m a toddler. Before he can say anything, I motion for him to wait, and step back into my room and grab the laptop from my desk. I log in to my e-mail, find the confirmation, and show Aleksey the screen.

  “Yes, good, thank you, but one moment, if you please. I must make a call.” He taps a button on his phone, and speaks quickly in what sounds like Russian to the person on the other end. He puts on his glasses, studies the laptop’s screen, and reads out the confirmation number. Satisfied and nodding, he hangs up and pronounces, “Good, good.”

  “Now comes the other part, the conclusion.” Aleksey sighs as if he’s sad to leave. “You must call the police and say an intruder broke into your house. As for the rest, just tell them the truth, Clarise. Keep some family details private. Say Howard McNaughton held a grudge and went too far. On my end, we’ve shut down the warehouse, so no need to worry about protecting me. Who am I, anyway?” He gives me a sly grin that makes me smile and clasp my hands together.

  He hefts the bag, walks back to the staircase, and greets the boy with a gruff exclamation as he hands him the heavy bag. The other brutish man answers Aleksey’s call and disappears outside. My parents are safe, my parents are safe; thanks to Aleksey, my parents are safe.

  At the door, Aleksey turns and studies me with this wise, serious expression. He cups my face with his leathered hands and kisses me on the forehead.

  “The saints keep you and your family from evil men.” He wrinkles up his face as if considering the meaning of his words. “We have a saying in Russia: a great ship needs deep waters. Aim for deep waters, Clarise.”

  He turns and heads outside, and I watch him limping slightly as he walks towards the open gate. My parents rush past him, joy and tears in their eyes. Phillip and I dash out to greet them, and we all embrace, a happy reunion, and my parents say that they love us very much. My mother tells Phillip he looks tired and weak, and she leads us inside the house. There are deep, black rings under my father’s eyes, and I feel sick wondering what terrible things he went through.

  I warn my parents about what’s inside. My mother takes Phillip upstairs to rest and I walk with Father to the family room where Howard is lying sprawled in a pool of his own drying blood. Bile rises up from my clenched stomach as I study his face, frozen in a look of fury. His eyes are still open: blank and uncaring, drained of life. I wonder if his spirit is still angry or if all his cares have melted away into a sea of nothingness.

  Sadness is still with me. Tonight Keary will weep for the loss of his father (I imagine, despite his hatred), and his mother for the loss of a husband. Howard McNaughton did everything in his power, even sacrificing his life, to destroy our family. But he failed miserably.

  Vogel House still stands. My family is alive and we’re here together. We’ve no money left to speak of and our future is at risk, but we still have each other, and somehow I think that’s a start.

  After the police arrive, they arrest Mason and subject him and my family and me to many long, torturous interview sessions. The police of course find nothing at the C Street warehouse. It’s as if Aleksey never existed.

  When my story was validated by Mason and my brother, things with the police end in a consensus that Howard acted on his own and used his considerable resources to attempt to bring about my family’s demise. Aleksey was never found and Howard’s murder remains unsolved. The McNaughton family covered the damage; we settled quietly out of court to avoid a public scandal and were able collect enough money to fill my bank account up five times over. Our family name is somehow vindicated in the eyes of society, but I can’t help but think that we’ll always be looked at with suspicion.

  I start the fall semester late at Scheumann Academy, to curious eyes and gossiping mouths that whisper as I walk the halls to class. Why I’ve returned at all is a mystery to me; my parents tried to convince me to leave prep school behind and attend another private school in our area. From all the unfriendly faces around me, I think that maybe they’re right.

  Even Keary avoids me at school, and when I try sending him texts, I don’t receive any responses. I call him but from the strange voice on the other end, I guess he changed his number after his father’s death and probably doesn’t want to see me at all.

  Algebra II is my last class of the day, the class I most look forward to, because Keary is there, sitting only two desks away in the back of the room. I finish the pop quiz, hand it in to the teacher, and slowly walk back to my desk, stealing glances of Keary hunched over his desk, scratching away at the paper with an air of intensity that reminds me of when we did projects together. I really miss him.

  Tiffany, the leader of the plastic Barbie bitches, gives me a low-IQ glower that communicates her contempt for my overly obvious Keary stare. I feel a high degree of satisfaction having spotted a massive, angry zit on her forehead that she’s unable to hide beneath many layers of foundation. A chuckle jumps out of my mouth at the thought of squeezing her face and popping her ugly zit, the juice splattering everywhere. She makes a face like What? I mouth, “Nice zit, bitch,” and enjoy watching her fume.

  I turn to reading The Fault in Our Stars during the last minutes of class, and am reminded that despite all the crazy shit that’s happened to my life, nothing compares to suffering from cancer as a teen. My family being healthy is worth all the money spent and all the suffering.

  The final bell of the day rings and I slam the book shut, sling my weighty backpack over my shoulder, and head outside, half-hoping (but not expecting) to make eye contact with Keary. But as always, he avoids me and sneaks out the back door.

  I bump into Tiffany outside—she’s positioned herself directly in my way. She’s surrounded by a mob of hair-gelled sluts.

  “Oh look, it’s Miss Murder. Where’s your Mafia hit man?” She whispers in a girl’s ear and they both nod their heads like they’re sucking cock.

  Out of the corner of my eye I notice that Keary has stopped and is glaring in our direction.

  “Can you just go away and find a tanning salon or something?” My voice sounds weak and unconvincing.

  “Or what, you’ll shoot me in the head?” Tiffany makes a gun with her hand and aims it in my direction. I tell myself to ignore her, but the daily taunts are wearing me down until I’ve little willpower left.

  Keary’s deep voice startles me. “Can you leave her alone? You’re so not involved in the shit we went through. Go fucking read a murder mystery novel if you’re so interested murder and Mafia hit men. There’s nothing glamorous about death.”

  I can’t believe he just said that. My eyes must be welling up with tears because he looks at me with these huge, beautiful, sad eyes that tell me more in one look than all the text messages I’ve been craving from him ever could. He’s miserable; I can see it in his face. All this time I thought he was avoiding me because he hates me. But, no, it’s because he’s sad and ashamed about what’s happened.

  His clenched fist drops to his side and he sighs and stomps away. In my mind I imagine two futures: one where Keary walks away forever and the other where I chase after him and tell him what I’m feeling. After a moment’s hesitation, I run after him and catch up just as he leaves through the side door. The autumn colors outside flood my mind with memories of my father and I traipsing through Vermont forests in search of the perfect
leaves. The image fills my heart with warmth and love.

  “Keary…please wait…talk to me.” My hand is wrapped around his tensed arm and he turns to study my face. There’s shame in his expression; he’s afraid to look me in the eyes.

  “Listen, I’m sorry your father died—”

  “I’m not sorry; I felt relieved.” His words surprise me and make me ease back against the wall. “It’s just…I feel terrible about what happened to you and your family. I feel personally responsible for what my father did.”

  “No! Don’t think that. You had nothing to do with it.”

  “I could have stopped him. I could have blown his fucking head off myself.”

  I shake my head, knowing that’s not what I wanted to happen. “I came to your house that night…when you told me you had a gun. Did you know that? No, I didn’t think so. I came to stop you from doing something that you’d regret your whole life. I confronted your father outside your house to get him away from you.”

  His perplexed eyes connect with mine and I feel my heart flutter at the vulnerability on his face. “You really did that? I remember, it was in the middle of the night, after he came home. The gate bell kept ringing and ringing and Father was furious. You stopped me from shooting him. I had the gun, and I was really going to kill him, but after the bell rang he went outside. When he came back, before I could get to him, he went straight into his room and locked the door. By morning he was gone.”

  My hand reaches out on its own and touches Keary’s shoulder. His head slumps down to his chest and at that moment, I want nothing else but to hold him in my arms and make him feel better.