Bumstead's Well

by R E Swirsky

  Chris didn't like it that she remembered it all so clearly. It seemed like she remembered it better than him, and he was there through it all.

  “They also dug up a few feet around the outside of the well where we backfilled our work,” Chris responded.

  Anita frowned at him.

  “They never found anything,” he boasted triumphantly.

  “You are so much more like your father than you know. I don’t know how or why, but you both manage to always find a way to not let the manure stick to either of you.”

  Chris chuckled at her perception.

  “Not even a smell. That day was a lucky day for both of you.”

  “Maybe so. They found nothing and that was good enough for me. I’ve always wished I’d never taken the chance out at Bumstead’s property.” He hesitated and stared off to the west. “If I had, none of this would have ever happened.”

  Anita released a heavy sigh. ”Everyone suspected you were a part of it."

  “What? The disappearances?”

  She shook her head. “Of course the disappearances. What else would I be talking about?”

  Chris looked down at his lap. "Suspected," he said sternly. "They never could link any of us to any crime. And I didn’t set those fires."

  "I didn’t say you did."

  Chris grunted. "I thought you didn't believe me."

  "I always believed you. I believed every word you ever told me about what happened. You were good that way. You always told me everything. That's why I know there is nothing at the bottom of that well."

  Chris put his arm across Anita's back and gently squeezed her shoulder. Somewhere over the years that had changed. He couldn't even recall when he stopped telling her the truth about everything.

  "But what if they do start digging out there, Chris?"

  "They won't start digging," he said.

  "How do you know, Chris? How do you know?"

  "Why would they? Who in this town even remembers what happened back then?"

  Anita grabbed Chris' arm. "I just don't want this to start all over again. I don't know why you always had to listen to him. I still get angry when I think about how you cow towed to him."

  "He was a bastard all right. He always got his way. Always."

  "Because of the three of you. He got his way because you and your two brothers always did what he said."

  "And now you have all of this because of it." He opened his arms up wide to envelope the entire house and three acre property. "His businesses would not have grown like they did, and we wouldn't have inherited it all, if we hadn’t done what we did. Bumstead went down and out of business after it all ended."

  "What you did," she said, emphasizing the word you. "And his money, business, and property don't make your actions right. It never did. You always had to do whatever he asked. You just couldn't say no."

  "I was his youngest, and I followed the others. But it wasn't just us, Anita. He had other heavy hands do most of his dirty work. The fires..."

  "Well I bet your brothers are looking down on you right now with shame."

  "Maybe they are. My brothers didn’t have anything to do with what happened out at that well. I admitted that to you immediately. They had their own instructions to follow. We only did what we had to do when dad couldn't trust the others. He didn't ask of us very often, but we always did what he asked when he asked, no matter how wrong it seemed at the time."

  Anita turned away and looked back into the house. No one was around. She turned back to Chris and whispered her next words sharply. "But it was only you who ever murdered for him."

  Chris winced at her words like he was slugged in his gut. She spoke the reality that separated him from his brothers. It was probably why he was his father’s favourite. It was probably also why he ended up running all of the family businesses and received the family estate in his father's will.

  Anita remembered all of the memories she and Chris shared for the past five decades, but she most vividly remembered the details of the most horrible event of his life. There were times now when she couldn't remember who she was even speaking to, but she could easily remember the vivid details of a five-decades-old horror. Her dementia was a cruel and torturous enemy.

  CHAPTER 43 Day Six - Wednesday 1:43 PM

  "Okay, okay. I'll take you over there right now," Chris responded to Vincent who sat squirming next to Anna in the back seat.

  The memorial service for Roger ended, and Vincent was highly unsettled. He was hoping to run into Aaron’s mother at the service, but she was nowhere to be found. As the crowd dispersed, Vincent wasn’t ready to go home just yet. Aaron’s mother deserved some kind of an explanation and he pestered his Gramps to take him over to see her straight away. He persevered against his Gramps’ counter arguments that it was improper to just drop in unannounced.

  "He lives over at the Lido Motel."

  "Motel?" his Grams asked.

  "Aaron just moved here a few months ago, Grams. His mom is still looking for a place for them to rent." He paused. "I meant lived. He lived over at the motel with his mom, until..."

  "We know what you mean, dear." His Grams reached into the back seat where Vincent sat and placed her hand on his arm. "You're sure you're okay to do this right now?"

  He nodded. "I'm fine. Really."

  In a few minutes, they were parked in front of the scruffy motel. Vincent pointed up towards the many faded doors facing the road. "It's the one on the end. That's Aaron’s... I mean, was Aaron's."

  The Lido Motel sat on the corner of 8th Ave and Waterton Road. Behind the hotel were the multiple rows of neglected, low-rent townhouses that gave this area the name "townhouse row".

  Vincent stepped out of the car and stared up at the black numbers posted on the door of unit 124. The curtains were drawn tight and the poorly kept property looked as dreary and depressing as he currently felt. He walked up to the door and wondered if maybe his Gramps was right about dropping in unexpectedly. He rapped his knuckles softly on the door and listened. It was eerily quiet in the neighbourhood. He knocked again a bit louder and glanced back at the car where Anna, Grams, and Gramps sat with their necks cranked backwards as they stared up through the rear window at him. He shrugged at them and knocked again.

  Gramps watched him for a moment before he hobbled out of the car and up alongside Vincent.

  Vincent tilted his ear towards the door. He was sure he could hear shuffling on the other side.

  "I think it's best we go, Vincent," his Gramps urged. "Come. There's no one here. Let’s leave this for another day.”

  "Shhh. I think she is in there."

  He pounded hard on the door with his fist. "Mrs. Hockley, it's me Vincent. Aaron's friend."

  He listened and then pounded the door again. He could definitely hear shuffling inside.

  "Mrs. Hockley, it's Vincent. Are you in there?"

  The lock on the door rattled from the other side and the door opened a few inches. A single, bloodshot eyeball popped into view and looked sporadically around at Vincent and his Gramps. "Who's the old guy?"

  "He's my Gramps, Mrs. Hockley."

  "Hmph. What do you want?"

  "I just wanted to speak to you for a sec. About Aaron. You don't mind, do you?"

  The door opened just wide enough for Vincent to pass through into the darkness. Gramps remained on the stoop. "I'll be in the car," he said.

  The room was dark and dank. Little light slipped in through the drawn front drapes. He scanned the room quickly and could see by the disheveled state of the large room that Aaron's mom was swirling about in a very pitiable state.

  "Well? So what exactly do you want?" she asked brusquely. She closed the door behind Vincent and brushed past him into the centre of the room.

  Vincent suddenly wished he hadn't come. He looked across at her and opened his mouth to speak but all of the words that he had collected and prepared in his mind on the trip over had vanished. He looked around again. Empty liquor and pop bottl
es were scattered about on the sideboard and floor, and empty take-out boxes were piled high in the overflowing trash bin. Clothes were scattered on the carpet and draped over nearly every piece of furniture.

  Aaron's mother bore very little resemblance to the orderly and controlled woman he remembered.

  "I um... I just had to come see you. To say..."

  She cut him off. "To say what? To say that you're sorry?"

  "No, no," he stammered. "But, maybe…”

  He hesitated and the vision of Aaron and Roger staring down him from the top of the well slipped into his memory. “Actually, yes,” he said. “Roger's funeral was today. I thought you..." He couldn’t finish the sentence. He felt uneasy as she leered at him with her messy hair and ghostly, cosmetic-free face, and he barely recognized her.

  "I liked Aaron a lot,” he said. “He was a good friend."

  "Bah!" she scoffed. "He was no good! That boy never was. I tried to keep him on the straight, but he battled me all the way. Skipping school all the time, drinking, and doing drugs. He was a bad kid."

  "He was good to me." Vincent countered. "Both he and Roger were good friends to me."

  She brushed her uncombed, scraggly hair away from her eyes and glared at him. "You're better off without the likes of him. You just don't know it." She turned away, dropped herself onto the couch, and poured what looked like rum or whiskey into one of many dirty glasses that rested on the cluttered coffee table.

  Vincent couldn't believe she thought that lowly of her son. He felt like he was slapped across the face by her words.

  "I was wondering when his funeral was. I'd like to be there."

  Aaron's mother ignored his words. "I gave up my whole life to raise that miserable crumb. Just look how he turned out," she said as if Aaron's frailties were obvious. "He even got a girl pregnant up in GP."

  Vincent nodded. "I know. He told me."

  She frowned. "He told you?"

  "He wanted to go back to see her. To do the right thing."

  She broke into a pitiless laugh. "Aaron choosing to do the right thing..." She pointed at him limply. "Now that really would have been a first." She lifted her glass and slurped at the drink. "You really didn't know that boy at all."

  Vincent shuffled his feet. He wanted to end the conversation, but words failed him. "I think I knew him," was all he could offer.

  "And you suppose he was thinking of you when he took off with your truck heading out of town? Huh? You think he gave a Goddamned shit about you sitting down there in the bottom that well?"

  Vincent shrugged.

  She shook her finger at him. "You should think on that one for a while." She topped up the glass of liquor. "What did you really come over here for?"

  "I just thought it was the right thing to do."

  She set the liquor bottle down slowly and glared at him. "That's it? That's all you got? The right thing to do?"

  "Why are you so angry at him?" Vincent questioned innocently.

  She jumped quickly to her feet and screamed at him. "Get out!"

  “What?"

  "I said get the hell out of here! I don't need no pushy little cock like you coming in here telling me I'm angry! I'm not angry!" she shouted.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

  "Just get the hell out of here! Now!" She picked up her liquor glass from the small table and threw it across the room at Vincent. The glass smashed against the front door, splattering liquor across his face, and shirt as he recoiled to avoid being hit. He pulled open the door and dashed across the parking lot to the car. He jumped inside and slammed the door shut.

  "So how did it go in there?" his Gramps asked not noticing Vincent's dash out from the hotel.

  Vincent sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. "Just go, Gramps," he said.

  CHAPTER 44 Day Six - Wednesday 2:22 PM

  Shortly after arriving home, Anita fell victim to the dementia and was once again asking Arlene about her flight. Vincent had already shuffled Anna off somewhere, and Chris and Anita were left alone with Arlene.

  "It was great, mom. I haven't been on an airplane in years."

  Chris frowned as he watched Arlene engage her mother. Arlene giggled and it almost seemed as if she thought the return of his wife’s dementia was funny.

  "And so you're living in Vancouver now," Anita repeated to Arlene. She turned to Chris. "Did you hear, Chris? Arlene's living in Vancouver now."

  Chris nodded. "I know. She's been living out there for a few years. I told you that before."

  "You did? Oh I'm so sorry, Arlene. It's this darn memory of mine again. I sometimes forget things. Dementia is what the doctors say it is. It gets worse at times, but I am getting along with it. How long have you been out there?"

  "Not long actually," Arlene replied. She looked at Chris.

  Chris didn't like what she was doing and responded immediately. “Oh, for Christ's sake, Arlene. She's been out there nearly ten years, Anita."

  "Oh my. Ten years? That long?"

  "You don't need to lie to her. Just because she doesn't remember everything all of the time doesn't mean she's a nincompoop. Tell her the Goddamned truth when she asks you something. She's got dementia, not porridge in her brain."

  "Oh, Chris!" Anita exclaimed. She laughed heartily at his outburst. "Sometimes it seems like only porridge up here." She tapped her skull and continued to laugh.

  "I just thought that I was making it easier on her if she didn't remember,” Arlene said.

  "Good God! That's the last way to talk to a person with dementia. Be honest and tell the truth. If you said it to her yesterday, then say it again today."

  Arlene turned beet red.

  "It's okay, Arlene," Anita said. Laughter was still present in her voice. "If you need to say it again because I've forgotten then just say it again. Chris does it all the time." She smiled as if she was just happy to be in conversation. "So tell me. What is it you've been doing in Vancouver for these past ten years?"

  Arlene looked up at Chris with her eyes wide as if to ask him how she was supposed to respond to this one, but Chris looked away and let her make this decision on her own.

  "I've been just getting by, mom. I have not been doing too much of anything."

  Chris held his tongue. He knew exactly what she was doing in Vancouver. He knew how she turned tricks under the name "Candy Q." This version of making a living certainly wasn't something that Anita would approve of. Joey Klondike returned to his thoughts again and he pushed it away. Arlene hadn’t even mentioned a single word about this new guy she recently set up house with, and though the thought bothered him, he wasn’t about to let it grow roots. He had enough on his mind without thinking about Joey Klondike.

  "Oh that's nice," Anita replied. "Sometimes it is best to not stress over things and to just take them as they come. I try not to stress about things. I'm not sure if I told you, but my doctors said I have this dementia up here." She tapped her head like before. "I sometimes forget things and have to be told over and over again. It's funny that I don't see it that way at all. Chris tells me it's true. Isn't it Chris? I do forget things sometimes."

  Chris chuckled briefly. "There are some things you still remember very clearly that I wish you would have forgotten a long time ago."

  The words had barely left his lips when he knew he shouldn’t have said it, but it was too late. Anita's cheery mood faded, and she stared at him quietly. He knew exactly what was going through her mind.

  "I didn't mean about that," he said to backtrack.

  "About what?" Arlene asked. "Did I just miss something?"

  "It's nothing," Chris replied. He could see he had made Anita very uncomfortable and that was the exact opposite of his intention. "Arlene, can you go put on the kettle, please? I think it's time for your mother's tea." He looked at Anita, and she still looked distressed. "The biscuits are in the upper cupboard on the left."

  After Arlene left the room, Chris sat on the couch next to Anita. "I didn't mean th
at," he said.

  "I know you didn't, Chris. I know. But what are we going to do about it?"

  He pulled her head over so it rested on his shoulder. "Now, you just hush."

  "But the well. What about that well?"

  "Shhh. We are not talking about that anymore today."

  Anita leaned on Chris' shoulder as he pondered what, if anything, to do about the well. The tea came, and Chris excused himself saying he had some things to attend to in his study. He picked up his tea and retreated into his private room at the back of the house.

  CHAPTER 45 Day Six - Wednesday 2:43 PM

  Being anywhere near his mom still exasperated Vincent, so upon arriving home after Roger’s funeral and the humiliating visit with Aaron’s mother, he immediately shuffled Anna upstairs where the two of them could be alone. Aaron's mother upset him terribly, and he felt better about confiding the horrible experience in Anna and only Anna. He was hurt deeply and Anna's ability to listen without judgement was a blessing he had never expected.

  When the two came back downstairs, Vincent sensed immediately that something was off again in the family room. His Gramps raised his voice at Arlene. He grabbed Anna by the hand and they slipped quietly outside unnoticed.

  "I'm really looking forward to getting away from this place," he said. He scanned the large property. "This whole town is filled with poison,” he said.

  "I thought you liked it here."

  Vincent sighed and continued to wander away from the house towards the trees on the far west side of the property. Anna followed behind him a few steps.

  "Vincent? Has something else happened?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

  He stopped to let her catch up.

  "No, nothing's happened, but things aren't okay. Not anymore at least. When I arrived back here at the beginning of summer I was so happy to see Gram and Gramps again. I mean..."

  He stared off into the trees and choked on welling tears. He thought about Aaron and the way his mother thought of him. It seemed like Aaron had died twice. The second death hurt even more than the first when Aaron's mother snuffed out what benevolence remained within the memories Vincent held of his friend. He would never think of Aaron the same without hearing Aaron's mother's callous disparagement of her own son.