He passed the threshold and was taken back by the continued beauty of the property inside. The staircase was stained a dark amber color and doorways were cut on both sides of the entry hall leading to the network of rooms further within the home. Unopened moving boxes were crowded on the side of the doorway and dust loomed in the strands of sunlight peeking through the many windows. Ashton’s pace was slow, leading him to what looked like a dining room. The room was massive, cut off by a small galley door that pushed him into the kitchen. Everything was pristine. The appliances a little outdated, but everything from the floors to the cupboards was just as it was for over a century. The entire kitchen was white washed with grey and white marble countertops, no scratches could be seen, and the cypress flooring barely spoke to him as he crossed through the kitchen.
He could hear Dillon in another room somewhere in the house but seemingly distant from where he stood now. He continued the tour of the house, walking through rooms as if it was a museum to gawk at. He reached Dillon in one of the bedrooms upstairs, one of only two rooms set up already. Ashton smiled as he noticed Dillon sitting at a desk, Ashton’s laptop a stark contrast to the archaism of the room itself. Ashton’s office was completely put together with all the books and the relaxation area he had back at his home in the Quarter.
“Do you like it?” Dillon questioned him. As uncomfortable as the whole situation was, Ashton couldn’t be more pleased with the home. He voiced his approval as Dillon took his hand, guided him to a set of curtained French doors, and after a quick inspection they stepped out onto the balcony. The railing held him as he gazed upon his view. Nature had resumed its cacophony and the soothing breeze had restarted its dance with the oaks. The sugarcane fields, about a hundred yards from him, whistled as the wind swayed them from their normal upright position. Ashton was calm for the first time since stepping in the car and felt at ease as the tour brought them through four more bedrooms, one of which was outfitted in their bedroom furniture from home.
“How could you afford this?” Ashton finally had to ask the question that had been burning since his entry into the house. Dillon explained about the history of the property. It had sat vacant for years after Hurricane Katrina, the family that had gotten it after the devastation could not afford it and it had went into foreclosure. The price had been right and the timing as well, so Dillon had quickly signed on the dotted line before anyone else could snatch it up. Ashton was relieved to know the property was paid in full, a meager price for what the property could easily be sold for, and began to think of ways to fill the massive amount of space they now had.
It was true that the house was nearly five times the size of their small home in the Quarter and though their previous home had been overfilled with antiques and items they had purchased throughout the years, there was no way they had enough belongings to fill the space. Ashton fantasized about the shopping sprees they could have while Dillon assured him they could take all the time that was needed to make it feel more like a home than an empty stunning warehouse. Ashton listened as he had also explained the minute details of what needed to be fixed and the barn that was filled to the brim with junk. Ashton had opened the door to the barn, to be overwhelmed by the endless stacks of useless garbage, but did see some things that could be restored and placed within the home to serve as space fillers.
They had just finished with the inspection when the sun began to fade into the night and Ashton’s exhaustion weighed on him. It had been a long day, an even more enduring three months, and he could finally sleep in a bed that didn’t include a head-check every few hours. The boxes could be opened tomorrow, the items placed into their respectful spots throughout the home another day, but now Ashton wanted to lay with his husband in the bed they had spent many years together in between the walls of the palace they now resided in. He had missed his husband more than he could ever realize, the simple touch of his hand while they snuggled into the bed was always the highlight of his day, even when things were at their worst. Ashton was home, not so much within the house yet, but simply with Dillon by his side.
“I love you,” Ashton whispered as his eyes fluttered close. The house became silent as the last sounds he heard before drifting away was their heartbeats, so loud but rhythmic. The house provided comfort for the night, something they both desperately needed. The treachery of the last few years fading away by the minute and the house coexisted with the halcyon.
FOUR
Dillon could see the moon from his vantage point and hear the soft breathing coming from the other side of the bed. It was a comforting silence, one he could grow accustomed to. Outside in the Quarter there was a constant din; knocks at all hours of the night from inebriated kids that had spent their first night ever on Bourbon Street, traffic horns, and the random musicians that weren’t ready to call it a night. Each morning included a cleanup of empty cups and beer bottles that littered the streets from the evening’s events. It was a comfortable chaos, one of which that became a calamity all of its own. Dillon smiled as he watched the shadows of the oaks creating a mesmerizing exhibition of nature.
Even with the excitement and stress of the day over, Dillon was restless and he quietly crept out of bed. Ashton’s body sensed the abandonment and adjusted slightly. Dillon crossed over the Cyprus floors to the floor length windows, pulling the drapes back a little further. Although desolate, the moon lightened the grounds well and Dillon could see every detail of the land. The barn seemed a little out of place, the last owners had painted it a bright red typical of farming communities but in the moonlight the red looked menacing, as if painted with blood. Dillon shook off the thought and exited the bedroom, descending the stairs to the maze of boxes downstairs.
He sat in the middle of them, reading their labels in the dark. The thought of unboxing everything they owned was a chore he was not prepared for. He pulled a box down and opened it, the contents a mystery in the darkened hall. He heard something shift upstairs and he tilted his head to listen. It sounded like movement but he brushed it off to a shifting of the house in the breeze. He continued into the box, unwrapping glass dishes and placing them on the floor beside him. It was their first set of dishes they had ever owned, each with cracks and chips from years of use. He had thought many of times to rid them from their collection but bargained them with sentimental value. He smiled as he arose, carrying them into the kitchen.
Another sound peeked his interest from upstairs, the sound of movement coming from right above him. He sat the dishes down and proceeded back to the staircase, nearly tripping over all the boxes on the way. He traversed the stairs, stopping at the landing. He couldn’t hear anything more than the breathing coming from the bedroom so he inched his way inside.
“Ashton?” He whispered barely audible to even himself. Ashton was fast asleep, curled up on the right side of the bed. The duvet had slid down near Ashton’s feet and Dillon pulled it up, covering his slumbering husband. He placed a kiss on his forehead before exiting the bedroom again and closing the door behind him. Downstairs he heard a crash come from the kitchen.
Dillon rushed into the kitchen to see the stack of plates broken into pieces on the ground. “Fuck,” was all he could muster as he started to pick up the biggest of the shattered pieces. He had always been clumsy, breaking glasses quicker than they could purchase them, so he shrugged it off as another klutzy mistake. The abrupt noise didn’t seem to affect Ashton’s sleep, so he quickly picked up the pieces and pulled another box into the kitchen, this time placing the items away in the cupboards where they belonged. He was in disbelief of the amount of kitchen things that had accumulated, many of the gadgets they had never used including the Panini maker that Ashton couldn’t live without. Dillon scoffed as he had pulled it from the bottom of the box, with a momentary thought of throwing it into the same place he had put the bits and pieces of the dishes.
Before he knew it, the kitchen was filled with empty boxes and, according to the clock on his cell phone, it was nearing 3
a.m. His mind had finally became tired, his body weakened. He kicked the boxes into the corner, promising himself to wake early to finish the remaining boxes in the entry hall. He took one last look around the room, congratulating himself for being so productive and flipped the light off. Cloaked in darkness once again, he felt his way to the staircase and slipped up the stairs. He counted each one, making a mental note for the next time he fumbled around in the dark. Seventeen was the final count, as he haphazardly made his way into the bathroom.
There was a chill in the house and a shiver ran through him as he stood in front of the toilet. Old houses always had a draft, but he checked all the windows before he entered the bedroom for the rest of the night. The duvet had been kicked off again, lying crumpled at the foot of the bed. Dillon pulled it up, as he laid down, grasping onto Ashton. He could sense this had been a great idea to come out here, a place of solitude and rest they could both enjoy. His mind quiet and his body at ease, he drifted into sleep.
FIVE
Pastor Terry Schlepp had just finished his sermon the way he always did, with a prayer from the requests of his congregation and a final “amen” before stepping down from his pulpit and greeting the two hundred or so people that sat in the pews. Everyone was in good spirits today, he thought to himself as he made small talk and gave hugs. Twenty-two years had passed since he first took over for his father and each Sunday was brand new territory for him as he read scripture and preached about the current events.
“Beautiful service, pastor,” he heard from a woman as he hugged her and she patted him on the back. He found it hard to place names with faces but he had seen her before, and pretended to be aware as she filled him in on family gossip. He could see his wife, Janis, mingling with others and he waved to her, a quiet evacuation request sent through the airwaves. She nodded and broke from the group of people, stepping around people headed towards the doorway. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to him, forcing the people around him a little further away.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, I must be going, the wife here wants some lunch,” Terry lied. A man made a small joke and the group laughed as Terry and his wife exited through a door into the offices beyond. He began to count the money from the collection tray, a meager amount from the usual and he quietly placed it in an envelope before dropping it in the safe. “God is gracious.”
His wife smiled as she shut down the two computers that filled the tops of the small desks. Terry began to collect their belongings and his wife leaned in for a kiss.
“It was a beautiful sermon, Terry,” a grin stretched across her face.
“I just wish Luke would have come…” Terry trailed off.
“You know teenage boys, they gotta rebel and do the normal adolescent thing.”
“I was here every Sunday with my father, whether I wanted to or not. We didn’t have damn video games to distract us.” Terry had been frustrated in his own son’s negligence recently of the church. They had gotten in countless arguments over it, but Luke always seemed to get his mother’s vote.
“Just be glad he’s still talking to us and not out partying with Allison’s boys, that’s a parent I truly feel sorry for.” Janis reasoned, and Terry had to agree. Hearing the horror stories from the parents that attended the sermons every Sundays, made Terry thankful that the worse thing Luke was guilty of was being lazy. Terry had spoken with Luke long before the boy turned sixteen about the dangers of underage drinking and the need for abstinence until marriage. Luckily for them, Luke didn’t have much interest in dating so a major sex talk was not needed, a conversation that Terry dreaded to begin with. His father had only taught him that it was wrong to have sex before marriage and Terry had been steadfast to keep his virginity before he married Janis.
Sex was a worry for him even after they were married, as three years went by without any offspring, but the news came shortly before Christmas that they were expecting a child. They were so excited. Soon they had painted the nursery and started purchasing items to place within the room. It wasn’t until February that the nightmare began. Janis miscarried, her body rejecting the fetus inside her.
“Why would God do this?” Terry had found himself asking the doctor before sobbing into the man’s shoulder. As a man of God his faith was shaken, but, after only a few months, Janis handed him a positive pregnancy test. Once again elated they continued on the nursery, and nine months later they were holding Luke. They considered him a miracle after the doctor had told them that the possibility of a baby was null, and once again Terry’s faith in Christ was renewed. He prayed silently every day for the bundle of joy that had entered their lives.
Flash forward sixteen years and Terry’s relationship with his son was strained. Most of their conversations were one word sentences but he was happy to know that Luke continued a stream of communication with Janis. Janis was the bridge that closed the gap in between Terry and his son and Terry was extremely thankful for his wife. She played mediator during the most intense of arguments between the two, so each night Terry would embrace his wife even harder. Even with the teenage angst, Terry felt like he had a good home life and he would preach about the importance of family in every sermon.
The drive home was a quiet one as he held tight to Janis’s hand. He passed by the restaurant, that was now filling up from the church traffic, and followed the road towards their home. They passed by the newly purchased home on Jean Lafitte Road, making a mental note to welcome their new neighbors to the town and invite them to South Belle. Terry finally reached their driveway, two miles away from their church. As the modest mansion came into view from the winding drive, Terry felt lucky to be alive, and he squeezed his wife’s hand even harder.
SIX
A week later, boxes finally starting to dissipate, Ashton laid in his bed as the sun shone brightly through the windows. Surprisingly, he had been getting a good night’s rest in his new surroundings and he knew that soon he could get back to his writing. It had been nearly a year since he had even placed his fingers on a keyboard and, even then, only status updates would be the only thing he could manage. He knew he had become a mess, and quick. He hadn’t imagined that the media or fans would be paying attention, he figured those rights were for the actors and actresses who seemed to lose it daily. How wrong he was, and soon, like many of the stars that become tabloid fodder, he was a nationally recognized joke. The cameras had even followed him all the way to doors of Bayou Laurent, but luckily they found someone else to stalk before his release back into society.
Since his release, he had only received one phone call from his publicist who was relaying a message from his agent. They were wanting a new manuscript, something to make him profitable again before they dropped him like a spoiled piece of meat. He made an empty promise of six months, and that was the end of the call. The truth was, he had no new ideas, but figured he could go through his notes from previous attempts and put together something. He was hoping for inspiration around him, and although the house was beautiful, it didn’t lend anything to creativity. The town of Acadian Springs didn’t help much either with its sparse population of 1,500 and he hadn’t even ventured out to investigate the going-ons of the locals.
Albeit bored, Ashton knew this was a necessary step in the right direction. He had spent too many months hidden away in the bars, had wasted so much of the money he had worked hard to earn, and had been given so many chances that he feared this was his last one. Dillon hadn’t said much about the situation and for that Ashton was extremely grateful. He was even at a loss of words for his behavior, letting the gravity of everything set in as he settled into the desolate plantation. He prepared a mental list of to-do’s ranging from going through paperwork in his beautiful new office to reorganizing the disheveled barn full of other people’s memories.
He had laid in the bed for nearly an hour listening to the commotion downstairs. Dillon was always an early riser, wanting to get the necessities done before the day wore on. Ashton’s motivation level wa
s null, the bed creating a comforting solace he hadn’t felt in a long time. He heard a knock on the front door and his curiosity finally dislocated him from his mattress. He leaned over the railing to investigate the caller.
“Can I help you?” he could hear Dillon speak to the unknown visitor. The other voice was muffled as it traveled up the staircase to Ashton’s strained hearing. The visitor was standing inside as Ashton made his final step down, the man smiled holding a Bible.
“This is Pastor Terry from the church in town,” Dillon spoke, motioning towards the stranger. Ashton rubbed the sleep from his eyes before reaching forward, the man embracing his hand in a firm shake.
“South Bell Baptist. You must be the roommate,” the pastor spoke in a deep Southern drawl, his hand swinging from the grasp. Ashton laughed a little at the man’s denseness.
“Would you like some coffee, Pastor?” Dillon had completely ignored the man’s assumption, walking towards the kitchen. The man followed Dillon and Ashton trailed slowly behind, his bones creaking as he stepped into the kitchen.
“It’s rare to get new neighbors in these parts,” the pastor declared taking a sip of his coffee, “This place was empty for some time.”
“Yeah, the realtor said the last owners left before the storm. It doesn’t look like it hurt the property any,” Dillon seemed genuinely interested in talking with the man so Ashton quietly stood against the counter taking in the morning coffee.
“Eh, the swamps around here filled up, nothing too bad though. The church suffered some minor wind damage, otherwise the town stood strong. Luckily, we have some great parishioners that chipped in to help,” the pastor smiled politely taking another sip. He glanced over to Ashton and put his cup up towards him. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
The House the Devil Built Page 3
