SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  Paulo pulled his hand away from her. “It's kind of cold out here. Can we go inside?"

  "Certainly,” Francis said. “Right this way."

  Her house was darkened by drapery and smelled of staleness. No air circulated through her house to clear out what Paulo called “Old Lady Smell.” Rita engaged in idle chatter with Francis and Sophie as they moved to a sitting room. Behind their mothers, Bruce fell back and walked with Paulo in silence.

  Francis had immediately seen qualities Bruce possessed, but only huffed at Paulo. What did she see? Paulo's eyes followed the old woman as she moved through the dark, small house. No one could contact the dead; it was stupid.

  "Please sit.” Francis took her seat at the head of a large round table. “The spirits are very energetic today."

  "Lucky us,” Paulo said sarcastically.

  Francis turned and paused. “You come sit by me."

  Paulo glanced around and was mildly shocked when he realized she meant him. “Don't you mean my mom?"

  "No, Tina was your wife. You are our link to her. Come sit by me, boy."

  Reluctantly, he did as he was told, and the others took their seats around the table. Rita sat directly across from her son with Bruce and Sophie on each hand. Next to Paulo was Aunt Sophie. Francis reached for his hand. It was as if a hot claw had seized him, and for a moment he was frightened.

  "Everyone join hands,” Francis ordered quietly.

  Candles danced about the darkened parlor, and eerie shadows climbed the walls. Upon Francis’ old face, the wrinkles took on deep relief as light caught in each fold. Paulo watched the old woman nervously.

  "Now silence as I make contact.” Francis exhaled and the candle flames bobbed as the air rushed past. “Paulo, you will need to help me on this. Call to Tina."

  Paulo could feel the redness in his cheeks, but no one could see him blushing in the dim light. The fragrance of the candles tickled his nose, and he wanted to sneeze. He didn't know if he could say her name aloud. It had been so long. She wouldn't want to hear him anyway, not after what had happened before the flight.

  "Call to her, say her name,” Francis whispered again.

  "Tina,” he stated in a warbling, scratchy voice. He cleared his throat. “Tina it's me."

  They waited for an answer.

  "Say it again,” Francis prompted.

  "Tina, it's me. Can you hear us? We want to talk to you."

  Francis squeezed his hand, mumbled something inaudible, and let her head loll forward. Paulo felt her grip loosen.

  "Is she okay?” Bruce asked.

  "She's making contact,” Rita replied. “This is how she did it with Richie."

  Francis slowly lifted her chin as if her head weighed a ton. A few mumbles escaped her lips, but no one could understand what she was saying.

  "Tina?” Paulo asked.

  "Paulo?” A clear, young feminine voice came from within the old medium. “I can't believe it's you."

  Swallowing hard, Paulo began to sweat. It sounded like Tina. How could this be true? He didn't believe at all in this shit. Anyway, Tina's last words were she never wanted to see or hear him again. It couldn't be his dead wife; there was no way in hell.

  "You son of a bitch!” Francis yelled as her eyes rolled back in her head. “I told you I never wanted to see your stupid face again! You ass wipe!"

  "Whoa!” Rita shouted. “My little Tina would never speak that way. What's going on?"

  Francis grumbled and spit onto the table. “That's what I think of you, Paulo. You cheated on me with Doris DiMucchio. I said I was leaving, and that's what I did. God, can't you let me go?"

  "You cheated on her?” Rita was shocked. “You cheated on Tina? Oh, my heart is breaking."

  "Mama, it's not true.” Paulo tried to pull his hand away from Francis, but the grip was too tight. Bruce and Sophie also stared on in disbelief. “I didn't cheat on Tina. We were going to get a divorce anyway!"

  "Oh my!” Rita began to cry. “Why not just stab me now? Or run over me with a truck?"

  "This is crazy!” Paulo tried to stand, but Francis was possessed of supernatural strength. “It's all bullshit. This is fake."

  "Do you want me to prove how fake it is?” Francis sneered with Tina's tortured voice.

  Suddenly, Francis’ head fell to her chest. Fits of heavy coughing shook her body, her shoulders convulsed, and liquid gurgled in her throat. The whole family looked on in shock as seawater poured from the old woman's mouth and nose, soaking her dress. Gallons of water rushed forth, smelling of rotted fish and time. Her grip finally loosened, and Paulo pulled his hand away.

  "Someone call 9-1-1. I think she's having some kind of attack.” Paulo scooped the old woman into his arms just as she began to collapse.

  Gently, he hauled her up onto the table to see if she was still breathing. Water gushed from her mouth, drenching the table and all the guests. A long tangle of seaweed purged onto the table, swamping and extinguishing the candles.

  "Turn on the lights, Bruce,” Paulo ordered.

  Bruce left the table and groped the walls by the door until he tripped the lights. Sophie also sprang into action and reached for the now visible telephone. Francis was sprawled out the table, water still oozing from her mouth.

  "Oh my God, what's happening?” Rita was in a panic.

  "She's choking,” Paulo stated as he shoved two fingers into her mouth and cleared it of water and weed.

  In the commotion, he heard Sophie on the phone with the operator giving instructions and explaining what was going on. Bruce had returned to the table and was helping Paulo revive the unconscious old woman. Her chest was silent. No breath entered nor exited.

  "We're going to have to do CPR,” Paulo said. “Bruce, check her mouth again to see if her airway is clear."

  Digging into her mouth, Bruce swept from one side of her mouth to the other. His finger impacted upon something, and he quickly pulled it out. It was a ring.

  Just as the ring was removed, the water stopped flowing from Francis and she took several gasps of air. She spewed water from her lungs, coughing and gagging while trying to sit up.

  "The ambulance is on its way.” Sophie came back to the table. “You revived her, Paulo."

  "She started breathing on her own,” he confessed. “Where did all this water come from?"

  Rita was comforting Francis who was gradually regaining her strength. “Honey, you okay?"

  Francis’ voice had returned to its ancient timbre. “I will be all right. I need to rest.” She reached for Paulo. “Help me down into my chair."

  "The ambulance is on its way,” Sophie interjected while Rita and Paulo helped the old woman.

  "No need for that, I will be all right."

  "You're sure?” Paulo asked.

  "I don't need one, but your friend may.” She laughed and pointed at Bruce who'd lost all the color in his face.

  Paulo rushed to him. “What's wrong?"

  His cousin could barely speak, “...this.... this was.... “He couldn't finish the thought and simply held out his hand.

  Resting within was the ring he'd pulled out of Francis’ mouth. It was gold, intricately worked with many small diamonds and one large solitaire perched in the center.

  "Tina's wedding ring.... “Paulo snatched it and inspected it.

  "I made this for her, remember?” Bruce licked his dry lips.

  Francis settled into her chair, a smile of satisfaction crossed her face. “She said she's done with you now."

  "Tina?” Paulo asked rhetorically.

  "Yes, and one last thing...” Francis suddenly struck him across the face with a loud, stinging slap. “That's for being such an ass wipe."

  Legal Tender

  "I must admit, this is the most unusual place I've ever taken a deposition."

  Grace London's black high heels clicked on the tile as the attendant led her deeper into the high security wards of Eloise State Mental Forensics Facility. She followed closely behind what she ass
umed was a mental health professional for the young man wore a picture badge and was dressed in hospital whites. He didn't look much different than the patients she'd seen, though.

  Grace was self-conscious about her attire the minute she pulled into the parking lot. Her smart black suit and upswept hair surely put her out of place among the guards, nurses, doctors, and inmates. All eyes were on her. Smiling nervously as she passed others, Grace clutched her briefcase tightly in her manicured hands.

  "Here we are,” the attendant said as he opened a conference room door for her. “I think Mr. Powder's lawyer is here already. The court reporter is here, too. The guards are just outside, and the entire room is being watched on closed-circuit television. Ever since he's been on medication, though, Mr. Powder has been quite manageable."

  "Thank you very much.” She went inside and looked at the equally well-dressed lawyer sitting at a meeting table with Louis Powder, his client and her enemy.

  Powder's hair was wild and wiry. It stuck up all over the place, and he had several tattoos on his face and hands. Below his left eye was a spider that looked as if it was crawling from the socket, and a blue tear was on the other cheek. His forehead was clearly marked with a “666” tattoo.

  Even after reading the briefs and going to all the preliminary hearings, Grace wasn't prepared for the dark charisma of Powder. He sat next to his lawyer, Wallace Coyne. Grace knew of Coyne's reputation as an ambulance chaser, but even she didn't think another lawyer would stoop to such means to sue a big company.

  "Ms. Grace London?” Wallace stood and offered his hand.

  Grace took it cautiously into her own, cringing because it was hot and sweaty. “Mr. Coyne, it's nice to finally meet you."

  "Have a seat won't you?” Wallace gestured to a seat across from him and his client. “I don't want this to be unpleasant for either party."

  "Neither do I. To be honest with you, I was quite surprised when the judge arranged for Mr. Powder to be deposed in his mental hospital."

  "It's a facility,” Powder quickly corrected. “Don't you want to shake my hand, too?"

  Wallace interjected, “Remember—no touching. Do you want the guards to come back?"

  Powder grinned ferociously. “They're watching us anyway. Look up there, see that camera?” He shook his face wildly, saliva flowed from his mouth, and he laughed.

  "Maybe this isn't such a good idea.” Grace began to get up.

  "I know you're uncomfortable, but the mentally ill have rights, too,” Coyne said. “They have the right to sue a company just as much as anyone else."

  Grace hesitated. “You must forgive me if I'm nervous."

  "I'd be nervous, too.” Powder flicked his tongue at her.

  "Stop that, Louis,” Wallace said. “Do you want to win or not?"

  Grace prickled at Wallace Coyne's arrogance. “I wouldn't be so sure. I've been over this case with the best lawyers in our firm, and this deposition is just cursory. We have no intention of settling with Mr. Powder out of court, and we fully anticipate a win from a jury or arbitrator."

  "So, you're familiar with Mr. Powder's past and why he's here?” Grace didn't answer verbally, but her tense body language spoke volumes.

  Grace looked at the court reporter for the first time. She was a mousy older woman, and she looked straight ahead, not missing a word. She probably had the right idea: just get it over with and get the hell out.

  "I guess I'll start, then.” Grace opened her briefcase. “As I understand it, we're being videotaped and there are guards just beyond the door, correct?"

  "Yes, and Mr. Powder is securely shackled to the table."

  Sighing, Grace knew she couldn't put it off any longer. “All right, you are Mr. Louis Powder, correct?"

  "Yes.” He blew a kiss at her.

  She ignored him. “You are serving an undetermined amount of time in the Forensics Unit of the Eloise State Psychiatric Hospital for killing five women over the span of two years."

  "It's a facility!” Powder insisted.

  "Excuse me, facility.” Grace struggled to remain composed. “You killed..."

  "Allegedly,” Wallace Coyne chimed in. “Can you read that back, please?"

  The court reporter stopped and rolled the spool of paper in her hands. “Mr. Powder shouted ‘it's a facility', and Mr. Coyne interjected ‘allegedly’ into the statement of Ms. London."

  "Thank you,” Wallace said. “Please continue."

  "Okay, if that's the way you want to do it. Are you Louis Powder who was convicted of the murders of...” Grace held up a notebook with notes on it, “Lilly Norris, Alice Anderson, DeJuana James, Chantal Rainy, and Laura Grimes."

  "I would like to answer in the affirmative,” Powder replied.

  "And this lawsuit stems from the alleged criminal activity surrounding the crime for which you are currently incarcerated?"

  "What?” Powder looked at Wallace. “What the hell is she talking—Greek?"

  "It's legalese. I'll translate.” Wallace raised his voice, “The lawsuit was filed on behalf of my client against the Hawthorne Appliance Company, a division of Northstar Corporation, for false advertisement of a product. The product did not perform as stated in the advertising or brochures. The Bone Crusher In-sink Garbage Disposer was faulty."

  Grace closed her eyes and centered her rising anger. This couldn't be possible. It was unheard of that a convicted serial killer was suing Hawthorne Appliance. Taking several deep breaths, she continued with her job.

  "Mr. Powder, in your complaint, you allege that because of the Bone Crusher In-sink Garbage Disposer's inability to crush—human remains—you were subsequently captured."

  "Yes, that's true."

  "Further, you allege that...” Grace lost her thought. This was insane; she couldn't concentrate on the questions she wanted to ask.

  "In-sink!” Powder suddenly blurted, and he executed a dance move in his chair. “You're all I ever wanted, you're all I ever needed ... so tell me what to do now that I want you back!. Duh, duh, duh, duh...."

  "Louis, please.” Wallace stopped his client from singing. “You said *NSync. He likes them. Just refer to the appliance as the Bone Crusher from here on out. You don't want to get stuck in that loop."

  "Fine,” Grace agreed. “Let's continue, shall we?"

  "Uh, Miss Court Lady? Could you read that back?"

  "I don't think that's necessary,” Grace interjected.

  "Hey, I got rights!” Powder yelled.

  "Read that back, please,” Wallace requested.

  The court reporter spooled out the paper and read: “You're all I ever wanted, you're all I ever needed, so tell me what to do now that I want you back.” She paused, cleared her throat, and adjusted her glasses.

  "That's not all of it,” Powder growled.

  She looked back at the paper. “Duh, duh, duh, duh..."

  "That's better,” the inmate smiled. “Okay, what else do you want to know?"

  Grace continued, “You were apprehended after DNA evidence, including skin and hair samples, were retrieved from your Bone Crusher unit."

  "And bone, don't forget bone,” Powder added. “Bone fragments were found, and that's where they said they got the DNA in my trial."

  Wallace could see the questioning was getting a little out of hand. “Maybe I should present my questions first and then let you redirect, Ms. London."

  "That's fine with me. This is a fiasco anyway."

  "This is the American justice system at work; it's not a joke,” Coyne commented. “Your client produced a product that didn't work as claimed.” He stood and walked to the front of the table. “Permit me, Mr. Powder. You were found guilty but insane at your criminal trial, correct?"

  "Yes, that is true."

  "You allegedly mutilated and dismembered five of your neighbors."

  "Yes, but I'm sick. Ask my doctors."

  "Your previous record is irrelevant in this civil suit. We are dealing with a defective product, nothing more."

/>   "I object,” Grace announced. “No founding of defection has been established. And no loss of income or health has been harmed because of use of the Bone Crusher."

  "Oh no?” Wallace Coyne casually strolled about the small conference room and looked directly into the closed-circuit camera. “Use of the product destroyed my client's lifestyle—his way of living. Mr. Powder, please tell us what you liked to do with your spare time?"