“They’re watching us,” Ashton whispered. Dillon watched as Ashton lurched forward, as if pushed from behind, and tumbled down the stairs, whimpering the whole way down. Dillon rushed over to him as he lay sprawled on the ground.
“Oh my God, Ashton. Are you ok?” Dillon asked, as Ashton’s eyes fluttered open. Dillon quickly examined his body for any breaks, but could only find a few cuts and bruises, mostly to his legs.
“What happened?” Ashton asked, rising up barely scathed from the fall.
“You fell down the stairs, are you ok?” Dillon asked, again.
“I mean, what happened to Isabelle?”
Dillon looked at Ashton confused. The question burnt deep within his brain even as the night came to a close. He put Ashton to bed and stayed awake to ensure he didn’t have a concussion. The house was draped in nightfall, and Dillon was wide awake. The events that unfolded from the day were ingrained deeply within his psyche, and he questioned most of what had happened. He had been so surprised that Ashton had recovered from the fall without much in the way of injuries, for which he was happy, but what had been truly frightening is that Ashton had no recollection of any of it. He had questioned him repeatedly throughout the night, but the last thing Ashton remembered was bringing the urn inside and placing it on the mantle downstairs. The placing of the urn contradicted with what Dillon had witnessed in the office and, after interrogating Ashton about the conversation he was having in the office, he was left with no more answers than before.
The house felt different from the day before and, the more he thought about it, each day seemed to feel completely different within the household than the previous twenty-four hours. He had pushed most of it aside as new house jitters, random sounds, just something to get used to over time. The house was old, old houses moved in the breeze and the mysterious happenings were just coincidences, but today was different. The rat in the laundry, with the smell that had lingered late into the day, and the front door bursting open, with Ashton falling or being pushed left Dillon unsure, and he was truly terrified of the occurrences. His uncertainly made his sleep uneasy at first, tossing and turning before finally succumbing to his exhaustion.
SIX
Mark was dreading going to the Sunday service at South Belle. His wife had awakened him early with breakfast, but the thought of facing Terry after their encounter earlier in the week was unbearable. He tried his best to get out of it, complaining of a stomach bug, but his wife wouldn’t hear it. His two kids came barreling down the stairs and at the tender age of eleven Amelia made Mark nervous in so many ways. She was beautiful for a little girl and he knew soon he’d have to fight the boys off her. She certainly had gotten her looks from her mother, blonde locks framed her thin face and bright blue eyes lit up every room she entered. The fact that she had already started puberty didn’t ease Mark’s tensions in the least bit. He had told his son, Marsh, to watch over her, make sure she didn’t get into trouble, but even with Marsh, he had certain fears. Mark was unsure how to approach him about the sex talk, something that needed to be done, because his fourteen year old body was changing rapidly and Mark was sure hormones were raging inside his son. He wanted to teach his son the right things, knowing well enough that learning about sex from other teenage boys was a setup for disaster.
“What’s a gay?” Amelia asked, intently chomping away at her scrambled eggs. Marsh giggled as Mark stared intently at his wife. He wondered silently where the question came from and continued eating his food unable to answer the abrupt question.
“It’s when two men…” Marsh began, before his mother snapped her fingers to signal her disapproval of what he was about to say. Amelia looked confused, but continued to eat her breakfast, patiently tapping her foot.
“Shelby called Eric gay and everyone laughed at him,” Amelia finally continued, the gears in her head continuing to turn as she woofed down her meal.
“Well honey, that wasn’t very nice of her,” his wife finally replied, still unable to answer the question at hand. Mark’s mind wandered to the two men on Jean Lafitte Road. Knowing that one of them was the author of Amelia’s favorite books, he questioned whether he should remove them from her possession. He had never read through the books, and didn’t know if they contained anything of the homosexual persuasion. His wife looked at him with panicked eyes, wanting him to speak up, but words wouldn’t form within his mouth.
“Is gay something bad?” Amelia continued her line of questioning.
“It’s not bad,” Marsh said, shocking Mark further into silence, “It’s just when two guys like each other.”
“Marsh!” his wife exclaimed, trying to hide the details from Amelia.
“What? I mean she asked. We learned about it last year in health class,” Marsh formed his rebuttal, “It’s not like she won’t find out.” His wife shook her head and hung it down. Mark shakily lifted his fork to his mouth, taking another bite of the breakfast his wife had prepared.
“You guys go get ready for church,” his wife finally said, not wanting the conversation to continue, and both his kids exited the kitchen, leaving their half-eaten plates behind. He looked up at his wife and she laughed under her breath.
“Kids these days. You could have backed me up.”
“I wasn’t sure what to say,” Mark contended, “Marsh seemed to have a grip on it.”
“I can’t believe they’re teaching about homosexuality in the school. I have a right mind to go down there on Monday and speak with them about it.” She scoffed, as she rose to clear the plates.
“Oh let it go, it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” she said, grabbing his fork from his hand and pulling his plate away before he could take another bite, “They taught our boy about homosexuality. That doesn’t bother you?”
The question lingered in the air as Mark began to form his answer in his brain. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the homosexuality or his wife’s opinion on the matter. They had never discussed it before, but her reaction seemed out of place for her normal demeanor. She picked up all of the plates and scrubbed them furiously at the sink. He quietly removed himself from the room, and headed upstairs to change, not wanting to fight with her which just so happened to be his least favorite thing to do. She had laid out his suit on the bed, a tan suit with a white button down and red tie, and he reluctantly undressed to put it on.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and stopped putting on his suit. At thirty-seven his physique was admirable, and he flexed his muscles as he stood in the middle of the bedroom in his underwear. He brushed his fingers through his crew cut hair, a splash of grey could be seen within the strands of dirty blonde, and he reminded himself to throw the men’s hair color his wife had bought him from the store in it. He heard a knock on the door, and he quickly pulled up his pants as Marsh entered the room. His son was fully dressed in black pants, a plaid button up, and tie, and he sat at the foot of the bed looking at his dad.
“Did I make mom mad?” Marsh inquired. He genuinely looked worried and Mark turned around to console his son.
“Nah, she’ll be fine. She just didn’t know you were so knowledgeable,” Mark said, sitting next to his son and pulling him close, “Just next time, let us do the talking about stuff like that.”
“Do you think it’s bad?” Marsh asked him, and he kissed his son on the top of the head and released him before standing up again to put on his shirt.
“I think people have a right to be who they want to be, son,” Mark finally said, fixing his tie in the mirror. He looked at his son in the reflection as Marsh looked down to the ground. The look worried him, and he wondered if his son harbored a secret that he had locked away but wanted desperately to scream out loud. It was the first time that Mark had even thought about Marsh’s sexuality, even with the talk still needing to happen. He watched as the boy fiddled with his fingers, his eyes still transfixed onto the floor below and without warning he rose up and walked out of t
he room.
Soon, they were all packed into the car, headed to South Belle Baptist Church, and Mark kept glancing back at his son in the rearview mirror. Since the brief conversation in the bedroom, Marsh had stayed silent, Marsh’s mind in completely different place and as his wife chattered the entire way to the church, but Mark couldn’t bring himself to focus on her. His anxiety level was at an all-time high as he worried about Terry’s sermon given the circumstances of the week. He worried about what effect it may have on Marsh’s state of mind. Mark wasn’t even certain Marsh was gay but, the conversation from earlier had lead him to believe that if he wasn’t then he still had compassion for the struggles of gay people, and that a man Marsh looked up to was now condemning them to Hell.
The parking lot was filled to the brim with people, each dressed in their Sunday best, and Mark navigated through the parking lot to the last empty space the church had to offer. As they walked across the parking lot Mark slowed his pace to walk next to his son, and his wife and daughter swung arm in arm towards the front door of the church. He poked his son, and, as Marsh looked up at him, he smiled to assure his son that everything was fine, and he weakly smiled back. Mark spotted Terry as soon as they entered the brick structure, and he waved slightly as Terry broke off his current conversation to head over and greet them.
“Welcome, welcome!” Terry said, hugging Mark’s wife before extending his hand towards Mark. Mark returned the gesture, but couldn’t bring himself to even say hello to Terry. Before he knew it Terry was off again, to welcome the scores of other churchgoers that were entering behind him. Amelia and his wife found a pew to sit in and he watched as Marsh ran off to hang out with one his friends; a relief to Mark. Mark slowly walked around people, sharing pleasantries, until he reached his seat next to his family. He kept his eyes on Marsh as he watched him with his friend near the front by the stage. They seemed to get along, laughing and roughhousing with each other, and his glare moved to his daughter who was politely sitting next to her mother smiling at the ladies that passed by and said hello.
“Hey Denise, could you help out today with Sunday school? Ms. Breaux is sick at home in bed, poor thing,” Terry said, returning and leaning over the pews towards them. His wife agreed to help, and after thanking her, Terry continued on down the aisle towards his place at the front of the congregation, and everyone started to move back to their seats. Mark beckoned for Marsh and his son soon sat next to him waiting for the sermon to start. Mark gripped the pew, awaiting Terry’s sermon to begin. His son looked equally as nervous as he sat back in the pew, barely able to see over the people sitting in front of him.
“Good morning, everyone!” Terry began, “I hope that everyone is having as great a Sunday as I am in God’s Kingdom.” The congregation filled with a few hoots and hollers and quieted back down as Terry began to speak again, “I want to welcome everyone that has come to our services for years, and I want to welcome all the newcomers that I see before me. It brings me true pleasure to speak the word of God to each and every one of you and to show you the true meaning of what being a Christian really means.”
Looking around the church Mark noticed a few new faces scattered through the crowd of people. Most people he could tell you their life stories as he had spent years at the church, but the few new faces completely alluded him as they listened with their families to Terry’s every word. The church was exceptionally bright today, Mark thought, with the sun beating through the stain glass windows cascading colors among the masses. Staring up at the stain glass, the imagery was so overbearing, with Jesus standing nearly twelve feet tall next to a window with a large wooden cross displayed vertically stretching the entire length of the window. He noticed his son’s gaze was on that of his friend, seated catty corner from them across the aisle, and he caught a smile spread across his son’s face. The entire church stood for a short prayer before Terry instructed them all to sit back down and to grab their Bibles.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen. My sermon today was very hard to get together as I feared I would offend some of ya’ll,” Terry continued, his Southern drawl becoming more apparent as if he had just swallowed the Confederate Flag, “It’s an issue that has been touched on briefly last year when the United States Supreme Court legalized something so revolting that goes against the very word of Jesus Christ.”
Mark shifted in his seat as a blanket of unease came over him. He could feel Marsh’s anxiety, as well as if it was radiating from his pores, and he wanted so badly to walk out of the church right then and there but his body was unable to release itself from the pew. His hand, sweaty from gripping the wooden pews, began to search for his son’s but as they touched, his son pulled away. The entire church was engaged in Terry’s sermon and nodding as his words kicked into high gear.
“We all know what the Bible says! We know what the verses say. We’ve recited them. We’ve prayed over them. When a man chooses homosexuality he chooses to deliberately disobey God, and he won’t get into heaven. The problem today, oh Lord God, the problem today is on mainstream television we have gays parading about as entertainment, our small babies are being forced to watch such crude behavior played right in front of us. They’re allowed to teach in our schools; allowed to influence all of the young lives of this great nation of ours.” Terry continued to preach, hiss tone became more sinister as he walked around the front of the congregation, and Mark slid further down in seat as he watched his fellow churchgoers hang onto every word that spewed from Terry’s mouth.
“Even in our midst, in our beautiful town, we have become infected with this homosexuality. Our new neighbors, right down on Jean Lafitte Road, are sinners. Sodomites, my Lord Jesus. And are they repentant?” Even though the question was rhetorical, many people shook their heads in unison, with a few “no’s” peppered throughout the crowd. It was at this very moment that Mark was sure of his friend’s guilt, and as he swallowed this truth, it left a dry lump in his throat. Glancing to his wife, he noticed a sly smile spread across her face, and his daughter sat quietly next to her, holding her hand. Marsh, on the other hand, oozed discomfort and, as the sermon continued and finally drew to a close, he could tell Marsh was antsy to be relieved from his spot at his seat.
Mark’s stomach soured as Terry belted out the final words of his sermon, and, as everyone began to move around hugging one another and conversing on the day’s sermon, Mark made a quick escape to the restroom. To calm his nerves, he splashed cold water onto his face as he watched a few people enter and exit the bathroom in the mirror. He regained his composure, headed back into the crowded church, searching for his family, and finally found them intermingling with other folks.
“Dad, I don’t feel very well,” Marsh cried out, his eyes wild from the last hour. Mark knew he needed to get Marsh out of there, and he understood his discomfort of the entire situation. After a small argument Denise agreed to leave with them, relinquishing her Sunday school duties. As they exited the building, Terry caught them at the door.
“We still on for our fishing trip?” Terry asked, as people shook his hand as they exited from the building.
“I’ll call you later, I need to get Marsh home. He’s not feeling good.” Mark answered, in a hastened tone. Without shaking his friend’s hand, he pulled his family outside onto the warm pavement. Just being released from the building’s walls was enough to bring peace to Mark, and Marsh seemed to perk up a bit as well. Normally after Sunday service they would go eat, but today was different. He wanted nothing more than the sanctuary of his own home, and soon he was back to the safety and tranquility that he needed most of all. Marsh went directly up to his room, shutting out the world with his door, and Mark found himself wanting to chase after his son to comfort him, but figured Marsh needed time to digest what had just occurred at church.
SEVEN
The funeral for Famke Anne Freely had taken place in a church on the outskirts of Kensaw, a small Northern Indiana town. Most of the attendees were family, with a few lifelo
ng friends staggered within the small group that had gathered to pay their respects to the woman that once was. Ashton had placed himself at the front next to his sister and her family, his nieces and nephews becoming more and more misbehaved as time wore on. Although annoyed, he understood their anguish of having to sit for hours not knowing a single soul in the room. Ashton only knew a few of the faces, most of them were distant relatives that he had only seen maybe once or twice during the holidays throughout the years.
“She looks beautiful,” his sister had said, motioning to his mother’s lifeless body. She was wearing a blue paisley dress, her graying hair in the same type of up-do that she had consistently worn for years, and her make-up seemed as if she had just laid down for a nap after a day’s worth of chores. That was the one thing that was always on point with his mother. She always took great care of her appearance and she always loved what Ashton would call “whore red” lipstick. He had fought to get her the best casket, dark-oak stained with intricate carvings of roses on the sides, shelling out a good amount of money for her final bed, and he had purchased the burial plot and headstone when his father had died so they could be near each other when she finally passed.
The funeral marked the last time Ashton sat within a church, and, as the pastor finished his speech, Ashton was relieved. A few family members had asked him to speak about his mother, and, with shaky hands and cracking voice, he gave the best eulogy he could without breaking down. Before he knew it the casket was being closed for the final time, and, before his mother was shuttered into darkness forever, he kissed her cold forehead. Everyone began to amble about, consoling each other from the grief, but Ashton moved to the back of the room, hoping to be left alone in his misery. Unfortunately, for him, he was the star of the show, with everyone coming up to hug him with promises that she was in a better place with her husband and all of the things that are generic sayings at such an event.
The House the Devil Built Page 7
