The bedroom was like a shrine to their entire lives, pictures filled up every empty space imaginable. From their children’s younger years, to their marriage photos and everything in between was placed strategically upon the tops of dressers, nightstands, and along the walls in perfect symmetry. The chair she had used to stand high enough to place the noose around her neck was knocked over, the rope still swaying with frayed ends. Mark choked back a tear and sat on the bed, taking it all in. There had been no note left. She had simply tossed the rope over the exposed beams, climbed onto the chair, and let go. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Mark knew the reasoning behind what she had done. A sense of guilt was buried beneath his own reasoning of leaving her. She had become toxic not only to their marriage but to their children’s lives, and he couldn’t bring himself to place any blame upon himself for her choice in actions.
He got a ladder out of the hallway and placed it under the rope, climbed to the top and unwrapped it from the beam. He pulled the chair back to the dining room and soon the bedroom was as if nothing abhorrent had happened within its walls. The air was still heavy but at least any evidence of what had occurred was completely removed. He walked room to room, the children’s bedrooms still exactly how they were left; Amelia’s room a preteen mess and Marsh’s room nice and tidy as it always was. Mark was ready for them to be back in their home, ready for their lives to continue, and he continued his tour of the house to ensure that nothing was out of place that would bring up bad memories.
A knock on the door pulled him from his search and he ambled towards it. He wasn’t ready for outside company, wasn’t prepared for a social interaction in the least bit, but he opened the door anyways. Standing on his porch was Terry’s son, Luke, and he looked concerned.
“Mr. Batton, I wasn’t sure who to come to,” Luke said. Mark had never had many conversations with the boy, so his sudden appearance was strange, and Mark allowed him to enter the house.
“What’s wrong, Luke?” Mark questioned as the boy sat down at the table.
“My dad, he’s…I know he sent Marsh away, and I think he’s planning something for those guys…” Luke explained.
“Come inside,” Mark said, moving away from the door so Luke could enter.
“He would send me away just like Marsh if he knew I was here right now, but I can’t just let him do this.”
“What is it?” Mark questioned, beckoning Luke to sit at the table.
“I’m not sure, but those men aren’t safe. I’m afraid for them.”
“Well I’m not sure what I can do without any sort of details.”
“I don’t know, you’re the sheriff. Arrest him.”
“That’s not how things work, Luke. We have to have an actual crime before we can arrest someone. I understand your concern, but I don’t think your father is going to harm those guys.”
“Will you at least talk to him? He’s going insane.”
“I will, yes.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your wife, Mr. Batton,” Luke empathized. Mark had forgotten how small of a town it was and that the information was out there already.
“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Mark replied, and gripped the boy’s shoulders. Luke stood and said his farewells before vacating the house. He allowed the silence to envelope him once more, trying to make sense of everything that was on his plate. His current predicament within his own family was one thing but attempting to protect two other people was extraneous. He needed a mental break from the insanity, but he knew the moment he exited the house that he would have to continue into the muck to get done what needed to be finished.
The sunlight gleamed into the stale house as he reopened the front door, and he let the sun warm his skin as he locked the door behind him and got back into his car. The town was ominously silent as he drove through it and convened upon South Belle Baptist Church. Terry’s SUV was parked out front as normal, and after taking a large breath he entered the building. His entrance echoed through the empty rows of pews, bouncing off the stained glass windows, as he stepped towards the hallway to the side of the stage, heading straight for Terry’s office. The door was open when Mark approached. Terry looked up from paperwork and eyed Mark.
“I wondered if I would hear from you,” Terry spoke, standing up from the desk and holding his arms out for a hug, “I’m so sorry about Denise.”
Mark wasn’t sure what came over him but he hugged the man and began to sob. Before walking into the office he had despised the man, but the need for human contact outweighed his feelings for Terry and now they stood embraced as Terry offered condolences. It was a strange familiarity that calmed Mark down in a matter of minutes and he sat opposite of Terry to begin a discussion that he was not entirely ready for.
“Before you ask, yes. We can have the service here,” Terry began.
“I’m so lost, Terry. I can’t believe she’s done this,” Mark said.
“In times of darkness, we must look towards the light. You have this entire congregation behind you. You’ve got to stay strong for your kids. They’re looking to you for stability. How is Marsh?”
“Please, don’t ask about Marsh.”
“I was just doing what I thought was right,” Terry reasoned.
“That is my job, I’d rather not talk about that right now. I need to put Denise to rest,” Mark countered. As angry as he was at Terry for placing Marsh in ReCourse, there were bigger issues at hand. They began to plan out the coming days, settling on Friday as the day of the service, and Terry continued to walk him through the process of laying his wife to rest. At thirty-seven he had been completely blindsided He had no comprehension of the events that brought him to this point, was now a widower with two children, who in three short days would be placing Denise in the cold ground and returning to their marital home to continue the rest of their lives.
THREE
The relationship with his sister had been strained since their mother’s passing and the subsequent downward spiral that had occurred in Ashton’s life. Today was the first time he had seen her since the funeral, and he couldn’t let the horrifying things that had been happening get in the way of their time together. Ensuring she had an image of him healthier and better than he had ever been was his number one priority. Waking only a few hours after his nude journey through the countryside, he prepared the house as pristinely as possible for her arrival and tried once more to scrub away the homophobic slur that still was brightly painted on the front of his house. To no avail, she would have to see the wrath of the local church’s hate.
The trip back into New Orleans weighed heavily on his mind. He hadn’t returned since walking out of the doors of Bayou Laurent, and he was unsure how he would react to be in the midst of the French Quarter once more. It’d certainly be a different world; ignoring the dark places where people gathered for after work cocktails and trying to avoid the people that had taken advantage of him when he needed someone the most. He had cancelled his interview at the radio station, uncertain of even what to talk about as his new novel had just begun, so he was free to traipse around the area like a tourist. He had never really done much of the touristy things in New Orleans, opting instead to find the intellectual crowd amongst the dreaded Quarter trash and gutter punks. He had been unsuccessful in the endeavor but had found solace among those that wanted to hang with the so-called “famous” people of the Quarter, which in the end provided a perfect storm for him.
Like Tennessee Williams he had fled to New Orleans for a culture he couldn’t find in the philistine confines of his hometown. The lights along the Mississippi River, that had been beckoning millions of people for centuries, had captured his heart, and, with very little to his name, he had found himself surrounded by the imperfect paradise that was the Crescent City. Now that beautiful dysfunctional city was a worry for him, a temptress in her own right. He hoped with his sister’s assistance he would be able to reflect differently in the pothole laden streets and not fall into its seedy grasp. Anxiou
sly he awaited his sister’s arrival at his asylum, far removed from the bustling streets of New Orleans, and put a plan in place for them when they descended upon the city.
Her carriage was a red rental car and amongst the tan landscape and grey winter skies it stuck out like a sore thumb. He greeted her in the driveway with a long hug. She had aged a few years since the last time he had seen her, life getting the best of her beauty, and her blonde locks glittered prematurely with grey. At only five years his senior, she could easily pass for his aunt or even his mother, the resemblance almost frightening.
“Big enough house?” she quipped, letting go of him and glancing towards the house.
“It fits our needs,” Ashton replied.
“I would say so, certainly a step up from that small hole in New Orleans,” she said stretching from her two hour journey from the airport. He walked her towards the house, they climbed up the front steps, and she stopped, staring at the spray paint on the front of the house. “Looks like you were welcomed with open arms.”
“Small town charm,” he laughed pulling her through the front door, and she stood in awe as she stood in the foyer. He pulled her room to room, proudly, wanting the full effect of the house to set in. She seemed in shock from the massiveness of her brother’s new abode. After the tour she rushed into the bathroom to relieve her bladder and Ashton started a pot of coffee.
“Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” she said from the door of the kitchen. Ashton smiled towards her as she entered, sitting at the small table near the window. “Working on anything new?”
“I started something, not sure where it’s headed yet. Took a bit to get accustomed to being out here.”
“So, you move a thousand miles away from the middle of nowhere, to move to the middle of nowhere again?” she sarcastically snapped back.
“It’s only temporary. It was necessary for me to get well, you know? New Orleans became a toxic place for me.”
“I know, I heard the stories. Weird to see my brother in tabloids.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
“So, can I read your new stuff?” she questioned. He was happy for the change in topic and he ushered her upstairs to his office. She had always been one of his biggest supporters, before the bestsellers and fame, even making him write her papers in college. He had sent her manuscripts, against his publisher’s wishes, before they were printed and she would send him back feedback. Her interest in his newest creation was reassuring to him, in that their relationship seemed back on track, and he leaned on her as his computer powered on. He scrolled through his list of files until he found the document he had worked on over the past few days and opened it.
For a moment his confusion lead him back into the folder to seek another file, but he was on the correct one. For nearly ten pages of white screen, typed over and over again were the words: The Devil has come and his house will be spared. Lucky for him, his sister was at an angle she couldn’t read the words on the document, and he quickly shut down his word processor.
“What’s wrong?” she questioned moving closer to the computer.
“Nothing, I just think we should wait for you to read until I’m a little further,” he lied. He was processing the time he had spent on the computer; the words he had spilled onto the screen and when they were replaced with such a cryptic sentence. He pushed himself away from the desk, walked out of the office, and waited for his sister to quit lingering over the computer screen. She finally followed him to his room where he began to pack his bags, wanting to get as far away from the computer and the house. It seemed the calm that had entered the home had been a deception and he was ready to remove himself in hopes that New Orleans would provide a cure from the insanity.
The midweek crowd was less rambunctious than that of the weekend partygoers in the French Quarter, and it was placid when they pulled in front of his Creole cottage near dark. In the winter night came quickly, leaving a romantic glow above the city, and Ashton stood outside of the car letting the cool Mississippi River breeze tighten his skin with goosebumps. They seemed a million miles away from the bright lights of Bourbon, even though it was only a few blocks away, and he smiled as he noted the elaborate Christmas lights and decorations on the surrounding properties. The only thing hanging on his own house was the For Sale sign that had been placed there while he was away in rehab. As much as he knew they needed the money, he hoped it wouldn’t sell and they could return here, the one true place he felt home.
Ashton and his sister entered the home, the smell of spicy tomato sauce lingering in the air, and Dillon popped his head out from the kitchen to greet them. Ashton kissed his husband, quickly stole a taste of the sauce, a perfect blend of spices melded into the perfect sauce for his favorite meal, and he kissed Dillon again.
“How was the trip?” Dillon asked, pulling away from the kiss and rushing to stir the pot.
“Nothing like driving two hours and then turning right back around,” his sister announced, throwing her purse on the couch and sinking into it.
“Yeah, I figured you guys would end up coming tomorrow,” Dillon said.
“I just missed you,” Ashton lied. He didn’t want to tell Dillon what had happened on the farm, he wasn’t even sure himself, and he certainly wasn’t about to divulge what was written into the document for his next book. Dillon seemed satisfied with the answer, so Ashton moved to the couch with his sister to await dinner.
“Olivia, I made the guest room up for you. Fresh towels and stuff are on your bed,” Dillon spoke, sitting down next to them.
“Thanks, mind if I shower before dinner?” she asked, and grabbed her purse.
“Of course not, it’ll be a little while yet. Letting the sauce simmer,” Dillon replied, switching on the TV. She rose from the couch and disappeared further into the home.
“It’s weird being back here,” Ashton admitted as he looked around the room. They had spent several years in this very room, entertaining guests and relaxing, and now it seemed so void of human activity.
“It was a little stuffy when I came in. You going to be okay here?” Dillon inquired.
“I’ve got a look out, don’t worry about me, babe.”
“I’m just nervous, I guess. First time back since…”
“I will be fine. I’ve got stuff planned for Olivia and me. How was work?” Ashton pushed, changing the subject. He hated Dillon’s rightful doubt. He had spent many times on this same couch, reassuring Dillon that he had changed and there was nothing to worry about, but this time was different. Now he was a different person, in a different place in his life, and he would do everything in his power to stay in Dillon’s good graces.
Shortly after dinner all of them were exhausted, and Ashton excused himself to take a shower. He needed some space after a two hour car ride with his sister where she vented about her issues, with her husband, Rhett, and their two children. Her life was such a contrast from his own that it was difficult for Ashton to understand the complexities of what he saw as a simple life. They had had so many sparring matches in the past about whose life was indeed more complicated and it seemed Olivia had won only slightly. Yes Ashton had his own issues that he was going through, but he didn’t have the amount of stress that two children could bring. She spent each day awakening before the sun, preparing breakfast, and sending them off for the day, shortly followed by her husband, who may or may not come home that evening. Mix all of that in with homework, parent/teacher conferences, and adolescent angst, and it was a recipe for stress overload.
Olivia was already closed up in her room when Ashton exited the bathroom. Dillon was cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, and Ashton assisted in the duty. The kitchen was a clean slate once again in a matter of minutes, and they entered their bedroom ready to put the day to rest. The comfort in the room was relieving to Ashton, after spending most of the last few months in constant terror of what would happen when night fell, and he soon was in a deep sleep. Even his dreams se
emed to appreciate the comfort as they were light hearted and full of light, a stark contrast from the darkness that had invaded his life. Maybe all of the craziness was over and all he really needed was a short break from the home in Acadian Springs.
The morning came too quickly. Ashton was so comfortable he didn’t want to move from his bed. Dillon had already gone to work and he could hear Olivia moving around the house, but his bed kept a firm grasp on him. He knew any minute that Olivia would force him from his slumber, so he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and stood, his knees cracking from the sudden movement. As expected, Olivia opened the door to ensure he was indeed awake and fully dressed for the day ahead.
“It’s 10:30, come on!” she laughed and closed the door behind her. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled out a long sleeve shirt and pants from his bag. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to gather the strength needed for the task of putting the clothing on his body and make his grand entrance into his living room.
Olivia had chosen a random place for breakfast, and soon they were on their way towards the middle of the French Quarter. The one thing he had always loved about the city was how accessible everything was by foot, and if it was further away, a streetcar could easily bring him to where he needed to be. It was still early enough in the day that only a few people were out and about, passing by them with smiles and hellos, as they travelled towards their destination. They were seated within the restaurant, amongst a slew of empty tables, and they had their food quickly. Ashton loved his sister’s excitement for the city, something that even locals never seemed to lose, and they planned out their day.
It was nearing lunch time before they had finished their breakfast, and they moved towards Royal Street where a small group had surrounded a small brass band on the side of the street. Music bounced off the colonial walls, travelling down the street and catching the ear of everyone on the next few blocks. They continued further, walking in and out of antique stores and stopping to admire art in the many galleries that lined the road. The familiar smell of vomit and urine started to inundate the area from Bourbon Street and Ashton pulled her closer to the river, down a side street. The air cleared once they reached Decatur, from the river less than a block away, and a flock of seagulls called from overhead.
The House the Devil Built Page 18
