by Keene, Brian
“Yes.” She nodded and went to the refrigerator. She pulled out a carafe of water and then pulled down two glasses from the cupboard. “Chipmunks are just a fact of life. They’re not rats. What happened to Teddy … well, we know what happened. This isn’t the same thing.”
“Of course,” Chuck said. Arrianne poured them each a glass of water. With their plates in hand, they headed to the dining room and sat at the table.
They took their meal in silence for a while, savoring the ribs, which was a specialty at Selman’s. Now that the subject of Teddy had come up again, Arrianne couldn’t get him out of her mind.
Teddy had been their cat at their previous home. A male calico. He’d been neutered, but it hadn’t stopped him from wandering their old neighborhood. Because he was neutered, he wasn’t as territorial as un-neutered males, and he didn’t wander far. However, he did have a strong prey drive. Birds, mice …
If it was a critter, Teddy would hunt it down, kill it, and bring the remains right to their doorstep.
Arrianne had seen it plenty of times. Birds, chipmunks, frogs. Teddy would leave their mutilated remains on the front porch of their Brooklyn duplex as if it was an offering. A few times Teddy had brought lizards and garter snakes, a few times he’d even brought a squirrel or two.
She’d never seen Teddy bring home a rat.
Arrianne had found him when she’d exited the garage after coming home from work. Teddy had managed to crawl back to the garage and had been lying on his side near the door that led to the backyard. She’d given a startled yelp and dropped her purse. Teddy had laid there on his side, his fur matted with dried blood, his left eye gouged out and hanging out of its socket. He’d been panting heavily. Arrianne had quickly composed herself and knelt down, trying to keep her panic down as she visually assessed Teddy. He looked pretty torn up, but he was alive. Had he been in a fight with another cat? That was her first thought as she’d bundled him up in her coat, put him in the front seat of the car, and headed to the vet.
Their vet, Dr. Ketchum, had been unable to save Teddy. It was primarily the shock that did him in. Teddy died in one of Dr. Ketchum’s examination rooms as he and a vet assistant worked at stabilizing him.
Later it was determined that Teddy had suffered multiple puncture wounds that looked to be caused by long incisors, like those from a rat. Multiple scratches along Teddy’s belly and flank looked to be from claws. A tuft of skin and fur recovered from Teddy’s paws was conclusive.
“Hard to believe, but your cat was killed by a rat,” Dr. Ketchum told her a few days later when she’d stopped by the vet’s office to collect Teddy’s ashes. “I know you’ve heard that New York rats are a breed of their own—the ones in the subways are thought to be descendants of Norway rats that came aboard freighter ships. My guess is Teddy came across a mother rat with a nest of babies. A mother rat won’t give a damn how big you are. I’ve heard of them attacking people.”
Arrianne didn’t even know there was a family of rats near the house, but a few days later she found it—somehow, the bugger had built a nest beneath one of the rain gutters along the side of the house. Tufts of cat hair were scattered over an area near some bushes amid spatters of blood, evidence from Teddy’s fatal altercation. She took a step forward for a better look and was instantly charged by the varmint, who came dashing out its burrow. Arrianne had been quick on her heels and scampered back. The goddamn thing chased her nearly all the way to the garage. It had stood in the middle of the yard, chattering at her, yelling at her, it seemed, and then had darted back into the bushes that hid its underground nest.
Chuck had offered to call an exterminator, but she’d discouraged that. If it was a rat that had a litter she was only doing what any mother would do—protect its babies. Sure enough, as the weeks passed, she’d started to see the babies as they crept out of the nest their mama rat had made for them—and mama rat was pretty goddamn big, as she observed one night from the second-story bedroom window, looking down at their yard as the mother rat sat perched on top of their garbage can, rummaging for food. And while part of her had considered revenge, had wanted to take Chuck up on his offer to have the goddamn thing killed, she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. What had happened had just been an unfortunate series of events. Teddy had paid for it with his life.
“Maybe once we take care of whatever it is that’s making that noise in our attic, we should think about an addition to our household,” Chuck said, breaking the silence.
Arrianne looked up from her meal. She was almost finished. “Another cat? I don’t know …”
“I wasn’t thinking about another cat. I was thinking a dog.”
“A dog? I don’t know …”
“I know you’re not a dog person. Especially those little yappy kinds.”
Arrianne shrugged. She picked at her coleslaw. “Why a dog?”
“Well, it would have to be a non-terrier type dog,” he said. “Terriers were bred to hunt rats and squirrels, so rodents would drive any kind of terrier crazy. I was thinking more of a shepherd, or maybe a golden retriever.”
A golden? Arrianne turned the thought over. When she was a kid, her family had had a golden retriever.
“Either a golden or a shepherd. Maybe an Australian shepherd.”
Arrianne finished her meal, thinking about what Chuck had suggested. A cat might not be in the cards, especially in such a rural area where she’d be freaked out all the time, reliving the incident with Teddy over and over. But a dog …
She looked up at Chuck as he stood up and removed his dish and glass from the table and walked over to the kitchen. “I like that idea,” she said.
Chuck stopped, looked back at her. “Really?”
“Really.”
Chuck smiled.
Chapter Two - J.F. Gonzalez
After a leisurely breakfast of cut fruit and coffee, where they spent most of the morning on the back deck passing various sections of the Sunday paper back and forth, Chuck headed upstairs to shower and get dressed while Arrianne cleaned up the breakfast dishes. As she stacked the dishwasher, Arrianne thought about what they’d talked about last night. Maybe a dog would be just the thing they needed to brighten things up around here. They’d made this move to the country as a last-ditch effort to save their marriage and their sanity. Teddy’s death had been the catalyst that had brought Arrianne’s depression back full force. Therapy didn’t even help this time, and when she began to entertain thoughts of driving her car into an interstate embankment or off a bridge, she realized she needed help. A visit with a psychiatrist had resulted in a prescription for Lexapro and more intensive therapy. After that she began to stabilize. And with that came the suggestion that they vacate the duplex in Brooklyn for new digs in a more rural, more suburban environment.
As she stacked the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen, Arrianne thought about the last five months. Things had happened so quickly—the attack on Teddy, her worsening depression, Chuck losing his consulting job, and Arrianne’s own job woes. All this had contributed to a strain in their marriage, and when her psychiatrist, Dr. White, suggested that moving to a different location might help in the recovery process, Chuck had taken it upon himself to get the ball rolling. By then Chuck had bounced back with another consulting assignment—this time working remotely for a client located in Wisconsin. His new schedule allowed him to look around for a house, and he quickly found this place— Sixty-Five Stirrup Iron Road.
When he’d shown her the listing, she’d thought it was too good to be true. “What’s wrong with it?” she remembered asking when he passed the flyer to her. It had contained photos and all the information on the house. “This place looks beautiful, it’s in a great location, and it’s just what we need, but the price … my God, Chuck, it’s a steal! What’s wrong with it?”
There was nothing wrong with it, at least not on the surface. The home inspection had returned no defects. The only thing Chuck had been able to get out of the seller wa
s that the home was being sold by an estate. Perhaps the former owner had died in it? The seller denied this was the case—they’d never lived in the house, had only used it as rental property. Everything about the house had screamed this is a great deal! Buy now!
So he’d made an offer that was accepted.
They’d moved in a month ago and were now pretty firmly settled. Chuck was now working remotely from home on a new consulting assignment as a technical writer, while Arrianne had managed to turn her existing position as a contract specialist into a telecommuting position. Their work schedules were in perfect synch with each other, and the change in location was so far working wonders on her emotional well-being.
And for once, their sex life was improving.
Arrianne thought back to last night as she closed the dishwasher. During the depths of her depression, she’d been uninterested in sex. Chuck had taken it like a trooper and given her space and time. But since moving into this home, Arrianne had found her sexual desires awakening. And with it came new desires and a need to push the envelope past her comfort zone. Chuck had been pleasantly surprised. Especially last night.
“What’s gotten into you?” Chuck gasped when their coupling last night was finished. He panted, his chest and face slick with sweat. “You’ve … you’ve never …”
“Wanted you in my ass before?” Arrianne had asked, moving her leg over his, nuzzling him. She’d gripped his penis, still lubricated with their juices. “Well, since moving here, that’s all changed.”
“You can say that again.”
Arrianne stepped into the living room. From the back of the house, toward the master bedroom and bath, she heard the shower start up. She smiled. She felt a tingling in her breasts, in her loins. Chuck surely wouldn’t mind if she joined him in the shower. Besides, she needed one too.
She was right. He didn’t mind.
***
They spent the rest of the day using the Boroscope to see if chipmunks had, indeed, built nests in the air ducts in the home’s heating and cooling system. They explored all areas of the system with the Boroscope, and all corners of it showed no signs that the house was infested with chipmunks or their nests.
That left the attic. They ventured up later that afternoon and explored it thoroughly. No chipmunks, squirrels, or mice had taken up residence—there were no shredded bits of newspaper and debris that would indicate nests, no mounds of sawdust indicating termites, no droppings. In short, the attic was completely bare. Dusty but bare.
From beginning to end it took them two hours to do a complete search of the house and investigate the air conditioning and heating ducts with the Boroscope. They also conducted a physical search of the home and the basement.
Chuck looked a little puzzled. “We’ve seen the chipmunks outside, right? I mean, we hear the noises and then later see them moving away from the house, as if they’re leaving from wherever it is they’ve holed themselves into. But there’s no evidence they’ve built nests anywhere in the house. Something’s got to be making that noise.”
“Maybe it’s just our imagination,” Arrianne had said. “Let’s forget about it for now and clean up. Maybe we can get an early dinner in town?”
That lifted Chuck’s spirits and they’d retired to the master bedroom/bathroom where they showered again. And showering led to another round of sex, this time starting on the bathroom floor and ending up in the bedroom. Arrianne had gobbled his cock hungrily as she fingered herself and when Chuck exploded in her face, she’d licked every drop, smearing his ejaculate around her lips and licking it off her fingers. It was a perfect way to end their chores for the day.
They’d turned in early that evening because Chuck had to rise early for a conference call. As they lay in bed, drifting off to sleep, a scuttling sound in the attic perked Arrianne. She nudged Chuck with her elbow. “You hear that?”
“What?” Chuck rolled over, frowning.
“Listen!”
They remained still and silent. The scuttling sound came again, like pattering feet scampering back and forth above their heads in the attic.
“They’ve got to be getting in somewhere we missed,” Chuck said, throwing the covers off and getting out of bed.
Arrianne got out of bed and pulled on her robe. She followed Chuck as he pulled the collapsible ladder down from the attic, and armed with a flashlight, he began to head up. Arrianne was right behind him, eager to see what was up there.
Nothing was in the attic.
“I heard it,” Chuck said, his hair sticking up from his head. He looked completely confused in the light from the flash. “It sounded like—”
“Something running around up here,” Arrianne finished.
“Could it have been the tree branches rubbing against the side of the house?” Chuck turned to the north side of the house. “It is kinda windy, and that elm’s branches are right up against the eaves on this side.”
Arrianne didn’t know what to make of that. She supposed it was possible, but no, she’d heard it as clear as day. What she’d heard was the pitter-patter of feet racing across the ceiling, running from one end of the attic to the other.
“Something else I noticed,” Chuck said as they climbed down and he folded the ladder back up. “Do you smell anything funny?”
“Smell anything funny? Like what?”
Chuck closed the door to the attic and shrugged. “Best way I can describe it is it smells like something crawled in the eaves or the walls of the house and died.”
Arrianne sniffed the air and shook her head. “I don’t smell anything.”
Chuck looked puzzled. “That’s weird. I can smell it very faintly. I noticed it last week too.”
“Last week?”
“Yeah.” They headed back to the master bedroom and got back into bed. “And I thought I smelled it a week or two after we moved in, and then it was gone.”
“But now you smell it again?”
Chuck sat up in bed and sniffed the air again. “I don’t smell it from here. I definitely smelled it out in the hall.”
“Well, I didn’t smell anything in the hall.” Arrianne settled back in bed and drew the covers over her. “I’m tired. Let’s get some sleep.”
***
The following day was Monday, a workday. The windstorm from last night had died down, and right before lunch Arrianne had taken the trash out. When she entered the kitchen, Chuck was getting a midday snack.
“Maybe we should get an exterminator,” she suggested. “Seventy-five bucks will buy us expertise and peace of mind.”
Chuck nodded. He sighed. “I’ll call when I get back from my business trip on Thursday.”
“There was nothing disclosed on the seller’s info that the house had a pest problem?”
“Nope.”
“They had to have the same kind of experience. Even though the chipmunks or mice or whatever it is they are haven’t invaded the house, the former owners probably had tenants that experienced what we’re going through. I wonder what they did to deal with the problem.”
“I don’t know, and we can’t find out,” Chuck said. He took an apple out of the fruit bowl and began to head back to his office. He glanced at Arrianne. “We can’t exactly contact the tenants who lived here.”
Arrianne shook her head.
“We’ll figure this out. I’ll call an exterminator when I get back.”
“Maybe if I finish early today, I’ll look for one,” Arrianne said.
“You do that.”
Arrianne frowned as Chuck headed back to his office. She got the impression Chuck was avoiding something. But what?
The conversation sent Arrianne back into old habits. She shut down. Retreated. Burying herself in work had always done wonders in the past. Today was no exception. She headed back to her office, which was next to Chuck’s, and tried to get back into work, to avoid thinking about it. Within time, she did.
***
She treaded lightly around the subject that evening durin
g dinner, hoping to elicit a response from Chuck. He merely repeated the same thing he’d said that morning, that he didn’t know what was causing the sound and that securing the services of a professional exterminator was the best course of action. He was right, of course.
After the dinner dishes were stowed in the dishwasher and the evening chores were done, they sat on their respective ends of the sofa. The plasma-screen TV was on. Arrianne was flipping through the channels. Chuck was flipping through the latest issue of Esquire.
“Were you serious about wanting to get a dog?”
Chuck looked up from the article he was reading. “Of course.”
“You want to maybe pay a visit to the local shelter this weekend, after you get back from your trip?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” Arrianne smiled at him. Chuck smiled back. All was right in the world. Once again, they were in synch. A dog would help bring things in balance. And a dog would keep her company for those days when Chuck was out traveling on business.
They watched two programs that had been DVRd last night—The Walking Dead and Dexter—and then went to bed. Chuck fell asleep immediately. Arrianne lay on her side, her body tired but her mind racing with a thousand thoughts.
After a while, she dozed.
But she couldn’t fall asleep completely. She felt a stirring of desire between her thighs, a tingle in her breasts. She turned toward Chuck. He was in a deep sleep, lying on his right side, his back to her. No way was he coming out of it. Trying to rouse Chuck out of a deep sleep was like trying to resurrect the dead—it just didn’t happen. Frustrated and horny, Arrianne turned on her left side and her right hand darted between her legs. She rubbed her sex, letting her fingers slip inside her. That calmed the urge down and the feeling faded for some reason. She frowned. That was weird. It was as if all the desire, all the horniness she’d felt had gone away.
Now she was completely awake. She got out of bed, slipped on her robe, and exited the bedroom.
She headed down the hallway and paused in the doorway of Chuck’s office—the light from his computer screen was illuminating the hallway.
