by Ronald Kelly
It was late afternoon when he ordered coffee and a ham sandwich, and settled in for the long wait. He stared out the window at the park, at the young people who jogged along its picturesque walkways and sat beneath the shade of newly budded trees, studying their books and one another. Spring was supposed to be a time for feelings of love, not hatred. It had been that way for Nelson Trulane. He had met his wife, Angela, at the park during the height of a Southern spring. And, incidentally, so had he met Tanya Wright.
Hours passed and the bright sunlight faded into the black cover of night. He checked his watch. The hour was fast approaching eight. He left his fifth cup ofcoffee unfinished and walked out into the darkness. Calmly, Nelson crossed the street and ducked into the leafy shadows of Centennial Park. He kept close to the trees, avoiding the lighted walkways. It took him only a minute to reach the immaculate white bandstand. It was a huge, circular structure typical of the antebellum architecture of that area. The covered stage stood in a grove of blossoming magnolia trees, away from the reach of the nearest streetlamp.
Nelson approached the bandstand. He began to walk around its enclosed base. The note had said to leave the money beneath the platform, yet he could find no way to do so. The wood skirting around the sturdy floor gave no access to the crawlspace underneath. The thrill of creeping panic threatened to seize him, when he suddenly discovered a small maintenance door at the rear of the bandstand. Someone had painted a large X on it with a can of red spray paint. X MARKS THE SPOT the note had said. He tried the door and found it was unlocked.
He opened it and, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, took the manila envelope and prepared to toss it into the dusty darkness.
"Don't just stand there," whispered a familiar voice, full of naked contempt and ridicule. "Come on inside."
Nelson nearly turned and ran. But he couldn't afford to act so irrationally. Buddy's wellbeing was at stake. If he left and took the money with him, Buddy would surely suffer for his weakness. And that was something Nelson could not endure.
He crouched and squeezed through the narrow opening. Immediately, he was in the crawlspace, surrounded by the smell of dank earth and the lacy tickle of old cobwebs against his skin. "Where are you?" he asked.
"I'm over here, you prickless coward." Tanya's voice came from directly beneath the center of the bandstand. "Did you bring the money?"
"Yes. I have it right here." Nelson steeled his resolve and began to crawl through the cramped space toward the sound of the woman's voice.
He had gone about ten feet, when Tanya told him to stop. He did as she said. Nelson waited, heart pounding, as she approached him. He could not see her. It was pitch dark there beneath the platform, as dark and moldering as the inside of a crypt. He drove the thought from his mind and listened as her breathing grew nearer.
"Toss it to me."
He did, but the envelope hit a support beam that reared, unseen, in the blackness. Tanya cursed. "Can't you do anything right, professor?" she hissed. In his mind, Nelson could see that contemptuous smirk on her full and sensuous lips. He had once fallen in love with those lips, but they hadn't been smirking at him then. They had been smiling, full of bogus warmth and sincerity.
Nelson strained his eyes and just barely made out the paleness of her hand as it reached out to retrieve the envelope. He thought of Buddy then; poor little Buddy who had been taken from his home and subjected to God knew what. Nelson lost his cool, reaching out and grabbing Tanya by the wrist. "Where is he, you bitch?" he snarled with more nerve than he thought he possessed.
Then something flashed from out of the darkness, something shiny and metallic. With horror he withdrew his hand, but not in time. The straight razor slashed across his knuckles. He cried out, feeling white hot pain and the warmth of blood dripping down his fingers.
"I would have thought you'd had enough of that," laughed Tanya.
He heard her pick up the envelope and heft its weight in her hand. "You've got your money," Nelson said. "Now, where is he?"
"Don't worry. I'll send him back to you."
He thought of the razor. "In one piece?"
That quiet, husky voice again. "Get out of here."
Nelson obeyed. He crawled back through the darkness on his hands and knees, wondering if she was following him, weapon poised and ready to slice into the back of his neck. But, no, he reached the trapdoor without incident and emerged into the night. He stood there on the new grass and breathed in the fresh air. He lingered in indecision for a moment, thinking about hiding in the trees and waiting for Tanya to leave the bandstand, maybe jump her and force her to tell him where Buddy was. But he couldn't
chance it. PLAY IT BY THE BOOK the note had warned and he knew he must do just that, or learn to live with the loss of Buddy forever.
When he got home that night, Nelson poured himself a drink and aimlessly roamed the house. Evidence of his once happy family life mocked him from every nook and cranny; the living room with its framed pictures on the mantle, the kitchen with Angela's spice rack and potholder collection, and the master bedroom, which still smelled faintly of his late wife's perfume.
He wandered into his son's room and turned on the light. Toys were strewn in abandonment around the single bed; G.I. Joes, plastic dinosaurs, and baseball cards. He wanted to run and leave that room forever, but emotion gripped him. He fell upon the small bunk with the Spiderman bedspread. For the time being at least, a wave of numbing grief drowned the pain of his recently stitched wounds as he landed face down on the child's mattress.
He wept into his son's pillow, smelling the lingering scent of shampoo on the cloth. "Forgive me, Angela," he cried. "Forgive me for failing you and Buddy so miserably!"
If Angela heard him from wherever dead wives congregate, she listened in silence. Accusing silence, he was certain. He had failed the sacred memory of his wife, letting another woman into his life and, even worse, into their marriage bed. And that, in turn, had placed Buddy in a jeopardy that Nelson could not have conceived in his wildest nightmares.
After Angela had died in that horrible accident, Nelson had found living alone to be too much for him. Sure, there was Buddy, but even he could not give Nelson the degree of love that Angela had. Female companionship, the need to be held in the arms of a woman, that was what Nelson yearned for. That was the missing piece to the teacher's shattered jigsaw life.
He had met Tanya Wright on campus. She was the secretary for one of his fellow English professors at the university. They had bumped into each other one day in the cafeteria and had lunch. Nelson had been instantly taken with Tanya's attentiveness, as well as her natural beauty. She seemed to dispense with the awkward and annoying sympathies that the other members of the faculty seemed to constantly barrage him with. She seemed to genuinely understand the depth of his loss and understand that the best way to heal the emotional wounds was to put the death of Angela in perspective and move on with life. Her attitude had been a breath of fresh air for Nelson. Disregarding the flack he might receive from dating a member of the staff, he asked her out and she readily accepted his invitation.
For a while, their relationship had developed normally. They spent time together when their schedules allowed. Nelson did his best to gain her love and trust, even though the pressures of being a widowed father sometimes put a strain on the process. When he could make arrangements, he and Tanya would spend a weekend together in the country or a night out on the town, taking in some of the better jazz clubs. But he never neglected Buddy for one moment. He always made sure of that.
At first, Nelson was disturbed by Buddy's indifferent attitude toward Tanya. He simply would not respond to the attention she gave him. She sincerely seemed to adore the little guy, but Buddy would have no part of her. He would shrink away at her very touch, leaving her discouraged and a little angry. "Give him time," Nelson had told her. "It's too soon after Angela's death. He'll warm up to you before long." And, with a bit of patience on her part, Tanya found that Buddy
began to do just that.
It wasn't long before Nelson decided the time was right and took his new lady to bed. Tanya was more adventurous in the ways oflovemaking than Angela had been. With Angela, the normal routine had been confined to hugging, kissing, and the tried and true missionary position. But Tanya was just the opposite. She was like some animal in heat, eager to try anything, anywhere. Nelson, however, was not quite ready for such diversity in his sex life. And he had Buddy to consider. Just thinking of doing such things made him feel ashamed and disloyal to the memory of the family that once was.
One evening, after Buddy had been tucked in for the night, Tanya had come over with a video tape in her hand. "Let's watch a movie," she had suggested. Nelson had figured a quiet night in front of the television would be a pleasant change of pace compared to the woman's insatiable -- and often bizarre -- sexual appetite. How very wrong he had been. After the opening moments of the tape, he knew that Tanya was working on him again, trying to melt his conservative inhibitions and liberate him to her way of thinking.
The tape was pornographic, and while Nelson was no virgin to such films -- he and his fraternity brothers had watched their share of stag movies during their beer bash days -- he was not at all comfortable watching them in his own home. Also, it wasn't the usual X-rated video either. The players in this film wore chains and black leather, sported whips and other devices Nelson wasn't familiar with, and relished the art of pleasure through pain.
He began to get up, but Tanya pushed him playfully back down on the game room couch. "Just relax, lover," she said. She glanced at the abuse taking place on the screen and licked her lips wickedly. Then her long fingers moved up his leg, along his thigh, and crept toward the fly of his trousers.
"Don't!" he snapped, recoiling from her. "You might wake up Buddy."
Tanya's eyes flashed with an emotion that made Nelson's skin crawl. "I don't mind an audience," she told him flatly.
Nelson had gotten up and turned off the television. He had ejected the tape and tossed it angrily to Tanya. "I just wanted us to have a little fun for a change," the woman had said with the first sampling of the smirk Nelson had come to loathe so much. Then she had left, sarcastically promising to behave herself next time.
After that, their relationship had continued, albeit on a rocky and uncertain course. Gradually, Nelson began to see Tanya's true nature. The compassionate woman he had grown so fond of turned out to be a selfish and cunning female of the most dangerous variety. Nelson began to feel more and more like some foolish fly that had become snagged in the web of a bloodsucking spider. Soon, he came to the uneasy realization that Tanya had been attracted to him only because of his vulnerability. She needed a lonely, desperate man, recently weakened by grief and misfortune, to use as her sexual pawn and seduce toward the dark passions she relished so.
Nelson noticed something else that disturbed him about Tanya; her occasional jealousy of Buddy. Once she had used the house key he had given her and walked into the house unannounced. She found Nelson playing with Buddy in the game room. Her eyes suddenly flared with seething emotion. "You care more about him than you do me!" she
had said. Nelson couldn't deny it. What did she expect? Buddy was a part of him; his own flesh and blood. Certainly he cared more for the little one than he did for this woman who had become a threat with her unstable appetite for perversity.
A few nights later, Tanya insisted on staying the night, despite Nelson's lame objections. He had been surprised when she emerged from the bathroom dressed, not in the Tennessee Titans football jersey she normally slept in, but in a shocking outfit of tight, black leather, fishnet stockings, and pumps with spiked heels so sharp that he was sure they could have drawn blood... and most likely had.
Bewildered, he had watched as she walked to the bed and set her overnight bag next to him. With a grin that Nelson could only describe as predatory, she reached into the bag and withdrew a frightening apparatus. It appeared to be a harness of some sort, black in color and adorned with silver buckles and tiny, barbed hooks.
"What is that for?" he had asked warily.
Her jet black lipstick glistened as she smiled. "It's for Buddy," she replied.
A wave of sick horror had washed across Nelson Trulane. So that was her game. He hadn't been her objective. It had been Buddy all along. He stared at her as if she were some foul beast of demonic origin, some sinister siren of pain and torture who had been cast from Hell for being a tad overzealous.
Before Nelson could stop himself, he was off the bed and upon her. He struck her savagely, not with an open hand, but with a clenched fist. He knocked Tanya across the room, so forceful was his blow. But she merely laughed and licked away the trickle of
blood that seeped from her lower lip.
She did not cower, did not even refrain from his rage. Instead, she started toward him. "Hit me again, Nelson. I love it when you hit me like that."
He almost did it. He almost gave into her request and beat the living crap out of her. But he caught himself in time. To react to her violently would be giving her exactly what she craved;perverse pleasure derived from physical pain. Nelson wouldn't be drawn into her sordid and sadistic world, however. He demanded that she leave the house and never set foot there again. And he assured her, in no uncertain terms, that their brief relationship had come to an end.
"We'll see about that," was all Tanya had said as she stuffed the barbed and buckled contraption into the overnight bag and made her exit, still dressed in the garb of a dominatrix.
A month had gone by without incident. Life returned to normal for him and Buddy. Nelson was sure that Tanya had forgotten about him and found herself another pathetic victim to torment. But he was unaware that he had made a horrible mistake. He had neglected to get his house key back from the woman.
Then, scarcely a week ago, the night of the seductress's wicked fury took place.
Nelson had fallen asleep watching TV, but he awoke abruptly when a weight on his chest forced him into groggy wakefulness. Tanya straddled his torso. She was dressed in the same leather costume she had sported the night he had banished her from his home.
He could not see her face; it was in dark silhouette against the pale glow of the television. But he could imagine her features -- skeletal and leering, twisted with an evil satisfaction at having caught him off guard. Then Nelson saw the object in her hand. It flickered like silver fire between her long, black-nailed fingers. He yelled out and raised his hands in defense, but the straight razor swept down furiously, slicing cleanly through the meat of his palms, then past his flailing arms toward his face. Nelson gasped as the blade bit into the flesh of his forehead, cheeks, and jaw. Blood spurted, filling his eyes and blinding him.
Nelson knew he must escape the cruel bite of the razor. He grabbed Tanya and tried to throw her off. But she clung firmly to his struggling body, her long legs entwined around his lower back, the spiked heels impaling him like angry spurs. She laughed insanely, her free hand reaching for the nightstand. Something hard and heavy smashed into his temple with devastating force, sending him sinking swiftly toward oblivion. He later realized that she had used the heavy glass ashtray to render him unconscious.
He had no idea how long he was lost in that velvet black void. He remembered waking up once to find himself tangled in agony and blood-soaked sheets, and recalled reaching for the phone and dialing 911. He had lapsed into darkness again, and awoke a second time, finding several paramedics standing over him, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.
There had been a policeman there, too, telling him that Tanya was gone.
And that she had taken little Buddy with her.
Two days after Nelson had delivered the ransom to Tanya beneath the park bandstand, a UPS truck pulled up outside his house. The driver -- a lanky acne-pocked fellow dressed in dark brown -- strolled up the front walk and rang the doorbell. Nelson was there, wrenching the door open before the man could press the button a second time.<
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There was a cardboard box tucked beneath his arm.
"I have a package for Nelson Trulane," he said.
"That's me," replied Nelson, his voice a harsh whisper.
Soon, the truck was roaring down the street and Nelson was left standing on the front porch, holding the box. Numbly, he stepped inside and closed the door, then walked slowly down the hallway to the kitchen.
He set the box on the wooden chopping block and stared at it for a long time. The shipping label had a return name and address, but the name -- Maria De Sade -- was obviously bogus, and a cruel joke as well. The handwriting was the same as that on the ransom note.
Nelson took a carving knife from the rack on the kitchen counter and held the thin blade poised over the box, afraid to do what he knew he must. Then he sliced into the packing tape, parting it with one stroke. As he laid the knife aside and opened the flaps of the box, the smell of decay snaked into his nostrils.
Inside the carton was a trash bag; the shiny black kind that you line your garbage can with. Whatever exuded the awful odor, was concealed in the inner folds of the bag. Again, he took the knife. With tears welling in his eyes, Nelson slit the black plastic from one end to the other.
He parted the trash bag. A cry of intense anguish rose from his throat, filling his mouth, then the air beyond. Soon, every room in the house rang with Nelson Trulane's horrified screams.
Tanya's razor had done a thorough job on little Buddy. Nelson recoiled at first, turning away from the sight of slashed and bloodless flesh. But, soon, his love for Buddy conquered his squeamishness and he reached into the box. Buddy's skin was cold to the touch. Nelson was certain that it had been that way for quite some time.
