The Forgotten

by Tamara Thorne

  It’s all an act, Dick said. She’s acting afraid to get you to stay with her. She wants you, Daniel, you know that. She’s always wanted you. She wants me too, the sick old broad. We have to do something about her.

  “Shhhh. Go to sleep.”

  How could you stay here? How could you lower yourself to sleep in this old twin bed right next to her room? You know what she used to do, don’t you?

  “Nothing,” he muttered.

  You know better. She’d listen to see if you were whacking me off, and then she’d barge in here to catch you in the act.

  “She just happened to come in a couple of times. You have to admit, we did it a lot.”

  It’s only natural, Daniel. Tell you what, you stroke me now, and she’ll hear you and come in. It turns her on. What she really wants is for you to stick me in her, but you’d never do that, would you? It would kill me to be a plunger stuck in that stinking old cesspool.

  “Shut up, Dick. You’re twisted.”

  (Laughter.) Let’s hope not, that would ruin all my plans in the future. We’re going on a fucking holiday, Daniel, as soon as Mother kicks off. We’ll do every babe on Catalina Island, you and me.

  “Grow up,” he muttered. “Besides, we can go to Catalina even if she’s alive.”

  But think of the hassle. She’ll want to go too and when you come back, she’ll never stop going on about how you didn’t take her.

  “Look, I’ll just tell her I’m going to a convention. There’s one coming up in Sacramento. We’ll go to Catalina and say we’re at the state capital. She’ll never know. We’ll call her from my cell phone so she can’t figure anything out.”

  Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. How can you put up with having to call your mommy every night, no matter where you go? You have to stop aiding her. Remember your shrink telling you she’s a co-dependent type? You are too, buddy boy, but you need to be co-dependent on me, not your mommy.

  “I’m not co-dependent. Dr. Banning said she was. He didn’t say I was.”

  He was being polite. He assumed you’d figure it out on your own, buddy boy. Now, why don’t you give us a little stroke?

  “No! Not here. She’s probably listening!”

  (Laughter, more laughter.) See? You just admitted to what I told you about her. She listens. Now here’s what we’re going to do. You always hated that old swordfish mounted up there on the wall. Look at it.

  Dick was right. It was three feet long, counting the sword-beak, and old and creepy, a gift given to him by his uncle Horace, when Daniel was only in first grade. Dick began to talk again. Finally, Daniel nodded and took the fish down. It didn’t take long to remove the fish from the wooden plaque that was holding it.

  For a couple of moments, he sparred with his shadow, then he took the fish and climbed back into bed.

  Set it down. Yeah, let the cover fall over it. Now, let me loose and wet me down.

  Silently, Daniel did as he was told. In a few moments, he was breathing hard and stroking harder. His breath came in withering sighs. He forgot about Mother until she barreled into the room, opening the door without bothering to knock.

  “Daniel Boone Hatch, just what do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. “Are you abusing yourself? In my house? Answer me!”

  Say yes.

  “Yes.”

  “Put it away!”

  No.

  “No.”

  “Do as I say, young man.”

  Let me go, but don’t put me away. I want to watch.

  Daniel let Dick flop into the shadows as Mother approached. “Show me your hands, Daniel. Let me see what’s on them.”

  “No.”

  Do it. Get her closer, then grab the fish Daniel. Run her through.

  “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what?” demanded Mother, now standing over him. “Show me your hands.”

  Do it! Do it now!

  “I can’t kill her.”

  “Wha—what?” squawked Mother. “Kill me? Who do you think you’re talking to young man! I think it’s time for a high colonic. Your body’s obviously poisoned. Get out of bed and march to the bathroom right now!”

  Are you really going to let her run cold water up your rectum until you faint from the cramps when she makes you hold it for an hour? Do you get off on that?

  “No!”

  Then pick up that fish and run her through.

  Daniel’s hands moved fast. Not letting himself think, he grabbed the fish and rammed the sword into her gut. It made a horrible squishing sound and before he even withdrew it, Daniel could smell the stink of guts and shit. His mother stared at him in disbelief. She looked at her stomach, at the spreading blood, then back at him again.

  “You’re in big trouble, young man!” she intoned, then fell across him, 225 pounds of maternal lard.

  Get her off me! I’m suffocating!

  Daniel slid out from under her, thinking he shouldn’t have let dick talk him into this because he was as bad a nag as she was, but she could cook.

  Forget food. You and I can play all we want. I’ll make sure you have women to fuck all the time. You’ll love it. Now, you have plenty of dark left. Go out to the workshed and get the shovel. You can bury her in that spot you have all primed for planting that weeping willow. She’ll be great fertilizer, and she’ll never nag you again. When the tree is bigger, you can carve your initials on the trunk and it’ll be just like carving your initials on her face.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Daniel dressed in old clothes, blue jeans and a black T-shirt. “For a penis, you sure have anger management problems.”

  Forget the shrink shit, buddy boy, it’s just you and me and a world of sweet tail to fuck now.

  Right before dawn, Daniel finished tamping down the earth that covered Mother. “We have to wait a couple of days for the earth to settle before we put the tree in, Dick.”

  That’s fine and dandy. Now, let’s go in and have a shower. Bring the lotion because I need a rub down.

  “Now?”

  Can you think of a better time for a celebration?

  “Yes. I’m not interested in jacking you right now. I just buried my mother, thanks to you.”

  I know, I know, but jacking’s the thing we’re going to do. I have a mind of my own and I’ve led you around by the short hairs since you were thirteen years old, remember? You just let me do the thinking for you and we’ll be fine and dandy!

  69

  “When David Masters compared a ghost with years-old scent on a handkerchief in an attic trunk, he had me,” Will told Maggie between bites of cannelloni. He grinned. “It reminded me of what you said, only the ghost of aging perfume on a hanky sounded much nicer than your ghost of old cat crap in a warm room.

  “Am I going to have to poke you with my fork?”

  “Nope. I’m done.”

  Maggie smiled as she pushed her empty plate back. “That was wonderful. I’m so full I could pop.”

  “You really put it away. I don’t know how you ate all that.” Will put his silverware across his mostly empty plate. “If I ate all those different pasta dishes, I’d sleep for a week.”

  “Hey, watch it. If this is a date, you can’t make remarks about how much I can shovel down.”

  “And still keep your girlish figure.”

  “Well, okay. In that case, you can say what you want. ”

  “Coffee? Dessert?”

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. Do you still want to go to visit St. Martin’s before we go down to Red Cay to meet your new favorite author?”

  “He’s not my favorite author. He simply has expertise in an area that currently has an impact on my own interests.”

  “Gee, do you think you could say that any more stiltedly?”

  “I could try.” He motioned for the check and a waiter appeared almost instantly. Will handed him a credit card without looking at the bill. “We’re in a hurry,” he said. The waiter nodded and glided off.

  “This is a beautiful old
place,” Maggie said. “Have you ever looked around?”

  “Not really. It was closed so much of the time when we were young. You’ve been here?”

  “A few times. For meals. The indoor pool is amazing.”

  “How about the theme rooms? Ever see one of those?”

  “No.” She eyed him. “Have you?”

  “No. They probably have a list of them at the front desk to pick from. Kevin and Gabe like the Caveman room.”

  “Prehistoric Paradise,” Maggie corrected. She added dryly, “I’ve read the list.”

  “What else do they have?”

  “Arabian Nights. King Arthur’s room. An Elvis room. A circus room, I think.”

  “Anything kinky?”

  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think a circus room might be kinky.”

  “Does it have a trapeze?” Will felt butterflies try to dance despite the cannelloni, minestrone, and salad they were swimming in.

  She looked him straight in the eye, so hard and fast that he felt like he hadn’t a stitch on. “I don’t know, Will. We could come back sometime and ask.”

  “O—okay.” He poured water down his suddenly dry throat.

  She wasn’t done with him yet. “They have a dungeon room. More than one, I think.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Kevin told me. The dungeons are very popular.”

  “Do they have trapezes?”

  “You like those, huh? What if they do? What can you do while you’re hanging by your knees?” She finished her water in one gulp, her eyes never leaving his.

  “I can probably do all sorts of things while hanging by my knees if the trapeze is in the right spot.”

  The waiter came back with the receipt, which was either a relief or a disappointment. Will looked it over, signed off, and put his card away.

  “Shall we?” Maggie started to rise.

  “Let’s sit here for just a minute or two and talk about baseball scores or something.”

  She cocked her head, then understanding lit up her face. “You have a—”

  “Shhhh. Baseball scores.”

  70

  “Miss Boyd?” Pete Banning put on his biggest, whitest smile.

  “Yes. Oh, hi, um, you’re Mr. Ah. . .” Even though it was past noon, Heather Boyd appeared to be wearing nothing but an ass-high pink cotton robe. The cotton-candy polish on her fingernails and toenails matched her lipstick. Her dark hair was in two pigtails. All she needed to complete the look was a lollipop and crotchless panties.

  “Banning. Call me Pete. I’m the owner of Caledonia Cable. I came by the other day?”

  “Yes, yes, sure. I remember. You adjusted my sets. Is there anything wrong?”

  “No—well, yes. Would it be convenient if I just came in for a moment and tweaked a couple things?”

  “Yes, now’s fine. I mean, I was just going to take a shower. You can tweak first. It’ll only take a moment, right?” She stepped back to let him pass.

  “Miss Boyd, it will take just as long as you want it to.”

  “Okay.” She shut the door. “You want to do the family room or the bedroom first.”

  “Let’s get the family room out of the way first.”

  She nodded, and led him into the downstairs room where a boy of nine or ten sprawled on the floor in front of the tube, glued to cartoons.

  “Hello, young man. What’s your name?”

  The kid didn’t look away from the screen.

  “Rudy.”

  “Get out of the way, Rudy. He’s gotta fix the television.”

  “Isn’t broken.”

  “I’ll be out of your hair in a flash, Sport.” Pete fiddled with the cable box, making it go off and on repeatedly, enjoying the sound of the kid letting off steam like a teapot. “This your little brother?” he asked Heather.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’re your parents this morning?”

  “They’re in Bermuda.”

  “Yeah,” said Rudy. “Maybe they’ll get lost in the triangle.”

  “They leave you two alone?” he asked, putting his screwdriver in his back pocket and smiling at her from hair to toenail polish.

  “Oh, please, I’m a sophomore at Greenbriar. I’m not a high-school kid. You ready to go upstairs?”

  “I sure am.”

  “Follow me.”

  “Bye, Rudy.”

  Rudy, absorbed in the TV, grunted. Good.

  Pete stayed four steps below Heather on the stairs, but couldn’t catch sight of any bush. Probably, she was wearing a thong.

  “So, are you a cheerleader?” he asked as they entered her room.

  “Me?” she laughed. “Why would you think I was a cheerleader?”

  “You have the personality for it. And you look like a cheerleader, you know . . .” He feigned unease. “You’re very vivacious.”

  He walked to the set.

  “Hey,” she said, behind him.

  “Yes?” He kept his eyes on the cable box. Turn too soon and all would be lost.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Miss.”

  “I got implants last year. Want to see?”

  71

  Felicia Banning loved her house in the Heights. She loved her furniture, her vehicles, her jewelry, her clothes. . . why she loved just about everything in her life, except for her rutting, rotten husband, Peter Banning.

  But since he was rarely home and didn’t even make that many demands on her physically, he was a small price to pay for such happiness. Every towel was Egyptian cotton, her everyday dishes were fine hand-painted china, her water glasses were crystal, and she had a housekeeper to handwash those things that required such care. She wasn’t a snob; she just liked owning things. In fact, most of the time, she used simple Fiestaware dishes and Mexican blown glass—she had several sets of everyday dishes and glasses.

  Her sheets were pima cotton with staggering thread counts that made them feel like the softest down. She loved sheets and had them in every color of the rainbow, along with a dozen different comforters, which were kept stacked in their own closet on shelves that rotated. Sachets of lavender, of rose, of cinnamon, fragrance tarts to melt over tea lights in porcelain holders, scented candles, bath salts, skin creams, handmade glycerine soap, everything with a fragrance, were kept in a small cabinet Pete had specially built just to hold such delicacies a few Christmases ago.

  How could she complain? She couldn’t, she didn’t. Felicia finished her workout in her own exercise room—keeping her body nice for Pete was, as she saw it, part of the deal—and headed for the shower, stripping off her shorts and sports bra as she walked. Pete was long gone; she doubted he’d turn up again before evening, and the maid wouldn’t be in until three o’clock. The only person who would be visiting her before then would be her lover, and that would be soon.

  Walking naked down the hall, wiping sweat from her blond brow, she noticed that the door to Pete’s office, the one that was always locked, was ajar. “Pete?” she called. “Petey, darling, are you here?”

  He wasn’t. She looked at the door. Bluebeard’s Closet. Or did it belong to Blackbeard, or maybe the king who chopped off Anne Boleyn’s head? Who cared? She smiled slightly, wondering if he had dead women’s heads in there, if she would join them if she looked, like in that old story about the guy with the beard. “Nah,” she said.

  But just to be safe, she bounced and jiggled downstairs and looked out the window. No vehicles. She went into the kitchen and opened the door to the garage. The silver SUV was gone.

  Grinning now, she ran back up the stairs and tiptoed into the office without turning on any lights. She knew him well enough to look for cameras, but didn’t see anything, and he was such a freak about keeping the door locked, he wasn’t likely to bother with them. Besides, he trusted his little Cunnikins. And she was trustworthy; he probably wouldn’t even mind her having a lover if he knew who it was.

  Just a quick peek. She tiptoed farther into the
room, around a screen, and found a bank of mini-TVs. Sur-veliance equipment. There were six TVs and four were on. One showed some kids watching television and a weird white ghosty-looking thing walking back and forth behind them. Another showed Mickey Elfbones sprawled in front of his television—shouldn’t he be working?—wearing a metal hat. The third was an empty living room, and the fourth was a real hoot. She concentrated on it. All she could see was a bed, a girl spreadeagled under a man who was pumping away like there was no tomorrow. Curious, she turned the volume up slightly. Just a lot of grunting. Then the man pulled out and sat up. She could only see his back, damn it, and she didn’t recognize the girl, but she could tell she was young.

  The man pushed the girl’s crotch up, legs over his neck and started munching. “Mmmm-mmmmff,” he said, muffled. “That’s good eatin’!” He sounded like Slingblade.

  “Pete!” Felicia turned the sound down. “Pete, you bastard! You’re only supposed to say that to me!”

  Furious, she stared harder at the screen, finally making out the blur of the Navy insignia tattooed on his ass. “You son of a bitch!” she muttered. “You dirty rotten son of a bitch!”

  The doorbell rang.

  Her lover.

  She turned and left the room, raced downstairs and peeped out the window then opened the door wide.

  Her lover’s eyes opened just as wide at the sight of Felicia’s naked body. “Well, hello, Felicia! You’re looking good.”

  “Get in here!” She grabbed Jennifer Labouche by the arm, yanked her in, then closed and locked the door before kissing Jenny.

  “Wow. You’re wet,” Jen said, running her hands down her belly and over her sex.

  “I haven’t showered yet. I’m just sweaty.”

  “Then let’s go shower together.”

  “In a minute.”

  Jenny smiled. “You need a quickie first?”

  “No.”

  “Well, why are you so excited?”

  “Come upstairs. You have to see this. It’s Pete. He’s cheating on us!”

  72

  Mia Hunt Hartz watched the young cop, Officer Hoyle, as he prowled through her house.