“Where’s Amelia?” Mark shouted between his cries, and the deputy bent down to console the man.
“She’s fine. We took her to the station to wait to hear from you,” the deputy replied and held Mark as he lay on the ground.
“How?”
“That’s not important.”
“I asked how, goddamn it!” Mark screamed, pulling away from the man.
“She hung herself, sir. Paramedics tried to revive her but it was too late.”
Somehow, Mark gathered his strength and stood up trying to gain control of his emotions. The sudden news was appalling and the entire emotional process wreaked havoc on his being. He walked back towards his car, the deputy trailing behind him.
“I can drive you to the station, you’re in no place…”
“I will drive myself. Thank you for the offer,” was all Mark could say before getting into his car and backing out of the driveway. It was pure adrenaline that pushed him towards the Acadian Springs Police Department and all he wanted to do was hold Amelia and weep. He cursed himself for ignoring his phone, worried that his daughter had gone through the traumatic experience completely alone, and he questioned his parenting skills as he pulled up to the station. He had always thought himself to be a great father but with both children in horrible predicaments, he thought back to every decision he had made for them. It was a truly detestable image that played out in his mind and he sat in his car for a moment, breaking down with such a force he was willed into total paralysis.
The other deputy arrived behind his vehicle a few minutes later, helping to pull Mark from the car and Mark leaned on him as they crossed the threshold of the police department. Mark regained his composure the moment Amelia came into view, sleeping soundly on bench covered in a small blanket. She looked peaceful in her slumber for a young girl that had just witnessed her mother’s suicide. Mark knelt down next to her, running his hand through her thin blonde hair. She stirred a little as he made contact but continued to sleep as Mark began to cry again, stifling his sobs to not wake her. He needed to be strong, for not only her but his son that lay at the Shady Rest Motel with wounds covering his body. After a moment he lifted her from the bench and carried her back to his car. Even as he placed her in the backseat Amelia didn’t awaken, and he got back in the driver’s seat to return to the motel.
He contemplated how he would break the news to Marsh and how he would react to such a tragedy. Mark didn’t want to worsen the boy’s mental condition, knowing the nightmare that had played out at Re-Course, and the thought of adding another stone to Marsh’s load stung him deeply. Where had God been during this time? Where was God now? A lot of questions fueled Mark’s mind, a second wind awakening him more than any coffee could ever do, and his anxiety shook his entire body like a fragile leaf blowing in the breeze.
Marsh had obviously found a bit of comfort in the room, he was fast asleep when Mark entered the room with his sister. He placed his daughter in the bed next to Marsh, sat down on the other bed, and looked upon his children. He felt he failed them somewhere along the way and the remorse he felt for Denise’s untimely suicide began to come in waves as he sat in the darkness of the room. He worried his children would blame him for her suicide, for leaving her in the wake of her actions, or that he didn’t keep his vow to love her in sickness and health. It was true Denise had made a disgusting choice to send Marsh away to Re-Course, and it was no question whether that decision had pushed her to make such a permanent decision to end her life, but had Mark fed the fire to push her in that direction?
Somehow Mark soon grew tired and he laid facing his two sleeping children. Finding solace in such a storm, his children were safe in his presence and they would find a way to move on from this moment in time. Mark didn’t have a plan for the sudden change in the situation but firmly believed that they would gain perspective and find the path that was right. Mark’s eyes began to flutter close and his body gave way for a heavy sleep. All things aside, they were together.
PART IV:
LIKE A MOTH TO A FLAME
ONE
Ashton was at the stairs leading up to his porch and he wasn’t sure how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was being at the church and he wasn’t even sure how he ended up there either. He had no recollection of much of the day. The amount of missing time he was having lately was deeply concerning to him and he wondered whether he was going insane or if the fall in the bathtub had done more damage than he cared to admit. The house was silent, the moon hanging over it lighting the entire area, and it was peaceful; an emotion Ashton didn’t want to escape from.
He didn’t have his keys to enter the home, another item lost during the day. The pastor’s clothes hung off of him like drapes, not providing the necessary warmth needed to be standing in the cold Louisiana autumn night. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. He stood there a moment waiting for Dillon to unlock the door shivering as a breeze blew over the railing of the porch, whipping past him to continue its trek. He knocked again, louder this time. He could hear movement within the home, and the front door opened up.
“Ashton! Oh my god, where have you been?” Dillon said, pulling Ashton inside out of the cold, “Whose clothes are you wearing? Are you okay?” Ashton was taken aback by the barrage of questions spewing from Dillon and he needed a moment to collect himself. He sat down on the stairs, resting his weary limbs and looked up at Dillon, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him.
“What time is it?” Ashton asked, his voice shaking from the cold.
“Almost 4, I was worried as hell. Where have you been?” Dillon pressed.
“4 am?” Ashton reiterated. He, too, had the same questions Dillon was asking and he was uncertain how to answer any of them.
“I called the police, you just disappeared.”
Disappeared. Just like the time he was missing.
“Can we just go to bed? I’m exhausted,” Ashton replied, and rose to climb the stairs. His strength faltering, he grabbed onto the handrail to help pull himself up the flight. Dillon followed closely behind and they both entered the bedroom. Dillon helping him out of the clothes and into the bed. In a matter of seconds Ashton began to doze off, slipping into a coma-like state and the world around him dimmed as his eyes closed.
The next morning, Ashton awoke to the sunlight beaming in through the windows. He felt an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time and, with yesterday’s events behind him, he rose from the bed and showered before Dillon had even gotten up. This strange new feeling carried him down the stairs and into the kitchen where he began to prepare breakfast with all of the fixings. While the coffee brewed, he opened the back door to allow fresh air to stream into the house, the stuffiness vacating the premises. He heard rustling upstairs and the sound of footsteps came down the stairs, coming into the kitchen.
“Good morning!” Ashton exclaimed, abandoning his cooking to cross around the island to kiss his husband. Dillon shot Ashton a questioning glare and Ashton smiled, “What’s wrong?”
“Did you go out drinking yesterday?” Dillon inferred.
“I hope you’re joking,” Ashton replied. The conclusion Dillon had come to, angered Ashton. He was sober, he had been for months now.
“No, I’m not. Out of nowhere, you just completely vanish and come back at four in the morning wearing someone else’s clothes,” Dillon pushed. Ashton returned to cooking, working vigorously to finish the breakfast and stop an argument.
“It’s extremely insulting,” Ashton finally replied, “There isn’t even a damn bar in this town, where the hell would I go for drinks?”
“I don’t know, but you’re pretty resourceful,” Dillon shot back.
“Look, I didn’t go for a fucking drink.”
“Ok, then, where did you go?”
“I…went to church,” Ashton said quietly. Dillon laughed.
“You really expect me to believe that?” Dillon continued laughing, and Ashton’s frustration began to come to the su
rface.
“There is something serious going on in this house. How you can be so fucking blind to anything that is going on is beyond any comprehension I have,” Ashton screamed, finally letting out his feelings on the entirety of the situation. Dillon stopped laughing and looked at him, “Now, today, I feel better than I have since you brought us into this fucking house and this goddamn town, so I would appreciate it if you would find it somewhere inside yourself to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Dillon kept quiet while Ashton finished their breakfast and Ashton felt bad for his outburst. It cut him deeply that his husband questioned his sobriety as he had done everything Dillon had asked of him. There was something going on within their household but Ashton wasn’t taking blame for any of it, and although he couldn’t remember the murky details of yesterday, he wasn’t about to let Dillon railroad him. He plated their food, outfitted them with a cup of coffee, and they ate in silence in the dining room.
“I have to go back to NOLA in a couple hours,” Dillon said, as he picked up their plates, “I’m worried about you.” His tone was different from his original tone he had brought down the stairs with him, and Ashton felt relieved.
“I’ll be fine. Olivia gets in tomorrow, then we will be in town on Tuesday,” Ashton reconciled. He worried about his sister walking into this mess but found relief that they would be in New Orleans for most of her trip. “I think getting away from here for a few days will help us both.”
“I guess,” Dillon replied, and Ashton could sense his apprehension. He knew Dillon was constantly afraid of Ashton returning to New Orleans and falling back into his old ways, but Ashton had no interest in that lifestyle anymore. Life was much different now, his grief gone. Now he wanted to focus on the future, back on his writing; back to feeling like himself after so long of being on the rails. It was difficult to hear the alarm in Dillon’s tone but he knew it was in good reason.
They spent the morning together, laughing. A complete difference of any of the time they had spent in the Boudreaux Plantation. Before Dillon loaded up his car, Ashton kissed him and guaranteed that all would be well until his sister arrived. It was bothersome that Dillon was leaving him behind, but he knew it was a necessary component of this transition period. He hoped with all of the travesties recently that one night alone would not amount to much, other than loneliness, and bade his husband goodbye. He settled on the porch for a while, taking in the last bit of sunrays before evening began to take hold, and finally, he returned to the confines of the home. With only himself in the house, it seemed even bigger than it was, each noise he made echoed through the open halls.
A few hours passed and, after a phone call with Dillon to confirm he had arrived in New Orleans safely, Ashton retired to his office to start a new routine. Something inside him had sparked. He felt confident enough to open his word processor and begin a new story. Much of his previous work had been for young adults, teenage girls that begged their parents for his novels, and, at a time, he was much sought after for his books. Now was his time to reemerge but this time he was going to write for a much larger market. His fingers began to type, and before he knew it, he had nearly two chapters written. Feeling accomplished, he saved his document and rose from his desk, stretching his weary limbs.
The relative calm of the house was odd considering the amount of events that had transpired there. There was no strange noises, no other movement in the house besides his own, and he didn’t feel as if something was grasping onto him from his insides. It was a relief to him and he wanted to stay in this same spot forever, the outside world a distant place far removed from his current position. He began to walk room to room, taking in the uniqueness of the home. It was something he hadn’t yet done since occupying the space, only staying in a few rooms and ignoring the vastness of the rest of the property. Each room had its own identity, and he wondered how many souls had passed through the home in its years of glory.
It had never dawned on him that Louisiana, especially outside of New Orleans, had so much culture hidden behind walls and doors. Handcrafted cypress flooring, glass windows made specifically to fit the wooden frames, and with all the lights on, the house was grand. He could only imagine the immaculate soirees that were thrown here, the bustling human life with the simplicities of yesteryear. Creole families from every part of the world had settled the lands around him, the entire state passing between the hands of France, Spain, and eventually to the United States. He sat down on the steps looking over the foyer and listened as the wind breathed winter air around the exterior of the house.
The craftsmanship of the smallest designs lulled him into tiredness, and he stood up from the stairs, grasping onto the handrail for support. He began to switch off the lights in each room, taking one final look at everything before proceeding upstairs and bidding goodnight to the day. His sheets were cold, and he wrapped himself up, taking advantage of the emptiness of Dillon’s absence. This rare occurrence, although unwanted currently, was nice and he was able to fully immerse himself in his deepest thoughts, scavenging through old memories and goals. He was finally able to close his eyes with a smile and slowly drifted into the darkened world of his dreams.
It wasn’t long before he was awakened by an unfamiliar feeling. His naked body was wet, his bed now a dirty ground. He opened his eyes, taking a minute to adjust to his surroundings as the smell of animals and defecation filled his nostrils. As he sat up he could see the carcass of a dead pig strewn about the barn he now found himself in. His confusion was furthered by the blood that covered his body and the goosebumps that popped up beneath the cold copper smelling liquid. He stood, dirt and pieces of animal hair and hay clinging onto his body and he began to heave as his eyes took in the carnage around him. What he thought was one pig, turned into a total of three, each one’s body ripped apart and placed around the dark confines of the barn. Somewhere outside the barn he could hear a screen door slam.
“Who the hell is out there?” a man screamed from outside the barn, and Ashton could hear a shotgun being cocked. A million things began to fill his mind and he found a hole in which to escape from just as the large wooden door was pulled open. Once outside the barn, Ashton ran as fast he could towards the road and continued running until the barn was far behind him. He wasn’t sure where he was but in the distance he could see the lights of a town, and he forced his naked body down the road, the soles of his feet collecting gravel as he walked on the asphalt. He came to an intersection, one he was familiar with as his road, turned, and continued to run as fast as he could to create distance from the barn and the carcasses.
His pace continued until he was at the end of his driveway and came to a stop. He bent down to catch his breath, the blood mixing with the sweat he had procured from his escape. Much like everything else recently, he was unsure how he had ended up on the random farm. His stomach began to churn as his mind fixated on the dead pigs that had surrounded him, and he wondered if he had caused the carnage. As much as he questioned everything he knew at this moment, he wouldn’t find an answer, and more than anything he wanted to wash away the layer of blood, sweat, and dirt that covered his naked body. Once inside he made a beeline for the shower and entered the hot water cleansing his body of the massacre that coated him. More than anything he wanted to call Dillon and let him in on this development in the horrors that surrounded their lives, but, with Dillon dealing with the brunt of most of the burdens, he decided against it. It was just him now, and he desperately needed sleep.
TWO
A motel was not a place to raise children, this was the only thing Mark was certain of. The kids didn’t seem to mind, but it was becoming apparent that the small space was beginning to make them restless. Marsh stayed mostly quiet, laying in his bed playing with his cell phone and Amelia was doing her best to keep herself entertained by asking Mark a million questions. He was happy that most questions were pointed towards the tragedy that had just occurred to his family. He was still unsure how to approach t
he topic of Denise’s suicide, nor had he even came to terms with it himself. It was an unspoken occurrence that he knew, in just a few days, would be brought to the forefront with a funeral and family coming in for the service. He was so unprepared for the day that lay ahead, the beginning of the rest of their lives, and he hoped the children would be alright on their own for a few hours so Mark could do the necessary things that comes with a sudden death.
The weight of the situation washed upon him as his car careened past the “Welcome to Acadian Springs” sign. With the current state of affairs, he had no one to turn to. The only place for a service in the whole town was South Belle Baptist Church, and he was unsure how Terry Shlepp would react to him coming there with such a request. He pulled into the parking lot of the police department and just sat there for a moment. This was the only place he felt a sense of calm, and, although he dared not to enter the doors, the parking lot alone was enough to give him some peace. He watched as deputies and random townsfolk came and went and then finally restarted his vehicle to return to his home.
The exterior of the house wasn’t any different from any of the other houses on his block. Modest landscaping, average sized home. It was the door that made the big difference, it was like a gate holding back the disparity that lay beyond it, and Mark took several minutes before he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Although it had been just a few days since the door had been breached, dust flowed freely from its confines and Mark’s foot created a print on the hardwood floors. An eerie silence enveloped him as the door closed behind him, and he stood in the foyer glancing through the rooms he could see from his position. Nothing seemed out of place, the home immaculately clean, furthering the deception that filled the entire space. She had hung herself in their bedroom and, as much as he wanted to stray away from the room, a morbid curiosity carried him there.
The House the Devil Built Page 17
