The Ice House

by Ray Ouellette

  She watched Frank now as he slept and felt desire increasing in her, then got onto the bed and moved up against Frank softly so he wouldn't wake. She lay there a few moments, then slowly put her arm around him, so gently that he didn't awaken, then moved her face against the back of Frank's shoulders as he lay on his side. His breathing made her feel secure and comfortable and gave her the feeling that this was how it should be, would be forever. But Lynn wondered. Did he feel the same way about forever? He had never said anything substantial indicating that he might. Even during that evening at the rest area. And there were only jokes about how good-looking she was and about checking her out while she wasn't looking.

  He said that he thought there weren't really any women at the office who were all that bad looking. Maybe he would have taken along anyone, if they had expressed an interest in his experiences. She felt apprehensive about the thought, that when the trip ended so would their relationship, that Allison's expectations might prove too strong and that it would be easier for Frank to just go back to her. The possibility was too much for her and she slowly removed her arm from around him and edged to the side of the bed and got up. She was relieved that he hadn't awakened., but that desire was still there and for a moment she entertained the thought that she wanted to do it again, that she wanted him to awaken this time, put his arm around her, say this is what he wanted forever, that he wanted her forever. It had felt so nice. But she didn't do it. She changed her clothes and went to see Scott.

  CHAPTER 18

  Frank woke up as Lynn returned. “You were really tired. I just let you sleep. Hungry?”

  “Yeah, just let me wash and change. Where'd you go?”

  “I went to see Scott. I wanted to ask about your working with the staff of the Ice House and see what he thought of it.” Frank sat there in a just-after-waking-up daze. She continued, “He was outside cutting firewood with a chain saw. He seemed surprised. Said he thought it was a good idea and that he never heard of them doing anything bad to anyone.”

  Frank dragged himself up, washed and changed, and they left the room, to get something to eat. As they stood by the car, Frank became aware of a limousine pulling into the parking lot. It stopped behind them, the doors opened, someone got out and walked toward them. The image Frank saw made him shiver but he had no idea why. It was just a white-haired lady compellingly attractive despite her advanced years, looking at him intently. But the shiver shot up his spine just as if she had been pointing a gun between his eyes.

  She locked gazes for a moment, then said, “Law? Is it you?”

  Frank answered 'No' by moving his head side to side in lieu of the word he couldn't say. He shrugged, still stalling the conversation. He started to sweat. Her face was the face of someone he had never met, He knew that for certain. But it was also the face of someone he knew well. He felt that. A deja vu feeling. Not the classic deja vu in which a person, new to a town, finds that they know every street. Instead of -streets, this was a face which he knew every feature of.”You have a...do you have a small birthmark on the back of your neck?” he said.

  It was then that she seemed to experience what Frank had experienced a moment before. She didn't speak but turned and brushed her hair aside to reveal a reddish area about an inch in size

  Frank added, “And do you have a--”... She interrupted Frank. “Her voice trembled as she said, “It is you then. My God you're...” She stopped herself, turned and walked back to her limousine. She stopped. “I'm sorry to have bothered you. I believe I must be dementing. My mind has cleared now. I was mistaken. Please forgive me.” She got back into her limousine and left.

  They watched the vehicle drive off. Frank's face was about one shade away from giving chalk a run for its money. He turned to Lynn. “Now I think I know how people feel when they've seen a ghost.”

  “Who was she?”

  “I don't know but I think I can guess. She called me Law. Lawrence? Lawrence Lowell?”

  “Mrs. Lowell?”

  “She's about the right age I'd say.” Frank confirmed.

  “And about the right financial status”' said Lynn.

  “The scientist at the Ice House must have told her about me. That must have been the phone call he had to make. Yeah.”

  “It looks like they believed your story.”

  “I believe it myself now. I mean that, for the first time I believe all this is real. Am I reincarnated from her husband? I knew her, Lynn...things about her, but I've never seen her before.” Frank's legs felt weak. He was holding onto the base of the car's antenna to steady himself.

  They started back to the room. “I don't think I feel hungry anymore,” said Frank. “You want to go and get something yourself I'll maybe just go order something later to take out from the motel restaurant.

  “I'll stay with you,” she said.

  The experience had drained him mentally and he lay down on the bed, , going over in his mind what had happened, then he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Lynn lay down next to him snuggling in.

  Whatever it is that schedules such things had decided that it was time for Lynn to have another peek at her past. The inside of a room or suite of rooms was the setting, the time indefinite but probably 1960s she thought. Lynn didn't know where she was but the dream let her know who she was.

  Her image in a mirror gave her a chance to examine her clothing. She had on a bold patterned 'Op Art' shirt which fooled the eye into thinking that the pattern, which was made up of different sized squares of black and white bulged out excessively at the breasts, which was where the biggest squares were. A white mini skirt terminating well above mid thigh and black fish net stockings completed her outfit. Her hair was blond, frosted white and was shoulder length, with bangs and her lipstick was pink. Oversize white globular earrings accentuated her clear, pale, but flawless complexion. She didn't remember where she was but looking in the mirror she knew what she was.

  She heard activity in another room. “Be right there,” a voice said.

  She looked around and explored the room while waiting. A large braided carpet at least twelve feet around dominated the area in front of a huge fireplace. Lynn, or the woman she was in the dream, kicked off her platform shoes onto the carpet and felt the warmth of the fireplace on her feet.

  She got the impression that she was in some sort of underground room. The fact that there were no windows seemed to confirm this until she heard a rustling sound, trees, a breeze. This was a room above ground. But no windows. Weird, she thought. If only she had not passed out prior to being taken here. She remembered that, but also knew that she had never, ever, passed out before in her life. Got to remember more she thought. Who's voice had she heard from the next room?

  The stereo dropped another LP into place. Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass played, “This Guy's in Love With You”, the volume was low.

  Lynn knew her name in this dream was Candy, the name she liked to be called by anyway. She watched as the man she was about to service entered.

  “Sangria?” He offered her a glass of wine which she accepted. Lynn suddenly found herself no longer in the body of Candy. She was still in the dream, but now Lynn,was a third party who could do nothing to warn Candy when she saw that the man was Lawrence Lowell. Lynn had an overwhelming feeling of impending doom and wanted to yell for Candy to drop the drink and run out of the house. But Lynn noticed now that there was no door. Maybe there's one in that other room. Run Candy! Lynn tried to yell but no sound came out.

  Instead, Candy took a drink. Lowell smiled, then said, “Ah...I'm a little uncomfortable asking this, but do you mind if I...film this?”

  “It's going to cost a lot more if you want to film it to show over again. That's like getting a second time and more for free...Five thousand if you want to film it.” she said, avoiding his eyes.

  “Okay,” he agreed as he left to get his camera. He returned and set up a sound 16mm home movie camera on a tripod, aimed toward the carpeted area but off to the side of the fireplace
to avoid the overexposing glare from the fire.

  “Would you kneel on the carpet so that I can try the focus?”

  “You kneel and I'll try the focus,” she said in a bored tone but moved onto the carpet anyway, kneeled and extended her arms out to her side as if to say, here I am, I'm ready. Roll em.”

  Lawrence Lowell said nothing, but turned on the two glaring floodlights mounted above the camera, giving the impression of a fiery-eyed alien hovering in space in front of her. Then he turned on the camera, checked the focus and also the sound level by saying, “Testing...1...2...3.”

  Candy felt drowsy but before drawing the connection she put her glass to her lips again and downed the last of the wine.

  “Strong stuff!” she said, losing her balance, toppling over onto her rear. She sat there as her strength and consciousness faded. Lawrence Lowell came over, reached behind a piece of furniture and took out some rope. He tied her hand to a chair leg. Candy tugged on it but realized the chair was fastened permanently to the floor. In a moment of lucidity, Candy said, “More...this is going to cost much more. I don't dig kinky stuff...unless I'm doing it.”

  Lowell tied her other hand to another chair on the other side of the carpet. She tugged again but this piece of furniture was also permanently fastened to the floor. Lowell stood up, stepped back, checked the focus again to make sure he didn't miss anything. He came over to her and tied her feet to eye bolts that he uncovered from under the edge of the huge carpet. The drug had weakened Candy but she tried again to free herself. Lowell came over and bent down. He put his face near hers and she figured he was about to kiss her. Instead he straightened back up and slapped her hard across the face. The slap brought her back to full consciousness and she knew she was in trouble. Lowell went over to a desk and came back with a pair of scissors. He cut her clothes off, slowly to instill the maximum amount of fear in her. He stepped back behind the camera and checked everything again. He went over to the desk again and got a cigarette, lit it, then came over to Candy and kneeled down beside her. He took a few strong puffs of the cigarette to get it going real hot, held it out in front of him to get a good look at it and seeing that it was glowing red hot he moved it closer to Candy to terrify her.

  “Wait a minute,” she pleaded. “This is too much. You won't get away with this. I'll sue. I'll press charges. I don't care if I get charged with prostitution, you'll get charged with a lot--”

  Lowell interrupted her. “You won't be pressing any charges.

  The realization of what was going to happen to her filled her with panic. She screamed. The wind through the trees howled now preventing even the slightest sound from being heard outside of the house. Candy knew this and knew her screams wouldn't be heard but the terror she felt made her continue. Each scream drained her more and more along with the sapping effect of the drug.

  Lowell touched the cigarette to the inside of Candy's thigh and she writhed in pain. He touched it to her breast and she shrieked in agony. Lowell stood and loosened his belt and let his pants drop to the floor. Candy stared up at his erection.

  She couldn't do anything, but still had hope that this was just a part of his routine, what he had to do to get himself turned on and she hoped that she was still going to get out of this, that when he had satisfied himself, he would let her go and that would be the end of it. She'd be on her way back to the city. But she would sue and press charges she re-confirmed to herself. She told herself that she'd be more careful next time. Lynn, watching as a third person in the room was helpless. She knew what was coming but couldn't do anything. Her voice couldn't be heard. She knew that, from having tried before to warn Candy. Lynn tried to touch something but her hand went right through it. All she could do was watch and hope that this was not going to turn out the way she feared it would.

  Lowell kneeled down between her legs and grabbed her pubic hair, lifting her by it, and holding her steady to make his entrance into her even more humiliating. She screamed as some hairs were torn out by the roots. He gave her a look of disdain.

  Then he lay on top of her and thrusted. He put his hands around her neck as he built toward orgasm. The seminal fluid went into her as the life was choked out of her and she lay there motionless. Lowell sat up, withdrew from her and wiped his penis on her destroyed clothes, then tossed the clothes down on her.

  Lynn watched the dream as an invisible bystander, a helpless observer. Even though she knew it would be useless, she went over to help Candy. She kneeled down and touched Candy, but her hand went right through Candy's face. She recoiled, stood up and found herself looking right into Lowell's mirror. The face that she saw now was that of her cousin Karen. The image in the mirror was trying to talk but no sound came out of her mouth. Lynn touched her own face but the hand didn't appear in the mirror, just the image of Karen who was mouthing some words. Lynn could tell now somehow what was being said. She saw Karen mouthing the words, 'It's okay. We'll be together again someday,' then the image disappeared., replaced by mist which resolved again into Lynn's image. She saw a tear start on its way down from her eye then felt her self being shaken from behind.

  Still drowsy, she opened her eyes and turned to see Frank anxiously staring at her. The line between dream and reality were so blurred that for a moment she wasn't sure who she was or where she was or who she was with.

  “Are you okay?”

  Lynn knew now that it was Frank. “A dream,” she said. “This time it was horrible!”

  “About you and me, you mean?”

  “About a past life again I think but it wasn't you. Lawrence Lowell was in it and I was a...call girl. Lawrence Lowell murdered her. I mean it was me. I was that girl but I was also later just watching. He murdered her and filmed it.” Frank winced. Lynn continued, “I had the feeling he was making money from it.”

  “Why would he need to make money from something like that? Was it in his early years. Is that how he got his money to get started, by making snuff films?”

  “It was in the sixties. I could tell. He was already a billionaire by then. We know that. Maybe he did get his early money that way and enjoyed it so much that he kept on doing it.”

  “A psychopath?” Frank suggested.

  “An incredibly evil person...but with billions. What a frightening possibility.”

  “And they want to bring him back to life! Can you imagine if your dream is accurate...real?”

  Frank held Lynn tightly for a while, then he joked to cheer her up. “I think the lounge is open now. A drink or two?”

  Lynn nodded. They got up to go to the motel's lounge to talk, calm down and discuss the dream further.

  Frank ordered two drinks from the waitress, thought for a moment about Lynn's dream and about what kind of mind Lawrence Lowell must have had if what Lynn dreamed really happened. “Do you believe in people being born evil?”he said, “with that evil being as natural a way of behavior as sucking your thumb?

  “They'd no doubt call a child like that possessed.” Lynn suggested.

  “Yeah, but I mean a guy like Lawrence Lowell. Rich, but he commits sex crimes anyway, if your dream is accurate. He could have bought anything to entertain himself and pay anyone to do anything, but he chose to go the final step because he enjoyed murder. That's got to be innate evil.”

  Lynn offered a single slow nod. She had gotten a glimpse of herself as a victim of Lawrence Lowell and experienced the evil first hand. She drew a long sigh, then said, “I experienced something like that kind of evil once in this life too.”

  Frank listened, waiting to hear how something could possibly even approach the evil that Lynn had experienced in her dream.

  Lynn continued. “When I was a child, in fifth grade, there was a boy in my class and he took pleasure in tormenting the teacher. It wasn't the usual spit balls or making faces behind her back. What he did was nothing that she could do much about. There were outright trouble makers in the class, and they got sent to the office. But his cruelty was mental cruelty and he wa
s good at it because he was smart, smarter than even the teacher.” Lynn nodded and said, “Yeah, he was. I remember one day particularly. I was after school for not doing my homework and he was kept after for talking, for making comments to himself, not for anybody's benefit but his own.”

  Lynn leaned forward on her elbows and continued. “I guess he enjoyed the sound of his own voice, even when the teacher was talking. Anyway he was standing at the blackboard staring at it as the teacher left the room for something. He had orders to write 100 times, 'I will not talk out of turn.' The look of hatred he had on his face was replaced by a look of inspiration. Instead of 100 lines neatly arranged from left to right, from top to bottom of the boards in erasable marker or whatever it was, maybe some of the last remaining chalk boards. I don't remember. Anyway instead of the neat rows that were expected, he had begun in the upper left hand corner and wrote his lines in increasingly tighter spirals, the words getting smaller as the spirals drew closer to the center. Finally each letter appeared as a dot and even they appeared to get smaller as the spiral drew in upon the center.

  The teacher returned and stared at the board, then said, “What's this? An easy way out? She pointed to the center of the spiral and said, “These last twenty or so are so small that they're just dots.”

  The boy looked at her and his eyes were filled with derision and he said something like, “You could read them if you use a magnifying glass.”

  I could tell that she wanted to slap him so hard he would disappear into the spiral he had just made but she also knew that she'd lose her job and anyway it was too late, so she just said to him, “Leave! Now!” and she had a look of dread in her expression as she probably thought about tomorrow.

  She watched the boy walk out, then went to the window and saw the boy get into a large black car that had just pulled up with windows that were darkened by some kind of window tinting. She must have expected to see some Gothic coach pulled by six black horses driven by a skeletal coachman take the boy home where he would spend the night in a coffin to build himself up for another day of doing battle with her.