The House the Devil Built

by Benjamin Hively

  His father died shortly after the release of his second novel, leaving his mother alone for the first time in thirty-four years. Though he had never been exceptionally close to his father, he had wept that day, holding his mother’s hand at the hospital waiting for her to express grief. He had painstakingly drove her to the home she had spent the best years of her life in. He knew that day, that this was also the true date of his mother’s death.

  He would go visit her as often as he could (with being over 1000 miles away,) as her mind slowly began to give way. She would excitedly tell him the same stories she always did about her late husband which inevitably ended with her crying for just a moment before pouring herself another cup of coffee. The house became more like a museum to his father, nothing moved or packed up, his chartreuse dusty recliner sat in the corner even though she dared not to sit in it. She became more reclusive in the months following, his sister bringing her the necessities she needed to live and Ashton was grateful that at least his mother had someone to look after her.

  It wasn’t until three years later, when she would call him frantically, to tell him his father hadn’t come home from work. He would rush over sadly reassure her that he wasn’t coming home, eating the meal she had prepared for her husband’s arrival. After coming to her senses, she would express how silly she was, even offering up a laugh before hanging up to begin the process over the next day. Ashton would sometimes offer to move her to a home where she could make friends and be the active woman she once was. His sister, Olivia, would always make a similar offer, to try to get her to move to her house and his mother would always refuse. This was her home, she was not leaving it. Ashton had always admired his mother’s resilience, but seeing her overall health declining he had tried to persuade her as well. There was no movement in her decision and after six months, of almost daily phone calls reminding her that his father was gone and that she had been alone for three years, she fell asleep and never woke up.

  That day Ashton felt a shift in his chest, a physical heartbreak, that left him crumpled on the bathroom floor. In between bouts of tears and vomiting, he was not comforted in the fact she “was in a better place” or that so many people were “sending prayers”. He wanted his mother back and he wanted his father to return. After a night on the bathroom floor, he walked out of his house on Dumaine and headed towards a brick building. It wasn’t even 8 am but the bar had a few people that looked as if they hadn’t moved from their spot since the early 90s. He sat quietly at the end of the bar and passed the bartender a twenty dollar bill and asked for a whiskey on the rocks.

  It soon became a routine for him. So much so that all the bartenders knew him by name, allowing him on multiple occasions to become as belligerent as he’d want, and they would laugh along with him. He’d grab a baggie of coke every now and then, allowing himself the pleasure of making appearances throughout the day, creating havoc when he returned home to Dillon. Dillon hated the drinking and drugs, and Ashton was in the mindset for such debauchery. It became a game, almost, to see how much shit Dillon would put up with and after a while Dillon finally would keep his mouth shut.

  Ashton’s so called celebrity was well known among their friends, as well as the community as a whole. Soon he became a staple in the local gay rag, keeping them in business as they sold his pictures to the highest bidder among the grocery store tabloids almost 2000 miles away. Parents of the young readers that would swarm to the bookstores for the latest releases of his novels, didn’t want an alcoholic cokehead as a role model for their children and book sales plummeted in a matter of weeks. Calls from agents went unanswered as Ashton’s focus slipped from his computer screen to the drinks in his hand. A letter from his agent came on a Tuesday, informing him of the dissolution of their partnership and Ashton booked himself a hotel with a couple bottles of booze and a hefty amount of cocaine. Several hours later, he awoke to fluorescent lighting from above and beeping coming from a monitor next to the bed.

  Overdose and sadly he had survived. He had been so ready to let everything go and be with his mother, but somehow he had failed. Dillon could be heard crying next to the bed and Ashton had hazily looked at him, heartbroken at the pain he had caused. It was then that Dillon had had enough and offered the deal. The gravity of the situation finally hit Ashton and he agreed to an inpatient program. The day was spent with doctors and nurses walking in and out of the room, each one telling him how lucky he was to have survived. Dillon had spent time on the phone with Ashton’s management, and before the day ended they had found a spot for him.

  Ashton’s focus on the picture on Dr. Wicke’s wall had kept his mind busy for what seemed like an hour when finally he heard her pen drop. His gaze shifted towards her and she smiled proudly. “Ready?” she mused. She stood up and held her hand out to Ashton. Ashton reciprocated and grabbed the paperwork she had placed in a folder for him and walked out of the door. She followed him to the exit and before he went through the threshold, she congratulated him and asked for his autograph.

  TWO

  Even though it was October, Dillon’s hands were sweaty from the Louisiana sun. He had been sitting in the parking lot of Bayou Laurent for two hours awaiting the exit of his husband. He had purposely shown up early, trying to get his mind right for whatever condition Ashton would be in when he came through the sliding doors of the hospital. Although he had seen him throughout his stint at the hospital, Dillon was unsure if the new and improved version he saw in there would be the same one at the new home he had purchased for them in Acadian Springs or how Ashton would even react to such a change of pace.

  Nestled nearly two hours from the glaring lights of Bourbon Street, the Southern Antebellum home was not the pace he was used to, let alone Ashton who frequented and enjoyed all of what the city of New Orleans had to offer. Surrounded by sugarcane fields the home had a character all of its own, but was a far cry from anything entertaining to do. The neighboring town didn’t have anything in the way of upscale dining options, only a small mom and pop eatery attached to a gas station. He was nervous to take Ashton there, nervous to escape the city and all the bullshit that came along with it.

  Dillon had to remind himself as he signed the paperwork in the realtor’s office that this was the best choice for both his sanity and Ashton’s overall health and public persona. With the last bit of money that they had, Dillon pushed the check over to the realtor and now owned the home and surrounding four acres. He was unsure how he was going to take care of the yard, hoping that Ashton might find solace in gardening while writing a new bestseller. This home, as expensive and boring as it was, could be the best thing to happen to both of them. They could run to the city when they needed, both for work and Ashton’s probation meetings, and could find comfort in being as far away as needed to keep Ashton on the straight and narrow.

  Sitting in the car, his anxiety hit a peak and the sweat began to pour even more. He rolled down his window and let the warm autumn breeze blow through. The last two years of his life had been chaotic, a constant bewilderment of the shenanigans that Ashton was up to. At first Dillon had been sympathetic, thinking it was a grieving period, but after days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, he knew that this was an actual problem and not just a phase. The infidelity followed shortly after. He had caught Ashton on multiple occasions trolling the hook up apps and finally catching a male stripper in his bedroom with Ashton who had picked him up after a night of partying on Decatur Street.

  The stripper was a turning point and Dillon found solace in someone new as well. In between hateful drunken spats Dillon and Ashton would find different corners of the Quarter to hang out, a new sex toy attached. Rumors flew wild amongst all their friends embarrassing Dillon and making a martyr out of Ashton. They began counseling, but that didn’t slow down the progression of Ashton’s implosion. After the media got a hold of Ashton Dillon’s only choice, according to Ashton’s publicist, was a marriage. The same day as the nuptials, Ashton had disappeared again to
later be found in the evening passed out at Lucky Duck’s Saloon.

  Even after all of the madness Dillon still held on and, after Ashton’s overdose, he felt a bit of relief that finally something, whether forced or not, was being done to help alter Ashton’s path of destruction. A few days later he was walking him into Bayou Laurent, a rehab center on the outskirts of the Quarter. Ashton had cried profusely on that trip, begging for his forgiveness. Dillon accepted the apology explaining that this step was still necessary and that he would see him soon. As Ashton’s silhouette disappeared behind the doors of the center, Dillon broke down as well. His tears kept coming all the way back to their Creole cottage and didn’t stop until the next day. The worst part was over.

  Now, in the privacy of his car, he waited. Staring at the dashboard the time crept by slowly, but he knew soon Ashton would be back inside the vehicle, and they would be headed towards a new beginning. He had kept the house on Dumaine, just in case they ever needed to come back to civilization for an extended period of time, but hid the keys away so Ashton couldn’t run away for days on end. He promised himself there would be checks and balances to their life now; no more late night parties or days on end of blowing money just for the sake of doing so. There would be no media following them around because there would be no need. They would live a quiet existence and celebrate when Ashton’s next novel came out.

  The glass sliding doors slid open and Ashton walked out into the sunlight. Dillon smiled, watching as Ashton paused and took in the fresh air and the happiness of freedom. Opening his door, he signaled for Ashton. Ashton sauntered slowly at first and then faster as he approached him, and before Dillon knew it they were in a strong embrace. He could hear Ashton sniffling a little as they held each other in the middle of the parking lot.

  “How are you?” was all Dillon could muster before Ashton pulled away staring at him. His eyes looked heavy but joyful and, before anything else was said, Ashton hugged him again.

  “Let’s just go home,” Ashton responded and went limp in his arms, pulling away again to get into the car.

  The car ride began quietly at first, both unsure of what to say to the other. Dillon pulled onto the I-10, driving west. Ashton looked over at him inquisitively, wondering why they were going towards the French Quarter.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Dillon said quietly, reaching into the backseat towards a beige envelope. He handed it to Ashton. As Ashton went through the paperwork, Dillon could sense something was wrong.

  “You sold the house?” Ashton questioned, tinged with a bit of anger.

  “No, not at all babe. I just figured we could have this new place for us to relax, for us to get back on our feet.”

  “But I want to go home,” Ashton said with tears welling up in the corner of his eyes.

  “This is our home, this is our new home. This is our new beginning, please give it a chance.” Dillon had been worried about this interaction for the last month, even thought about breaking the news to him while he was in rehab, but figured it was best to let him focus on his recovery. He watched as Ashton placed the papers back in the envelope and left it sitting in his lap. Ashton seemed genuinely heartbroken. Dillon tried to grab his hand but Ashton pulled away, laying his head on the window.

  “Are you ok?” Dillon asked, even though he knew the answer. “We will be ok, babe. We can come back anytime we want.”

  “Just get me home,” Ashton replied as the Superdome disappeared behind them. Dillon sighed and focused his attention to the road, the sun blaring in all its glory.

  THREE

  Ashton had kept his eyes closed for most of the trip. He had fallen asleep just a few times, the stress of the day providing for an exhausting transition. When he would open his eyes, the vast wildness around him caused more panic to set in and he would just go back to the darkness behind his eyelids. As much as he hated to admit this was the best step in his continued road to recovery, he was pissed at himself for the decisions that Dillon had to make because of him. Holding onto the envelope, he had only glanced at the minor details. The home was built in 1813 and it was a large southern plantation home where lavish parties were once held, surrounded by the crops of the land owner. Now, the property had been cut down considerably to the few acres attached to it.

  He could feel the car slowing and the sound of Dillon quietly singing to the radio. He felt them turn, finally he lifted his head from the window, and looked around. Desolate. He looked over at Dillon who could only offer a slight smile.

  “Where are we?” Ashton asked warily. With marshland on one side and fields on the other side it looked more like a nature preserve than a place they were headed to call home.

  “We’re almost there,” Dillon spoke quietly, “Acadian Springs is about five miles away.”

  “There is nothing here,” Ashton whined. He had never even heard of Acadian Springs. He didn’t even know the direction it was from the city they were leaving behind. The fields and random swamp land continued in both directions for miles as they continued further down the empty highway. They had passed only three vehicles since leaving the interstate, which bothered Ashton even more. Finally a sign reading “Welcome to Acadian Springs” could be seen in the distance; a beacon for the torment that Ashton was feeling inside.

  The sign had come and gone and they still seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Houses started to become more prevalent, however, with modular homes built on both sides of the highway. The speed limit signs decreased their speed and a flashing red light completely stopped their trip. Ashton looked around. On one corner he could see a white church and, caddy corner from that, a small mechanic shop which looked like a vehicle graveyard for cars no less than twenty years old. Dillon turned right at the intersection and Ashton sighed as he saw the busiest attraction on a weekday in Acadian Springs: Harvo’s Diner and Gas Station.

  Judging from the clientele this town was quaint and religious. Ashton laughed a little at his predicament as the pick-up trucks and pure ignorance faded into the rearview mirror. They were leaving the little bit of populace heading toward another grouping of buildings which Ashton recognized as the only education system this area had. With all three levels of school, the buildings sat alone amongst the sugarcane fields. A small playground with rusted equipment intermingled with a large football field was one of the only entertainment venues this town probably had, Ashton thought to himself. The situation could not be worse. Ashton had moved away at the age of 18 because of a place like this, a place where religion and football held more rank than culture and diversity combined.

  Although the scenery was different, he was reminded of the pure hatred he had for his hometown in rural Indiana. Most people would never leave the town, choosing to stay to raise a family or build a meth lab, a fact for which the area was becoming more and more popular. He rarely spoke to anyone from there, a long list of people that could never escape such a drab and dull lifestyle that he grew to be an outsider in. Now, it seemed, he was back in the midst of such a bland and unfriendly terrain.

  Cornfields surrounded the town back home, his school amongst the lush fields of green. Being a young gay man in such an area had scarred him for life. He had been bullied relentlessly by football players and preacher’s kids, spat upon, beat senseless, and even a rape, coordinated by none other than the principal’s son. The rape had been reported then pushed under the rug, like so many of the sins that these so-called “Children of God” folks before he knew it he was forced into exile and homeschooling himself instead of dealing with the daily torture that ensued for him at the high school. At the time, which now seemed like a century ago, he had toyed with suicide as the loneliness of his life overtook him and he didn’t leave his room. Ashton had simply created a different world inside his mind. At the age of eighteen he made his escape to New Orleans and hadn’t left since. Until now.

  They reached a long driveway and turned into it. The sold sign was still placed firmly in the ground and large oak trees
created a tunnel for them to drive through as they came to an open area where the house casted shadows upon the manicured grounds. Ashton was in awe of the beauty, large columns surrounded the home with a wrap-around porch and twenty feet above that a balcony overlooked the property. The car halted at the wooden steps that lead to the massive front door and, from this angle, Ashton could see a large barn standing behind the fortress. A lone rocking chair sitting near the entrance of the home swayed slowly in the breeze and Ashton imagined himself sitting there on a warm spring day.

  Stepping outside the vehicle, the only sound that traveled here was that of birds passing above, their calls more social than he would ever feel here. The house stood too far from the road to hear passing vehicles, the wilderness the only friend he could see for miles. Ashton’s hand glided on the handrail as his feet began the ascent to the porch. He faltered there as the breeze ceased and the rocking chair came to rest, it felt strange but the entire situation seemed out of the ordinary. Ashton glanced at Dillon who had not moved from the car, who, with a wave of his hand, instructed Ashton to go inside. Grasping the cold bronze door handle he pushed the door open and a large creaking sound broke the silence.