The House the Devil Built

by Benjamin Hively

  “I can drive you, if you’d like.” Mark offered. The man finished his cigarette and threw it into the yard.

  “Let me go clean up a bit, I’ll just hop in the shower. You can wait inside.” Dillon said and they both reentered the home. Once inside, Mark took a seat on the couch as Dillon rushed into the bathroom off the kitchen. As soon as he heard the shower turn on, he got up from the couch and walked around the first floor. Passing by the plastic covered windows he shivered as a cool breeze managed its way into the space, and he noticed an urn on the mantle in the dining room.

  “Isabelle Boudreaux,” Mark said, aloud to the empty room. As soon as the name came out, it harkened back to the old files he had found on the Boudreaux Plantation. The pain and misery that had encompassed the house so many years ago, was now rearing its ugly head again, and Mark wondered where they had found the urn. It had to have gone to the family after the tragic events, but, somehow, here it was right in the home where it had occurred. It was then that Mark realized that the men were oblivious to the murder-suicide that had happened right outside of their beautiful new home, and it was now his obligation to make them aware.

  “Sheriff?” he heard Dillon call out and Mark moved towards the bathroom. The door was ajar, and Dillon stuck his head out, “I forgot we never put towels down here, could you go grab one from the bathroom upstairs?”

  Mark ran back up the steps, stepping over the bloody mess in the bathroom to grab a dry towel from the closet. Carefully, he trekked back through the bedroom and proceeded downstairs. Without a thought, he flung open the bathroom door, and handed Dillon the towel. He could sense Dillon’s shock from his sudden intrusion and he quickly handed the towel, but not before catching a glimpse of the man’s penis. He had never really seen another man naked, except for porn and the few times at summer camp years ago, and he was strangely intrigued by the size of the man’s member. Trying not to be obvious, Mark turned back around, saying sorry as he exited the bathroom.

  He returned to his seat on the couch, waiting for Dillon to finish getting ready. He was embarrassed by his carelessness and confused by his morbid fascination with the man’s penis, but the more his thoughts continued, he realized that he was attracted to the men. Dillon especially, and wondered how it would be to have sex with him. As his imagination ran wild, he could feel his own penis stiffening beneath the denim, and he placed his hands over his crotch to hide his excitement.

  “Ready?” Dillon said, entering the room. Mark had almost completely forgotten about the tragedy at hand and rose, still trying to mask his embarrassment and erection. Mark noted how handsome Dillon was, his jeans accentuated his massive penis and the button up flannel shirt he was wearing formed nicely over his pecs, but before Mark could let his mind wander more, he exited the house and got inside his vehicle.

  FOUR

  The Terrebonne Parish Community Hospital was a nearly thirty minute drive, and Dillon had spent most of the time trying to stay awake. His eyes would close, his body giving way to the exhaustion that lingered within him, but with each bump in the road, he would come to, seeing the darkened roads as they sped towards the bright lights of the parking lot. The night had been utterly horrifying, seeing Ashton in the bathtub, blood expelling out of his head like a sieve, and the innate fear that Dillon would lose him right there on the bathroom floor had been severe. During the whole experience, it was like he had been outside himself, viewing the whole thing from a different realm, and it wasn’t until the paramedics had shown up that he came back down into his body, the fear and worry subsiding just a bit as they worked diligently to revive Ashton.

  He squinted as they pulled into the parking lot, the large stadium lights illuminated every corner of the area, and he felt safe for the first time in a long while. He was extremely appreciative that Mark had offered the ride, his anxiety levels would never have allowed for a drive, and the man’s presence soothed him, the conversations calming him to the core. Mark was bizarre, seemingly straight, but many of the conversations and subtle flirting lead Dillon to believe this to be untrue, and, although he was a taken man, he indulged in the attention that Mark was giving him. The parking lot was nearly empty when they arrived, the late night hour alleviating him from any sort of awkward conversations in the waiting rooms with random people. That was the one thing Dillon really enjoyed about such a small place, the lack of wayward people striking up conversations at the most inopportune times.

  He left Mark behind in the waiting room as he traversed the halls of the nearly vacant hospital. Turning a corner and through a set of double doors, he entered the ICU and found C-30, the room Ashton was placed in for his stay at the hospital. He was asleep, and Dillon went to his bedside to be closer to the man he loved. They had stitched up his head wound, a large gash on the right side of his scalp that lead from the back to the front causing a bit of bruising to the man’s face. Dillon grimaced at the sight, never seeing Ashton in this condition before, and his hand found Ashton’s underneath the thin blanket. He gripped it, getting a small squeeze in return, and he was grateful that Ashton wasn’t comatose. Dillon stood over him, tears welling up his eyes, as the beeping and buzzing of institutional machines surrounded him, the sterile aroma overtaking his senses.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” a nurse announced, as she entered the room. Her sudden appearance made Dillon jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. You must be his brother.”

  Dillon had to laugh. Ashton and he had always been mistaken as siblings since they began dating, and they were constantly correcting people. Sometimes, they would allow people to believe it for a little bit just to mess with their minds as they would start to kiss passionately. Now wasn’t the time for a quick joke so all Dillon replied with was, “No, he’s my husband.”

  “Ah,” the nurse said, checking the monitors and I.V. for any issues. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise you. He actually should be released tomorrow. Just a concussion. The cuts on his side should heal up without any stitches.”

  “Cuts?” Dillon questioned. The nurse pulled down the blanket, revealing a large white bandage on Ashton’s side, tinged red and massive against Ashton’s small frame. Dillon’s confusion filled him, but he refrained from any more questions. She left the room again, and Dillon bent down to kiss Ashton on the forehead before exiting the room himself. He walked back to the hospital waiting room where Mark was nearly falling asleep in the uncomfortable chairs.

  “Is he alright?” Mark asked, as Dillon sat down next to him.

  “Yeah, surprisingly just a concussion. They got him all stitched up.”

  “Great!” Mark enthused, and for a moment Dillon wanted to hug the man to show his gratitude for everything, but stopped himself short.

  “I think I’ll just stay here tonight with him, they said, he should be released tomorrow,” Dillon informed the man, and, after a quick goodbye, he watched as the man disappeared out of the sliding doors. For a moment Dillon lingered in the empty waiting room letting the TV lull him into a thoughtless hole. The clock on the wall beckoned 3 am, the second hand clicking loudly over the muted television, and Dillon stood, stretching his weary limbs. Strolling through the hallways, he felt invisible. Each time he passed a nurse’s station, they would look up like they were seeing right through him, and return to their busy work. He wasn’t used to a public place being so vacant of life, and he felt alone in the entire hospital.

  To his astonishment Ashton had awoken by the time he reentered the room. Ashton’s wild eyes searched the room for someone, Dillon approached the bed and Ashton inhaled sharply from fright. Dillon grabbed his hand again, and squeezed trying to calm his boyfriend, but Ashton was clearly stricken with fear.

  “Did you see it?” Ashton spoke, his voice panicky and dry.

  “See what?” Dillon inquired. Ashton pulled himself into a seated position, still looking crazily around the room. He reached up, the IV line stretching, as he grabbed his head, feeling the stitches that c
losed the wound on his head. Ashton breathed in deeply again as pain shot through his body.

  “In the bathroom, that thing!” Ashton screamed, alarming Dillon. He could hear the heart monitor beeping at a faster rate, and a nurse came into to assess the situation. She tried to calm Ashton, shushing him, but Ashton couldn’t be contained, “That thing! It attacked me.”

  “Ashton, calm down please. You’re scaring me,” Dillon cried, letting the nurse take his position as she continued to work, injecting what Dillon deduced as a sedative Soon Ashton’s outburst began to taper and Dillon approached the bed again, the nurse removing herself from the room faster than she had arrived, and he gazed upon Ashton as he sunk back into the bed.

  “There was something there,” Ashton said quietly.

  “There was nothing there, you slipped in the tub.” Dillon reasoned. He was worried that the head injury was worse than what the doctors had originally thought. As he listened to Ashton explain the imaginary attacker and the legitimate anguish that could be heard in his speech, Dillon’s mindset changed and the possibility of a complete mental break was to blame. It was apparent to him that Ashton truly believed that he had been attacked in the bathroom by an unknown winged assailant, and that belief truly horrified Dillon.

  “Did you fuck him?” Ashton asked abruptly. Dillon was shocked, not so much by the question itself but the raspy deepness of Ashton’s voice.

  It took a moment for Dillon to form a reply but finally he replied, “Who?”

  A quiet guttural laugh emanated from Ashton’s mouth, “That closeted redneck pig.” The voice seemed disconnected from Ashton, as if it was coming from deep inside his bowels, and it struck Dillon to the core.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dillon answered, stepping away from the bed. Ashton continued to laugh hysterically, the sound prevalent among lifelong smokers, and the change in octave made Dillon sick. A minute went by as the laughter continued, it came to a sudden halt, and Ashton eyes fluttered close, the sedatives taking their full effect on him. Dillon paused for a moment, trying to understand what he had just witnessed. It was as if Ashton had become a different person in that moment, a person Dillon had never met before, and, as much as he wanted to inform the nurses of the weird occurrence, he was worried they would put him the psyche ward and throw away the key.

  It was all too much for him, and he needed fresh air to help allocate some logic within his brain. Stepping out of the room he ambled down the hallway and out the front doors, taking in huge amounts of air. Prone to panic attacks himself, he tried to patiently bring himself under control. After a few short minutes his heart rate slowed to a normal pace, and he sat on a bench letting the cool autumn air work its way through his system. His questions lingered within his brain, how did Ashton know anything about his newfound friendship with Mark? He had been asleep when they congregated on the porch and had been in an ambulance before they had struck up a conversation a few hours ago, but somehow Ashton had found out, and he didn’t seem pleased.

  It brought him back to the Quarter when things were at their worst. The constant cheating on both of their parts, trying to constantly outdo the other in terms of cutting the deepest, had all been a distant memory until tonight. Back then he had only sought out others to ease the pain of Ashton’s infidelity, causing a vicious circle and he had no interest in reliving that part of their lives. They had gotten past that, even though the resentment still hid beneath the surface, and had saved their relationship right in the nick of time; but the question Ashton had asked made it clear that they indeed hadn’t reconciled completely, and his insecurities were beginning to reemerge. Dillon felt uncomfortable in that notion knowing he had no intention of seducing Mark, and ruining not only their relationship but Mark’s. Mark had a family, wife and kids included, and he would never jeopardize someone else’s stability for a quick roll in the hay.

  Dillon looked at his cell phone, checking the time. He knew Ashton’s sister was an hour ahead but still was too early to reach her on the phone. Her arrival next week, he hoped, would alleviate some of his worries. He no longer could keep away from work and needed to return at least for a few days to catch up on everything from the last month. He was sure there was papers piled up, clients that needed called, and other duties that without him there were next to impossible. He anticipated that if he got back into the groove of things at work, than everything else would magically fall into place everywhere else in his life. He needed some sort of semblance of normal, even at the smallest level and soon, or he was sure to lose his mind as well.

  FIVE

  Even at such a late hour Terry couldn’t pull himself away from the computer. His wife was asleep peacefully in their bedroom, his son slumbering in his cave of a room, and Terry was busy finalizing things for Denise. She had told him in confidence, asking he not say anything to Mark until Marsh was away, and he had kept that promise. He had went home immediately after their discussion to contact the head counselor at Re-Course, a six week program in the wilderness of Northern Louisiana for conversion therapy, and after, a short phone conversation, the counselor planned to be at the Batton household at 9am sharp. Terry felt validated, knowing the homosexuals at the Boudreaux Plantation had influenced young Marsh, and, as Denise had wept in his arms, he got a plan of action in his mind to eliminate any other threat.

  He had gathered up all the supplies he needed to prepare signs for a full on protest. With the help of Janis, they created ten large signs that he knew many people in his congregation would gladly hold on the corners of their beautiful town. The sermon he had given on Sunday was controversial to say the least; but the amount of support he had afterwards moved him, and was positive that he could rally his troops for a war if need be. In God’s good graces, he would remove the threat that could terrorize his hometown and come Hell or high water, he would run the gay couple out town without guilt or dismay. Acadian Springs was in danger, and Terry would make sure to protect the community he loved so much.

  His fingers were cramping. He spread his fingers apart to stretch and then squeezed them into a fist to get the fatigue to go away. It had been a long few weeks, another reason the homosexuals had to leave. He had spent so much of his energy to get things accomplished, to tell his church about the deplorable human beings that had laid claim to land in their surroundings, and had sacrificed more time to ensure they would leave. Denise finding the homosexual porn on the computer with repeated searches for gay related things, created even more extraneous work on him, but the accolades he would receive in his fine work repairing her son was enough to keep him on track. The day was about to break open, once again shining its brilliance onto their town, and Terry went downstairs to prepare for his family’s morning.

  The kitchen was immaculately clean. Terry was careful to not destroy his wife’s hard work, and started to cook breakfast. This was a rare event, Terry cooking, feeling almost high from doing God’s work, and wanted to share his uplifted mood with the people that had been with him every step of the way. Janis and Luke were his world, and although things between his son and him were not the greatest, he still looked to the boy as a miracle, a gift from the man above. Somewhere in the house, he heard an alarm sound and his wife beginning to stir. He couldn’t wait for her to come into the kitchen, her hair a mess as it always was first thing in the morning, begging for coffee. He had prepared her a cup, with the right amount of cream and sugar that she preferred, and left in on the table, awaiting her arrival.

  Janis shuffled in, hair exactly how he had imagined, and he could see the look of surprise on her face as the bacon sizzled on the stove. She saw her cup of coffee and seated herself in front of it, taking a sip of the caffeinated delight.

  “You’re up early,” she finally said, in between sips of her coffee. He smiled at her, the tangled mess of gray and brunette hair reflecting the light from the window. She stood up, stretching her tired body, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She looked over th
e counter at Terry’s cooking and quickly walked around the island to take over the duties.

  “I got it,” she said, and Terry stepped back. He knew that somehow he was doing something wrong, even with the easy breakfast. He laughed as he hugged her from behind, kissing her cheek. She pushed him away, a silent instruction for him to sit down and let her do it. Terry took the command and went to the coffee pot to pour his own cup of liquid energy. He leaned on the counter watching his wife man the stove, placing the bacon on a napkin placed on a plate to soak up the extra oil and flipping the eggs. She did all of it in complete silence, so meticulous as she wiped each little mess she created while she cooked.

  Another alarm sounded upstairs, and he could hear his son groan as the alarm was silenced. It had always taken Luke a long time to wake up, even as a small child, and Terry primed himself to go upstairs to rouse him in a few minutes. He also promised himself that since Mark was probably out of the fishing trip, he would invite Luke so they could spend quality time together, and, although he was apprehensive that Luke might reject the offer, he wanted to give it a shot. They had fished together when Luke was younger before video games, school, and friends had overtaken his existence. A jaunt down memory lane could reconnect them quicker than small talks over dinner was Terry’s line of thinking. To his surprise he began to hear movement from upstairs, and before he knew it, his son had come down the stairs ready for breakfast.

  “Good morning,” Luke cooed, unusually pleasant for such an early hour.

  “G’morning,” Terry replied, “Nice to not having to fight for you to get up.” The boy shrugged as Janis placed a plate in front of him. He picked up his fork to begin eating, but Terry stopped him.

  “You know we pray before we eat.”

  The boy sighed, the pleasantry wearing off quickly, and he sat back in his chair waiting. Terry took his seat to the right of his son, and Janis joined them with the last two plates of food. Once seated, Terry began his prayer, “Heavenly Father, we want to thank you for another beautiful day, another plate of food for nourishment, and our health. We ask Father that you continue to bless us with your warmth, and that you look over us as we proceed with the day. We also ask that you look after Marsh and the Batton family as he begins his journey to correct his wicked ways…”