Saltar's Point

by Ott, Christopher Alan

  “Hey baby. How are you feeling?” He dreaded the response, knowing in his heart what her response would be.

  “Not good.”

  Randall strolled over to her bedside and sat down, the springs creaked in squeaky protest. He placed his hand on her cheek lovingly, trying his best not to let the concern he felt flow through to his eyes.

  “Has it been that hard?”

  “Harder than I thought.” She admitted it with great reservation. It was a difficult thing to admit your shortcomings, but Ellie was past the point of trying to retain her self-dignity. “How are you doing?”

  “Good.”

  “And Aiden?”

  “Well you know, he misses you, but he’s getting along fine.”

  “It’s been hard on him.” The pain registered in her face.

  “Of course. But he’s doing as well as to be expected. We’ve been fishing a lot when I can find the time, and Cletus has got him busy around the store.”

  Ellie chuckled. “I bet he has, he was always one to instill a good work ethic to anyone who’s willing.”

  “Yeah, he had him sweeping floors yesterday. The broom was taller than his head, but he seemed to be making due.”

  Ellie tried to find an easy way to broach the subject that she had called Randall here to discuss, but there didn’t seem to be any easy avenue to take. She drew a breath and found the best spot to begin.

  “Randall, do you believe in God?”

  The question caught him off guard. “Yeah, I guess. As much as the next man anyway. Why?”

  “And if you believe in god do you also believe that there is evil?”

  “Of course. I see it everyday in my job, people do evil things all the time. If they didn’t we wouldn’t need cops.”

  Ellie tried to steady her hands but they had begun to shake uncontrollably. “No, I’m not just talking about the evil that men do. I mean do you believe that there’s evil beyond the world that we live in?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

  He chuckled. “Like ghosts and stuff?”

  Her irritation flowed to the surface. “Goddamn it Randall, I’m serious.”

  Her tone took him aback. “No, not really. I mean I guess I’ve never really given it much thought. Why?”

  “Because I do.”

  There was an awkward silence. “Ellie, what are you talking about?”

  “Last night,” she began “last night I saw something that I never thought I’d see, and it scared me to death.”

  “What are you talking about baby?”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “How about from the beginning then.”

  Her sweating had grown more perfuse. “Okay, but only if you promise not to think I’m crazy.”

  Randall didn’t like where this was going, but he did his best to remain composed. “I’m listening.”

  Ellie began to recount last night’s events. She told him about her experience in the

  bathroom, the unexplained specter, the terror she felt, and the ash she witnessed on the wall. Randall sat listening attentively, not wanting to distress her with his doubt. The drugs in her system along with her own detoxification process were obviously causing her to hallucinate. When she was finished he sat at the edge of the bed dumbfounded. She read his emotions like an open book.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “No it’s not that Ellie, it’s just that it’s a lot to take in.”

  “You think I’m crazy.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Of course not, I just think that maybe the drugs they have you on are causing you to see things, that’s all.”

  She lost her temper. “Shit Randall! I’m not seeing anything. I know what I saw and it was real, as real as the hand in front of my face, and it scared me beyond any terror I thought I would ever know.”

  His mood became more somber. “I’m sorry Ellie, it’s just that it’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

  “Well that maybe so, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”

  “What did the words say?”

  He asked the question without emotion, playing along with her little game, not expecting what he was about to hear.

  “They said. Help Abby.”

  His respiration stopped in his throat, it was all a coincidence he was sure, but the words Jack Darrow had said earlier still rung in his ears. “At home, taking care of Abby like always.” No it was just a coincidence that’s all. He tried to convince himself, but the doubt hung in the air like cigar smoke.

  Darrow took a deep breath. The exhilaration was still pouring through him. It was all he could do not to scream out with euphoria. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the rich smoke filled his lungs and tingled the nerve endings in his fingers. At last his master had let him kill the whore that he had kept hostage in the basement for several days. He relished her screams, her agony, the power he wielded over her, all of it. It made him feel good, better than he ever had before. He had gotten a taste for it now and there was no stopping him, not until he was caught, or dead. He took another long swallow from his bottle of whiskey. He had reached the point where the alcohol began to soothe him to his core and he relished the feeling.

  The sack had plopped into the water of Sequoia Lake, emitting a satisfying splash. He had weighted it down with three large stones, weighing approximately five pounds each. Since he had cut away the flesh and organs from the body, there would be no tissue left to bloat with decaying gasses and bring the corpse to the top. He was satisfied. The skeleton would rest at the bottom of the lake for eternity. He had burned the soft tissue in the fire pit behind the mansion. The putrid aroma of burning flesh had filled his nostrils, making him giddy. Those pigs, those wretched pigs would have nothing to hang their hats on. It was the perfect crime.

  On the way home he had hummed to himself, a catchy little ditty that his mother had taught him. The Goddamn bitch, may she rest in hell. The headlights of the Econoline had shown bright before him, illuminating the road as the tires ate up the distance between the lake and Talcott Manor. He pulled into the long gravel drive and stopped the van underneath the carport. He opened the door and strode up to the manor. His strides were light, he was in a good mood and he wanted to share it with somebody. Abby would have to do. He turned the lock on the front door, listened to it click, and went inside. The mansion had its usual musty smell, an odor that signified too much space for too few occupants. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich smell of solidarity and began to climb the grand staircase. As he passed the top banister something caught his eye, he wasn’t sure why he noticed it, but he did. It was an insignificant little feature, a blemish really, but it stood out to him as though it were showcased in a neon sign. At the top of the banister wedged in between the post and the rounded knob that capped it off there was a mark worn into the lacquer finish. Darrow knelt down and examined it more carefully. The lacquer had been worn away all around the wedge as though someone had sanded it with a wire brush, or possibly a rope pulled back and forth around its circumference. He was no sleuth and at first the blemish confounded him. He scratched his head as if trying to stimulate blood flow to his feeble brain. Then he noticed something peculiar. Where the lacquer had been worn away the wood had become rough, creating tiny protrusions of splinters. Lodged just behind one of these splinters was a single thread, a half-inch long nylon fiber yellow in color, the kind often used to make nylon rope. He plucked the fiber from the splinter and held it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it to his face to examine it more closely. Anger began to well inside of his stomach as he recalled something the demon had said to him earlier. “She has been down on the first floor.” When first he heard this he thought that the idea was preposterous, the demon’s feeble attempt to anger him enough to kill his wife. But now the possibility was too great to ignore. Perhaps Abby was more resourceful than he thought. Perhaps he had underestimated her, but
if so, where did she get the rope? And why would she try to leave the second floor anyway, curiosity, boredom, or perhaps she had a greater purpose?

  He stood up and tried to control the rage that continued to build within him. No, it wasn’t possible, was it? His invalid wife couldn’t have made it down to the first floor and back up again, especially without him knowing it. He rolled the nylon fiber between his fingers and tossed it aside. It was time to have a little discussion with Abby. If his suspicions were true then she was exhibiting unacceptable behavior. He began a slow methodical walk to Abby’s bedroom.

  Abby had heard him enter the mansion. She could always hear the way his boots echoed as he climbed the oak staircase. She lay peacefully within her bed, but when his footfalls suddenly fell silent for a few minutes she began to get an alarming feeling in the back of her neck. Surely Darrow was not smart enough to learn of her escapades. She had been down the steps a couple more times since she found a way to descend to the first floor. Her mind raced as she tried to think about any possible evidence that she may have left behind. No, there was none, she was sure of it. She had been very meticulous not to leave any evidence of her passing behind, she was just being paranoid, and that was all.

  Darrow appeared in her doorway. His demeanor gave her pause. He had that look in his eyes, a look that she had seen all too much recently, a look that tried to conceal anger while attempting to be smug at the same time. He never pulled it off very well.

  “Hello Abby.” The words came out smoothly but with a hint of animosity.

  “Aye unny.”

  “How are you?”

  “Ood.” Abby didn’t like where this was going.

  “What have you been up to?”

  “Uthin, jus eepin.”

  “Sleeping huh? Well that doesn’t sound like a very exciting day. You didn’t get up to go to the window or anything?”

  Abby shook her head.

  “Not even to look at the pretty trees?”

  He took a couple of steps closer. Abby could see the rage registered behind his eyes. Her fear escalated. He was pissed off about something and was ready to take it out on her. She wished he would get on with it, the anticipation was worse than anything that he could do to her, but he was biding his time. It was a little game that he liked to play. He took a couple more steps, stopping just in front of her bed.

  “You know, a little birdie told me a secret.” He moved around the bed until he was just at her side and then he knelt down putting his eyes at her level. “A secret about you.”

  Abby trembled just a bit, but she was not about to let her fear become evident. If Jack wanted to intimidate her he was not going to be successful.

  “I was looking at the banister, you know the top one on the main staircase, and I was wondering why there is a mark worn smooth around the top of it.” Abby remained silent. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that now would you?”

  She shook her head.

  “No of course not, I mean you’re a fucking invalid, a completely useless waste of human skin.” He stroked her hair as he talked in a demeaning and condescending nature. “I mean for Christ’s sake you can’t even get out of bed, not without help.”

  His hand tightened into a fist, grabbing her hair in a vise grip, and then he yanked her from the bed and onto the floor with a violent heave. Her shoulder struck the hardwood first, sending pain throughout her entire body and bringing tears to her eyes. The momentum carried her forward and she rolled over on her belly. All she could see were the tops of Darrow’s boots as he stood over her. She began to crawl, inching herself along the floor a little at a time dragging her legs behind her. She knew she could not get away, but instinct had taken over, the desire to live still burned deep within her heart and pulsed through her veins. Darrow seemed amused by the sight. He stood patiently watching her squirm her way along like a slug on a rose petal.

  “Although, you know. The other day I found you in the bathroom. Remember that? In the bathroom all by your lonesome, so I guess maybe you can get out of bed after all. And if you can get out of bed, maybe, just maybe you might be able to get down the stairs and back up again. Am I getting warm?”

  Abby continued to crawl, elbow over elbow, slowly making her way to the door. She had made it about half way before she felt Darrow’s boot stomp down on her hair, pinning her to the floor.

  “Where’re you going sweetheart? You’re not trying to get away from little old me are you?”

  Abby tried to move her head but she was pinned hard and fast to the floor. Darrow knelt again while keeping his boot securely on her hair. He placed his hand on the back of her neck and leaned forward until his mouth was just inches from her ear. She could smell his putrid breath reeking of cigarettes and this morning’s whiskey.

  “Where’s the rope Abby?”

  Abby continued to struggle pissing him off even more. He grabbed the underside of her chin and yanked upward, straining her neck and pulling a large chunk of her hair free from her scalp. Despite all of this Abby managed to remain silent. Darrow sighed and yanked her head up further. Abby felt as though the tendons in her neck were about to snap. She was having difficulty breathing now and she wondered if she would have been able to answer Jack if she wanted to.

  “Where’s the fucking rope Abby?”

  Darrow repeated the question, tired of her little games. Abby gritted her teeth and held on to her determination. The rope was stowed safely within Porter’s study, but Jack would never know that. Even if he killed her she would not give him the satisfaction. He released her hair from under his boot and slammed her head into the floor with all of his might. Her brain exploded like a firecracker and for a moment Abby thought that she would loose consciousness, but unmercifully she did not.

  “Not going to talk eh? Well that’s just fine. I’ll just have to beat it out of you, that’s all.”

  He kicked her underneath her jaw with as much force as he could muster. Abby heard her jawbone crack under the tremendous force. Her teeth cut through the top of her tongue, severing the tip. Abby felt the small fleshy mass in her mouth, she spat it out in a fountain of blood and watched as it bounced off the floor. She didn’t care; her tongue was virtually useless now anyway. Darrow kicked her again, this time in the side of her head with enough force to scoot her body sideways on the hardwood. Almost by instinct Abby swung her left arm backwards with all of her might. It bounced harmlessly off of Darrow’s shin, causing him to erupt in a fit of laughter.

  “Oh, you’re going to fight back now. After all these years, Abby Darrow decides to take a stand. Whoopty fuckin’ do.”

  He grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down onto the hardwood with enough force to fracture her two front teeth. They plinked on the floor close to the tip of her severed tongue. Blood was spilling from her mouth now in a torrent of sticky red fluid. It formed around her head like a liquid pillow.

  With a claw Darrow grasped her shoulder and flipped on her side, Abby peered up at him with hate filled eyes.

  “There’s a reckoning coming for you Jack Darrow.”

  The words came out garbled as usual but Darrow had no doubt as to what she said. Even without her words her look said it all. It was the first time in her life that she had ever looked at him this way. Despite all that he had done to her she had managed not to hate Jack Darrow until that very instant. Jack noticed it too, and for a second it gave him pause, but then he regained his composure and kicked her again. This time his boot landed squarely in her stomach, doubling her over at the waist, rupturing her stomach lining and causing her to vomit blood. Her life was over then, she was sure of it. Darrow would continue to beat her until she was dead and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. The futility of her situation and her wasted life drew the agony deep from within her soul. She could have been so much more, could have done something with her life, but now this was her fate, to die at the boots of a monster. The tears welled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. A long
pitiful wail escaped her lips as she sobbed.

  Darrow looked down at her, lying on her side in the fetal position. It had a haunting familiarity. Decades earlier he had lain like that on the cellar floor as his mother beat him unmercifully. The memory cut through him. What had he done? The monster, the monster that had possessed his mother was now controlling him. He had become his own worst nightmare. What if the demon had been wrong? No it was wrong, Abby couldn’t have made the trek down to the first floor, and now he had beat her senseless for no reason.

  “I’m so sorry Abby. I’m so sorry.” The words and the tears flowed through him as he cradled her head in his lap. He only beat her like this when he was drinking. It was time for him to stop. He vowed right then and there to quit drinking once and for all, and for the next year he didn’t touch a drop.

  Abby felt Jack’s hands cradled around her head and could almost make sense of his words as she slipped in and out of consciousness. Abby too made a vow to herself. If she lived through this she would escape the clutches of Jack Darrow once and for all. It was time for her to leave.

  PART II

  THE RECKONING

  I am sure the grapes are sour.

  -Aesop

  TWENTY-NINE

  Lake Nasser, Sudan 1898

  Najid was dying, he knew, he had watched the others die. The river sickness had ravaged their bodies until they were nothing more than skin and bones. Now he too was sick. He would continue to sweat and shake, the fever would come and go, and just when he was feeling better it would come back worse than before. He would become bloated. His face, hands, and feet would swell up as if they were about to pop. His skin would yellow, and his eyes would become red. There would be blood in his urine. He would watch as he pissed his lifeblood away. It would not be an easy death, he knew. He had watched the others die.