House Infernal by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

I guess I'm getting carried away with this stuff, she thought.

  "Wow, I really love those air-conditioners your father bought us," Dan was saying as he approached.

  "He's a generous guy, even for an oddball."

  "And that lobster for dinner? That was some spread." Dan dug some keys from his pocket. He'd removed his black shirt and collar in favor of a clean T-shirt. "Let's split. Driscoll wants me to pick up some extension cords, and ... there's a Red Sox game. He said I could take the Merc."

  Venetia felt disheveled and messy, but.. . I wouldn't mind getting out of here for a while. "We're going to a baseball game?"

  "No, no, it's on TV. There's a bar in town," the seminarist announced with some relief.

  "I don't drink. Do you?"

  "I have a beer or two-that's no big deal. Besides, Big Daddy Driscoll said I could."

  Driscoll's voice boomed from the upper stair-hall. "And if Little Daddy Dan gets pulled over in my Mercedes while driving intoxicated, he won't have to worry about ever becoming a priest."

  They both looked up and saw Driscoll smiling down.

  "Caught again," Venetia laughed. "You really do have a big mouth, Dan."

  "Tell me about it."

  Dan spent the entire drive into Wammsport smirking at himself. As dusk approached, the air cooled down and the fading sun painted brilliant orange steamers over the water. "Driscoll's such a pain in the butt, you know that?" he said when they parked at the city dock. "Treats me like a punk."

  "But it's only because he wants you to become a good priest," Venetia offered.

  Dan was about to gripe further when he did a doubletake. "I don't believe it-come on."

  Perplexed, Venetia followed him across the street to a grocery store parking lot. What's he need here? she wondered, but even stranger was his urgency. In the lot's corner she saw an attractive, thirtyish woman sitting in a lawn chair before the opened back doors of a step van. The side of the van read HOLY GROUND HOMELESS SHELTERSHOES, CLOTHING, AND CANNED FOOD PLEASE. The woman in the chair immediately recognized Dan and stood up.

  "What a surprise," came a soft Southern drawl. The woman was pretty in a startling way: well-curved, leggy, with a warm smile and aquamarine eyes. Bronze blond hair streaked with caramel fell over shoulders that were bare and tan; she wore a string-strapped halter and cutoff jeans. Lying against the swell of her bosom was a cross.

  "Diane, it's so good to see you." Dan hugged her. "I'm surprised you remember me, as little as I ever saw you."

  She smiled coyly. "Nuns never forget handsome seminarians," she replied. "Not that I'm a nun anymore."

  "That's too bad." At once Dan seemed troubled. "This is Venetia Barlow. She's helping restore the prior house. Venetia, Diane Elsbeth."

  "Nice to meet you," Venetia said, her curiosity already hair-triggering. This is one of the nuns who fled the prior house after the murders.

  "Venetia is considering the vocation," Dan said.

  "I'm glad to hear it." Diane sounded sincere. "It's just that ... it wasn't for me."

  "Why?" Venetia asked too readily. "The murders scared you off?"

  Dan immediately raised a brow, while Diane fell sullen.

  "I'm sorry, it's none of my business," Venetia corrected. "Rumors are usually never true anyway. I apologize."

  Diane struggled over a pause. "Rumors?"

  Damn. I should never have said anything, Venetia thought.

  "The ghost stuff, Tessorio, and all that," Dan said.

  The attractive woman idly scuffed her flip-flops on the pavement. "It's got nothing to so with that dreary prior house. The reason I quit the Sisterhood is because I'm not a strong enough servant of God."

  "That's a bunch of crap," Dan abruptly disagreed. Then he winked. "You'll come back."

  "I doubt it." The woman's eyes fluttered. "But don't worry, I'm still a Christian. I still go to church. I've got a day job and I do this at night. God is good to me."

  "I'm glad," Dan said.

  Venetia was nearly grinding her teeth. God, I wish she'd talk about what happened....

  "How's Ann doing?" Dan asked.

  Diane's expression turned glum. "She's lost."

  "No one's ever really lost," Dan offered, but it sounded feeble.

  Then Venetia ventured, "Why do you say she's lost?"

  Suddenly the woman looked depressed and exhausted. "I really don't want to talk about it, but..." She smiled right at Venetia. "Do you know the story of Jesus and the Widow's Mite?"

  A strange shift of subjects. "Of course. The twelfth chapter of Mark," " Venetia said at once. "When Jesus was asking for alms, a destitute widow gave Him her last two mites-or leptons-the equivalent of half a cent."

  Diane's smile beamed. "Exactly," She stuck out a donation can.

  "I knew she was still Catholic!" Dan jested.

  Venetia put in a twenty-dollar bill, chuckling. Just then a station wagon pulled up, and a man and his kids got out, bringing boxes of canned goods.

  "It's been good to see you, Dan," Diane said, parting. "Go with God."

  "You too."

  Diane's eyes locked on Venetia's. "I'm sure you'll be a devout nun. Good luck."

  Venetia watched her walk away. "Thanks...'

  "Well, it happens sometimes," Dan said, leading Venetia toward a drugstore.

  "Nuns become disillusioned, sure. But because of murders?"

  Dan bought some extension cords. "She'll be back."

  But he was obviously perturbed; Venetia saw it at once. "Where are we going now?" she asked when he crossed the street away from the car.

  He pointed to a low brick building whose sign read ABNEY'S BAR & GRILL.

  "Oh, that's right, so you can watch your baseball game."

  He grinned over his shoulder. "Or maybe that's just an excuse."

  "Excuse for what?"

  He didn't answer, just led her in.

  What a dive, Venetia thought. Low lights and smokethick air drew over a long black bar with cigarette-burned stools and a jar of pickled pig's feet every yard. Pool tables stretched along the back.

  Dan plopped down on a stool.

  "Can't we get a booth?" Venetia queried.

  "Not unless you want to sit down on a used rubber," he chuckled. His eyes gestured the handful of broken alcoholics and yahoos sitting around. "As you can see, this isn't exactly the cocktail lounge at the Four Seasons. There are more teeth on the floor than there are in the mouths of the patrons."

  Venetia sat, shaking her head at the cynical whimsy.

  "Ah, there it is," Dan said of the baseball game on a high TV. "So, what, the only alcohol you consume is at Communion?"

  Venetia laughed. "I've only been drinking age for a few months. I have a glass of champagne on New Year'sthat's about it."

  Two rednecks guffawed at each other near the pool tables.

  "I'll take two Wammsport Lagers," Dan told a barkeep who had to be eighty, and to Venetia: "What do you want?"

  "Coke, please." She frowned when the keep set two beers before Dan. "That's what I call two-fisted drinking. You ever thought of seeing a counselor? The priesthood has a high rate of alcohol abuse."

  Dan rolled his eyes. "I worked in the attic today. I'll bet it was a hundred and twenty degrees. Don't be judgmental. Besides, Christ imbibed, and so did the Apostles."

  "Yeah, Dan, but they didn't order beers two at a time."

  "I deserve it anyway," he said without looking at her. "I work hard for God. I mean, come on, I've taken a vow of celibacy, Venetia. With all that, I don't think God's going to get too pissed off if I have a couple beers."

  "Let's hope not."

  A squeal caused turn them to their heads. A trampish woman at one of the pool tables laughed hoarsely, bantering with the men. She wore raggy but tight jeans and a loose blouse that made no secret of braless breasts. "Come on, boys. Who's got the balls to rack 'em?"

  "Redneck Central," Dan said.

  "Such grace for the impoverished."

  "I was
only kidding, Venetia." He smirked back and drained a third of a beer in one sip. "I'm actually grateful for this wonderful day."

  "Really?" she said.

  "We got a lot of work done, your father gave us air conditioners and lobster tails, and"-he jabbed at finger at the TV-"the Sox are up on New York by two. Diane's right. God is good."

  "I think God's a little bit busy to watch baseball."

  He shot a wide-eyed look at her. "You don't know that."

  Venetia smiled. But when he drained his first glass in two more sips, she had to ask. "Dan, you're drinking like a longshoreman. What's bothering you?"

  "Nothing. I'm just thirsty."

  "Baloney. Diane is my guess," she asserted. "It shook you up to learn that she'd quit."

  He stalled, looked at her, then slumped. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Professional hazard-we both know that. Some people just can't hack it, and that's a shame."

  "It could happen to us, too," Venetia said, "but I'm not afraid of the possibility."

  Another pause, another sip. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I am."

  Venetia could not think of anything to say. She watched him decompress in silence, eyeing the TV. She was about to speak but then Dan's gaze snapped up. "What a rip-off! The big dumb lummox just hit a threerun homer!"

  "It's just a game," she said. "And kind of a silly one at that. Big men swinging a stick at a ball and then running around."

  "No, no, Venetia. Chicks just don't understand...." He frowned. "And look at you. You're sitting there with your soda pop like Mother Teresa-only a million times better looking-in the middle of a bar. Would you please have a drink. We're two clerics in the midst of regular people."

  Regular people, she mused. "You're really edgy today. I didn't know men got PMS."

  Dan laughed.

  "But if it makes you happy..." She ordered a beer. I guess one won't turn me into a drunk.

  The lager was rich and strong; her brows rose over the first sip. But when she looked again, Dan wasn't watching the TV, he was looking over toward the pool tables.

  More ruckus rose. The loud girl in tight jeans was lining up a shot, and as she did so, the V of her blouse hung low, affording any man looking a clear view of her bare breasts.

  So that's what he's looking at. The observation depressed some tiny part of her. All day yesterday he was looking at me ...

  "Come on, Jimmy. Put your money where your mouth is," her raucous voice cackled. "If I drop this shot, you pay forty for a blow."

  Her roughened opponent laughed openly. "You're on, babe. And if you miss it, I get one for free."

  Forty for a-Venetia's concentration tightened.

  An explosion of laughter rose when the woman sunk the shot. "Shee-it," muttered this Jimmy person. He followed the woman out the door, reaching for his wallet.

  "Dan, I know I'm pretty naive about some aspects of the real world," she began, "but is that woman a prostitute?"

  The wizened barkeep hacked laughter and walked away.

  Venetia's face reddened. But when she looked to Dan for an answer, she saw that his forehead was in his hand. "What's wrong?"

  "This day is turning to crap real fast." He cleared his throat. "Yes, that woman is a prostitute ... and I just now recognized her."

  Venetia stared at him.

  "It's Ann McGowen," Dan told her. "The second nun who left the prior house after the murders."

  The shock seemed palpable. My God... "Diane wasn't kidding when she said Ann was'lost."'

  "Going from nun to bar-whore is about as lost as you can get." Dan ordered two more beers.

  He knew her, Venetia realized. Probably not well, but still ... How depressing. She was about to comment on the second order of beers but then retracted the idea.

  Soon the bar got loud. More roughneck crabbers barged in, bringing boisterous talk and sleazy work- and drink-worn women. Dan's right. These are the regular people. The reality turned her sullen.

  Evidently ban's team was losing; he kept cursing at the TV. Venetia wasn't sure, but the beer she'd only halfconsumed seemed to be giving her a pleasant buzz. She began to people-watch, wondering if any of the revelers believed in God.

  "Danny! You're kidding me!"

  Venetia turned to see that Ann McGowen had returned from her illicit rendezvous. Beer-breath gusted with every word. She'd snuck up behind Dan, was hugging him, then smacked several wet kisses on his neck.

  "Hi, Ann," he said.

  "No black shirt and Roman collar. That's a good sign." Now her hands slid around his chest.

  "Oh, don't worry. I'm still a seminarist, just out of uniform today. I've been working at the prior house."

  "I heard some new priest took over Whitewood's post, and there's a crew up there fixing the joint up, picking up where we left off." Now her hands slid to his waist, practically to his crotch.

  Dan introduced her to Venetia.

  "Wow, I can tell you're Catholic just by looking at you. Guess you're my replacement, huh?"

  "In a sense," Venetia said. "I'm helping clean up the prior house for college credits."

  Ann McGowen's eyes shot brazenly to Venetia's bosom. Then she smirked.

  This woman does not like me ...

  The former nun was whispering too loudly now into Dan's ear. "You wanna know something? Last year when you'd come to the prior house every Friday to get Whitewood's invoices, that was about the only thing Diane and I ever looked forward to."

  Dan looked confused. "Why?"

  "Why?" she cracked another laugh. "'Cos you were the only good-looking man we ever got to see!"

  "That's ... nice of you to say...

  Venetia could only guess that Dan was severely uncomfortable.

  Ann whispered lower now. "You're not a priest yet, you know. Come outside to the car with me," and then one hand cupped Dan's crotch.

  He pulled the hand off immediately. "I've already done my vows, Ann. Gimme a break."

  "Shit. We could have some fun." She gave him a last hug, deliberately pressing her breasts against his back. But then she pulled off. "Buy me a drink, Danny."

  He jigged a hand at the barkeep. "Get her whatever she wants."

  "You're a sweetheart." This time she gave him a wet kiss on the lips. She ordered a pitcher. "Lemme know if you change your mind."

  "That won't happen, Ann, but I hope you change yours," he said. "God wants you back."

  Ann's drunken expression soured. "Bullshit. God doesn't give a fuck about me, and he doesn't give a fuck about you or Little Bo-Peep sitting next to you, or anyone-"

  "You're wrong-"

  "But thanks for the pitcher," and then the woman walked back toward the pool tables.

  Dan gulped his third beer. "Jesus."

  "Am I being judgmental if I say that's sad?"

  "That's really sad, Venetia."

  "Why don't you skip the fourth beer," she suggested, .and let's get back to the prior house."

  "It's bottom of the ninth. Just give me three outs."

  Venetia knew that, now, he was using the baseball game as a blinder. Ann McGowen continued to cavort about the pool tables, rubbing up against any man in proximity. Several minutes later, though, she walked to the ladies room.

  Venetia waited another minute, then went right in behind her, thinking, This might be a big mistake.

  "Oh, the Catholic Cutie Pie," Ann sneered when she emerged from a stall.

  "I-I wanted to ask you something-"

  "Bullshit," the woman said. She leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. "You think God's gonna give you brownie points for coming into a bathroom in a redneck bar and trying to preach to me?"

  "I didn't come in here to preach," Venetia said, her heart rate rising.

  "And I'll tell you-since I'm fucking sure you want to know." She blew smoke into Venetia's face. "Sister Patricia and Lottie Jessel were two of the kindest, nicest, and most faithful people I've ever met in my life, and then God let some psycho cut their throats. Any God that co
uld let two women that innocent be murdered is fuckedup. I don't want any part of your God."

  "Ann, the evil in the world is our burden. God's got nothing to do with it." She roused her nerve. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard, and a weak, selfish reason to leave the Church."

  Ann's bloodshot eyes leveled. She flicked the cigarette in the sink, and-

  Venetia almost shrieked, the woman moved so fast. Ann was suddenly squashing her against the wall, licking her neck, and whispering. "Yeah? Yeah? And what about desire?"

  Venetia shuddered, afraid to the point that she was petrified.

  Ann kept her pinned against the wall with surprising strength, her hands sliding up under Venetia's blouse to knead her breasts through the bra.

  "Stop!" Venetia gasped.

  But the woman just licked her neck more intently. "You tell me, you little tease-what kind of God would give His flock desire and then demand that they repress it? Hmm?"

  Venetia finally snapped out of the rigor and tried to push the woman off, but when she did so, Ann's assault only intensified.

  "Hmm, honey? What kind of God does that?" Then she licked right across Venetia's pressed lips, trying to force in her tongue. Now Ann's fingers had pushed up the bra cups. Venetia squealed when the intruding fingertips damped down on her nipple and pinched.

  Powerless, Venetia gagged, "Stop it or IT scream."

  "No, you won't," and then Ann slipped one hand up Venetia's skirt, then down her panties....

  Venetia tried to scream but found her throat locked up. She grabbed Ann's wrists and with all her strength, fought to keep the marauding hands at bay.

  "You're strong for a little girl." But the woman didn't back off. "I'll make a deal with you, and remember that lying is a sin." The drunken eyes bored into her. "You look me in the eye and swear to God on High that you don't want to fuck Dan. You tell me that you're not sexually attracted to him, tell me that you have absolutely no lust for him and never have. You swear, bitch. You swear to God. And if you do that, I'll go back to that fuckin' house with you, and I'll put my habit and cross back on."

  Venetia met the woman's glare ... and wilted. She didn't say anything.

  Ann backed away, rescued her cigarette from the sink. "What the hell did you come in here for?"

  Venetia wiped a tear from her eye. "I ... wanted to ask you something. Mrs. Newlwyn said that the murders aren't the only reason you and Diane left the prior house."