by Dan Mooney
Her face softened and she smiled at him for the first time. Plasterer’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step back, considering.
“You know why, don’t you?” she asked him, her face so beautiful and serious.
“No,” he told her. He was staring at her a little now, he knew it, but it was hard not to.
“It’s because I love you, you moron,” she grumbled.
Oh.
Plasterer took a threatening step forward and then froze, as if held in place. Penny O’Neill emerged from her hiding place to stand beside him. She watched Denis with unblinking eyes.
Behind Rebecca, at the bottom of the stairs, Deano peeked around the corner. He waved his arms over his head in celebration. Denis could feel the sense of happiness rolling off the hair ball in waves. He could feel it in his head too. He knew she loved him, it was obvious, but it felt more than incredible to hear it from her anyway. He had heard it from her before, a thousand times and more, but never before had it felt like this. Like she knew what he was, and loved him in spite of it. He could hardly believe it. Even Denis didn’t love Denis. He stared at her for just a minute, smiling broadly before he enveloped her in a hug.
“Elephant shoe too,” he whispered in her ear, with a smile. “Can we go out for dinner? I really don’t fancy staying here for much longer.”
“I just got here, Denny. Let me get changed. Then we can make a move.” She was definitely softening now. He felt he was past the worst. She hadn’t seen through him. He’d fooled her, somehow.
“Please,” he said, surreptitiously watching Plasterer.
She took another long serious look at him.
“Tuck in your shirt,” she told him, turning back for the door. “And dinner’s on you too.”
He smiled to himself as they walked out the door. Behind him he could hear the noise of Plasterer punching his red-gloved hand into his white one. A minor victory for Denis, he knew, but the war was far from over.
ARE LONELY GUNS
Escalation is part and parcel of war. His housemates had attacked, Denis had defended and beaten back the assault, which means, typically, that escalation must follow. They had gone to dinner, and Denis had insisted on a long walk afterward. As they strolled they talked. Rebecca’s new favorite book, Denis’s desire to start following soccer again; he’d been ignoring it for a few years now. They did not discuss the gift Denis had given her. Or the bruises on his neck. He could see it was troubling her and that she wanted to, but she was giving him room. It was a welcome respite.
When they finally got home, the house was in darkness and all was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. Denis barely slept for worry about what the next day would bring, and when the morning rolled around, he delayed getting out of bed again, this time until he heard her close and lock the front door behind her. For their part, his housemates made no move against him until he got out of the bed. He had crept from his room to shower, and did so in peace and quiet, but when he emerged from the bathroom, Penny O’Neill and the Professor were standing in the hallway, looking at Rebecca’s bedroom door. Denis moved to block them, stepping between them and the door while trying to look menacing. The Professor went to reach by him, while Penny O’Neill ducked under his outstretched arm. He grabbed at both of them, just as Penny O’Neill’s hand took the doorknob. She managed to open it just a fraction, before Denis tugged her away from it and it slammed behind him again.
“Leave it alone,” he barked, trying desperately to add a note of authority to his words. It’s hard to tough-talk a zombie and a cat woman when you’re only wearing a towel and still dripping wet.
“Stand aside,” the Professor replied, still twisting and turning in the crook of Denis’s arm. They were after her clothes. What they planned to do with them if they got them, Denis could only guess.
“We don’t go in there,” Denis grunted, as he struggled to contain the writhing cat woman.
“We do whatever we want in this house,” Penny O’Neill replied, squirming.
A sound bubbled from the stairs, bubbled louder and louder until it burst from the landing.
Plasterer stood there, watching and laughing uproariously. It was unsettling for Denis in many ways. Once upon a time he had stood aside and watched the wrestling matches of his housemates while laughing to himself. It seemed that his house had come full circle.
I fucking hate that animal.
He wondered, as he pushed the heel of his hand against the Professor’s forehead, if he had become the oddity, or if the oddity had become him. It made his head ache to think about it. During the scuffle, Deano stood in the doorway to Denis’s bedroom, hopping up and down. Denis felt he may have been cheering on one side or the other, but it was impossible to tell which.
When he’d fought them off, he locked her door and stuffed the key in his laundry basket. Penny O’Neill glared at him balefully, and the Professor drew himself up as though he was preparing for another round, but on the landing, Plasterer just shrugged and made his way downstairs.
Denis dried himself, trembling slightly, and dressed slowly. How had this happened to him? At what point did he lose all form of control? For all their complaints and destruction, Denis himself had always been sacrosanct, but that just wasn’t the case anymore. Now he was a target in his own home. It frightened him. When had they started dictating his life? He knew in his heart that he would have to tell Rebecca about them eventually, but the thought of it unsettled him greatly, though he didn’t know why.
“If you tell her, she’ll call you crazy,” Plasterer told him from the doorway. He seemed to materialize at Denis’s most uncomfortable moments.
“If I don’t tell her, she’ll think I’m crazy anyway. What have I got to lose?” he replied.
“A lose-lose scenario for you, which makes it win-win for me,” Plasterer replied. “Don’t you see that you’re hanging on by a thread? Haven’t you noticed yet? Are you that stupid?”
“You’ve not beaten me yet,” Denis replied defiantly.
“You’ve beaten yourself, you moron,” Plasterer told him.
For a moment, Denis’s head spun. He tried to imagine why Plasterer would say such a thing. He put himself in Plasterer’s head, and it caused his knees to wobble.
“There it is,” Plasterer growled. “You’re getting it. Go deeper.”
Denis shook his head to clear himself.
“Go on, go back there again. Have a little think. Put yourself in my head. What do you see? Do you see yourself, Denis? Do you see you with all my makeup on? Do you understand me now? My motivation? Do you?”
Denis shook his head again. His eyes welled up.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied hoarsely.
“Sure you do,” Plasterer told him, unrelenting. “You’re starting to understand, and in your understanding comes your defeat. By the time you fully get it, you’ll have entirely defeated yourself.”
And then he laughed a harsh, bitter, angry laugh. From out in the corridor the laugh was taken up by Penny O’Neill and the Professor. It echoed around the house.
He bolted from the room, pushing past them all. He almost stumbled down the stairs, and then he shot out the front door. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, but it was too late to go back for them. He needed air. He sucked in great gulps of it and tried to calm himself. The children next door used to giggle at him. They knew he was weird. It had caused him to resent them just a little, but now he wanted them to laugh, he needed to hear it for some reason. It would remind him, he was sure. He walked to the green, across the sharp gravel, which cut at the soft soles of his feet, and stood at the edge of the grass watching them play. When they noticed him, he pointed to his feet and smiled. They didn’t laugh. The one time he wanted them to laugh they didn’t.
This wasn’t going the way he planned. He made his way back to the driveway of his house and through
the gate. He counted his steps to the door and back to the gate again. Then back to the door and then back to the gate again. He repeated this process several times before he realized that his neighbor, the friendly woman to his right, was watching him from an upstairs bedroom window. The realization knocked him off his stride, embarrassing him. Plasterer was right. He was losing it, badly. Trying desperately to compose himself, he went back into the house.
Plasterer stood in the hallway, smirking.
“Fuck off,” Denis growled at him. “I fucking hate you, you animal.”
He tried to make breakfast while they sat around the table watching him. They knew it too. He was losing it. Their mere presence now was driving him closer and closer to the edge. They didn’t have to do anything, just sit nearby and stare. Deano didn’t sit. He rolled back and forth on the living-room floor, like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Denis wanted to join him, his frustration building. He dumped the cereal into the bowl straight from the box, another pathetic act of defiance, as if by ignoring his usual customs he would somehow hurt them. The Professor sneered at the attempt.
He sat at his desk and opened internet browsers and checked his emails; he opened programs and began typing numbers. They followed him in and watched. Waiting for that inevitable moment when he would crack. What would follow the cracking he didn’t know. He figured they didn’t either, but what they did know, one and all, was that pressure was building and Denis would eventually blow.
He went through the motions of his job, making the odd attempt at upsetting them by refusing standard operating behaviour, hoping somehow he could cow them with the unexpected. It was less than useless, they didn’t care.
His phone beeped. He had left it on the kitchen table. Four heads whipped around to look at it. It would be her. Deano stopped rolling and sat, stock-still.
“Ooooh what’s she going to say now?” Penny asked mockingly. “Something profound about flowers or something. And you can text her back and pretend you’re not completely fucking insane and she’ll love you for being witty and normal.”
Denis tried to mask his anger.
“Go check it out, Denis,” Plasterer chimed in. “I give you my permission.” He was smirking again.
They followed single file as he made his way into the kitchen.
It wasn’t her. It was Ollie. Thinking about popping over for lunch, dude. You want me to bring anything? They were clearly checking up on him.
Little busy today. Rain check? Denis sent back. The last thing he needed was another person to try to hide them from.
He waited for the reply. The others stood all around him, leaning in close so they could read it when it came back. He could feel their breath on him, making him feel unclean. There was no space, no room to think.
The phone beeped again.
Cool, the text read. Denis heaved a sigh of relief. Their alarm was palpable. They wanted the chance to hurt him in front of Ollie, to do something outrageous and reckless. They wanted to ruin him.
He returned to his work, typing and sending emails. Deano returned to having a temper tantrum, this time on the couch, his arms slapping the pillows and cushions repeatedly. He seemed less enthusiastic about it this time. The other three returned to exchanging dark looks and skulking around him. Every now and again one of them would pace by the back of his desk and shove him. Every time they did he’d pound his fist on the desk. The bottom of his hand had begun to hurt. In the to and fro he’d forgotten he was barefoot. His feet slapped on the legs of his office chair. It made a satisfying sound. For some reason he knew it would irritate Plasterer, and so he kept doing it. After an hour or so the phone beeped again. The four of them materialized at his shoulder to get a closer look.
It was her this time.
Coming home for lunch, babe. Bringing salad and juice and coffee cake. Nom nom.
Denis’s stomach tightened. Plasterer began to chuckle again.
“This is it, Boss,” the clown told him, rubbing his red-and-white hands together. “What’s your next move to hide us? What do you think you’ll do this time?”
Denis could feel the panic rising once more. He tried to think.
Plasterer stood and walked to him. He put his red hand on Denis’s throat and tightened it ever so slightly. Denis was slowly choking.
“Professor,” the clown said, never taking his eyes off Denis. “Would you be so good as to go to Denis’s room and collect the key to her bedroom door from his laundry basket please.”
“I’m begging you,” Denis started. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” snapped Penny O’Neill. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you had done as you were told.”
The Professor walked upstairs, returning with a load of Rebecca’s clothes.
“She’s got photos in there, you know,” the zombie told the others. “Lots of them. Photos of the two of them. And of Eddie. And Jules. The lot.” He seemed offended by the photos.
“Next level,” Plasterer told him with a consoling pat on the shoulder. He released Denis’s throat. “You can go now.”
Denis rubbed at his throat with his left hand, guiding Plasterer’s hand away with his right. Like the previous day, he’d had a thought on how to dodge this, but he knew that if he let it show, they’d be onto him. They always seemed to be one step ahead. He made his way from the room as though he was reluctant. They ignored him leaving, except for Deano, who watched him all the way. Denis nodded at the fur ball, who nodded in return.
He made his way to the laundry room and found the old tartan throw he had used for the living-room couch. He pulled it out and threw it on his bed. From the kitchen he grabbed plates, glasses, cutlery and seasoning. He did all of this as silently as possible. If they heard him and came to investigate, they’d know what he was up to. It was painstaking, sliding the drawers open so slowly that the rollers on which they rested didn’t betray his cunning plan. He collected the cushions with the least amount of red paint on them from the living room and bundled his entire stash together. His lawn, which was considerably larger than the other lawns in the neighborhood, was kept immaculately. Not by him of course. He couldn’t abide cutting the grass since it would never be a uniform height. He paid someone else to deal with the horror of knowing that their work was for nothing and some of the blades of grass would forever remain uncut. He spread out the makings of his picnic on the lawn and marveled at how much time had passed since she had crashed into his life. Summer had turned into autumn almost without him noticing.
It was a nice enough day for early September and he was sure, though he didn’t know why, that his housemates wouldn’t come outside. He was still barefoot. She would love that; she loved being barefoot. He sat and waited for her to arrive, and tried to compose himself. It was a good plan, and he was safe here, though he didn’t know why, but still he couldn’t stop feeling Plasterer’s fingers on his throat.
Easy now, just relax it a little.
He massaged his right hand and tried to relax until his breathing came easier. He dared not think about what they were doing with her clothes. One fight at a time, he told himself. It was all he was able to handle.
When she pulled up in the driveway and saw him sitting, cross-legged in his shirt and tie, shoeless, she broke out in a broad grin. He was aware that her coming home and Ollie’s earlier text were related. In fact, it was possible that every move they made—her, Ollie, Frank, Ned, even his mother—was coordinated with him in mind. It was the pathetic kind of help he felt he needed and just the kind of decent thing they would do. They were clearly worried about him, and their plan was to keep him under close watch in the days after Eddie’s death. Truth be told, he was worried about himself. Wandering around the streets barefoot, frightening small children. Not much of Denis’s life had passed without feeling like something was wrong, but the last few days had felt more wrong than ever before. A fear bui
lding, a tension so tight that he knew it must be showing.
To boot, there was something gnawing at him about the conversation he’d had with Plasterer. Something about putting himself inside the clown’s head. He tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t. The feeling of control slipping away was permanently with him now. He had no way around it. He lied to Rebecca with a smile, a broad toothy smile that he remembered from days gone by. Each shiny, well-brushed tooth lied just a little more.
“Everything’s better when you’re barefoot, eh?” he said as she climbed from her ancient car. It was something she used to say over and over.
“Well, isn’t this just a lovely surprise?” she asked. Still smiling.
She kicked off her shoes and sat next to him. Denis had positioned a place setting for her so that her back would be to the window. He didn’t want to take the chance that she might catch one of them looking out from inside. In his mind’s eye he saw Penny O’Neill peeking out from behind the curtains. Watching them. Judging him. Hating her. He put the thought down savagely, crushing it by staring at Rebecca.
“Did you tell Ollie to check in on me earlier?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she told him. He could see that she was lying. She blushed when she lied.
“Of course not,” he agreed, smiling.
“Are you ready for tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Tonight?” he replied, puzzled.
“The funeral, Denny. Eddie’s funeral is tonight.”
A wave of nausea swept over him. He thought he might be sick, but he repressed the urge.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll be with you,” she told him reassuringly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
“Of course.” It was not going to be okay. There were things that Denis Murphy believed he would never be ready for. Eddie’s funeral was one of them. Ned would be there. And Ann. He would have to pretend to be sick. Better still, actually be sick. He was sure he could talk his body into it if needed. Hell, Plasterer would enjoy poisoning him.
