Despite their difficulties, Betty and Earl loved each other, and his death devastated her. I’d lost my father years before, also unexpectedly, so I knew what she was going through and how long the process of recovery was. If it could even be called recovery, since one never truly recovered from the death of a parent. Instead, one learned to live with the wound it left behind, a wound that never completely healed. Time had helped, however, and although the topics of pleasant memories and fond reminiscences were sometimes awkward (as I had virtually none when it came to Earl), I did my best to allow Betty those things. While I couldn’t participate without being disingenuous, and therefore appearing insensitive or disrespectful, what I could do was support her and be there for her to the best of my ability. And I thought I’d done a fairly good job of it, at least until Bob Laurent pulled into the driveway.
I remained in the kitchen, finished my beer and paced, trying to figure out why he’d had such a strange effect on me. All the while I watched for headlights out front and for the spotlight out back. Neither appeared.
Pipes rattled. The shower upstairs was on. I pictured Betty under the hot water enveloped in steam, her body wet and slick with body-wash. Even after years of marriage I was still wildly attracted to her. To others she most likely appeared to be a tidy thirty-something woman (though she was actually early forties), a classic girl-next-door type who wore little makeup and didn’t have to, and looked as good in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt as she did in a business suit. But to me she was a heart-stopping beauty that got sexier and better with age, and one of the most intelligent and decent human beings I’d ever known.
In many ways I envied her. While she’d always maintained her natural good looks and fit body, I struggled to stay in shape. I looked my age, and was secure with that, enjoyed it even, but despised how my body had betrayed me. I’d once been slim and strong with little to no effort, but now, as I drifted further and further into middle age, my body was turning on me, fighting me at every turn. In the end I suppose it was my own damn fault, as I’d once played tennis and basketball regularly, and had always been an avid walker and bicyclist. Now I rarely exercised, didn’t eat right as often as I should have and spent far too much time planted firmly on my ever-expanding ass. Betty, on the other hand, generally took care of herself, had always been a runner and still logged three miles five days a week, rain or shine, summer or winter. Although we both drank socially, she’d never smoked a cigarette, and other than some pot in high school, she’d never been a drug user. I gave up drugs in my late twenties, but tried nearly all of them. Again, we were very different, and from different backgrounds. But we were good together. And we were happy.
We’d always been happy.
I had a slight buzz but decided I’d switch from beer to wine. Just minutes into town I’d made a liquor store pit stop, and a nice red had been chilling in the fridge for hours. I poured myself a glass, downed it, then poured another and decided to relax and get lost in a novel I’d brought along until Betty was done with her shower.
But then a rumbling sound shook the entire house.
I looked to the window.
Headlights appeared at the end of the road, bouncing in the darkness.
By the time I’d reached the window by the front door it was apparent that the headlights belonged to an enormous flatbed tow truck. Chained to the back was Bob Laurent’s pickup truck.
Heart racing, I watched as the tow truck maneuvered precariously about the narrow dirt road, eventually executing something of a three-point turn that left it facing back in the direction of the highway. After a moment the light in the cab came on, revealing the driver—a young skinny kid in a hoody—and Bob Laurent. They shook hands then Laurent hopped down out of the truck. With a wave back to the driver, he casually strolled through the rain toward the house, lugging an old suitcase along with him.
As the truck charged off into the night, I opened the door to find Laurent chuckling and shaking his head. This time he didn’t wait for an invite, he simply reached out with his free hand, pulled open the storm door and stepped inside.
“Darnedest thing,” he said breathlessly. “Truck gave out on me.”
“Gave out?”
“Died,” he said, setting his suitcase down and slipping out of his coat. “Was running fine earlier. I got a couple miles from here and she took to sputtering. I pulled over, switched her off but couldn’t get her started again. Don’t have one of those cell thingies, even though the Mrs. keeps telling me I need one, but as luck would have it I wasn’t far from the fire station, so I got myself over there and one of the boys on the nightshift called me a tow. Not sure what’s wrong with her, just bought the darn thing, but the kid driving the hook said none of the mechanics over to Sully’s are on until morning. You know Sully’s?”
I stared at him dumbly.
“Only repair shop in town,” he said. “Sully was a good man. Heard he passed on few years back. His son runs the garage now. Anyway, I won’t know what the damage is ‘til morning. Looks like I’m stuck in town another night.”
“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said as sincerely as I could, “but is there some reason you had him drop you here?”
“It was either here or Ed and Cathy’s, and their place is clear over on the other side of town. Besides, the kid didn’t have to give me a ride at all, but since he was kind enough to I didn’t want to push it, know what I mean? Figured your place was closest.” He shut the door behind him, hung his coat and hat on the hook and gave me a maddening grin. “Sure hope you don’t mind.”
“No,” I said, clearing my throat and stepping aside, “come in.”
Leaving his suitcase behind, he accompanied me to the kitchen. “Awfully sorry to be such a pest tonight.”
“Can’t be helped. We all have car trouble now and then.”
He pointed to the glass in my hand. “Having some wine, are you?”
“Would you like some?”
“Not much of a wine drinker, but I thank you.” He glanced around. “Where’d Little Betty scamper off to?”
I could still hear the shower going. “Upstairs.”
He listened, pointed to the ceiling. “Having herself a shower?”
“Yeah. Another beer?”
“That’d be just fine, Will. Thank you kindly.”
I went to the fridge, got him a beer and handed it over. “So is there someone you want to call or…”
“Well,” he said, pausing to take a long pull, “thing of it is, Will, there’s not really anybody to call.”
I felt my gut tighten. “What about the friends you came to visit?”
“Ed and Cathy’s is even smaller than this place, and…well…with Davey back in town and staying with them until he can find his own place, afraid there’s no room for me.”
“Surely you must know plenty of other people in town,” I said evenly. “There must be someone who can help.”
“I know you.” He winked. “But I sure do hate to impose. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
I thought about it a moment. “There’s a little motel just over the town line. We passed it on the way in. It doesn’t look too bad, and I bet they have very reasonable rates. I could give you a lift and you could spend the night there.”
“This is real embarrassing, but I’ll be honest with you, Will.”
I cleared my throat. “All right.”
“I’ve never been one for credit cards and such, don’t even have one. And I only brought a small bit of cash with me. I’m already worried if the truck costs too much I might have to get ahold of Edith and have her wire me money. So, much as I hate to admit it to you, I just don’t think I can afford a motel room.”
Pipes rattled overhead as the shower shut off. Without really thinking about it, I pictured Betty stepping from the shower and toweling herself off in a fog of steam. By the expression on Laurent’s face it wouldn’t have surprised me if he’d done the same. He looked up at the ceiling like he exp
ected to see some sort of religious vision, staring with wide eyes and his mouth hung open. After a moment, his eyes slid shut and he had another sip of beer, savoring it as if he’d never tasted anything quite like it before.
“Would you excuse me a moment?”
The sound of my voice snapped him out of his trance. “Sure.” He slowly licked his lips. “If you don’t let Betty know I’m back she might wander in here all powdered up and bare-assed. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
“No,” I said firmly, though I could feel my voice shaking. “We wouldn’t.”
I left the room without another word, but by the time I reached the end of the hallway Betty was already rounding the newel post at the base of the stairs.
Dressed in a heavy terrycloth robe that reached nearly to her ankles, her hair was up and wrapped in a towel. She looked perplexed. Wide dark bruises ran around her throat and neck. We both pretended not to notice them. “Thought I heard you talking,” she said softly.
“It’s Laurent again,” I whispered. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“What happened?”
Gently taking her by the elbow, I led her back toward the stairs, explained the situation and relayed the conversation we’d had.
“So what are you saying, he wants to stay here?”
“That’s what he’s implying.”
Betty made a face but I knew her well enough to know she was actually considering it. “Well, I mean, if he has nowhere else to go, I guess—”
“Look, I don’t want this guy here, and certainly not overnight.”
“Sweetie, he’s harmless.”
“We don’t know that.”
“He’s older than dirt, what do you think he’s going to do?” She frowned. “We can’t just put him out, babe.”
“He seems pretty resourceful to me, I’m sure he’ll figure something out.”
“With no transportation?”
I drew a deep breath, held it a moment then let it out. “I offered to drive him to that little motel just outside town—whatever it’s called—you know the one, but he isn’t sure he has enough cash to cover the room and fix his truck. So why don’t we pay for the room? I’ll drive him over there right now.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
I thought about it. “Few beers and a couple glasses of wine.”
“You shouldn’t be driving then, particularly in this storm.”
“Betty, I’m fine.”
“You may be fine but if you get pulled over and—”
“I’m not going to get pulled over.”
“But if you do and you fail a Breathalyzer then you’re legally drunk and you’ll be arrested. You can’t afford to have a DUI in your position. It’s not worth the risk.”
“Then I’ll phone the motel, pay for his room with a credit card and call him a cab to run him over there. We’ll pay for that too. How’s that?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Betty cinched the belt on her robe up tight. “I’m just not going to put an old man and family friend out in the rain, OK?”
“Suddenly he’s a family friend?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t. I’m not even sure you know what you mean. He may have known your father but I don’t have a clue as to who he is and I’m still not convinced you do either. For Christ’s sake, we know nothing about this man other than what he’s told us. And as I said, I’m getting a bad vibe from him.”
“I’m not going to turn away someone who was a good friend to my dad just because you’ve decided to get in touch with your inner paranoid schizophrenic.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to, OK? Let’s get him a cab.”
When we returned to the kitchen Laurent apologized profusely to Betty for having returned, then rose from his chair and gave her another huge hug. “Well don’t you smell nice?” he added. “Pretty as a flower.”
While trying not to projectile vomit, I let Betty present him with my plan.
“Y’all want to pay for a cab and the motel?”
“It’s not a problem,” Betty assured him. “We’re happy to help.”
“Well, I…I surely don’t know what to say. That’s awfully nice of you folks. But you’ve got to let me send you the money it costs once I get back home. Please.”
“Sure,” I said. “Sweetie, what’s the name of that cab company?”
She told me. I snatched my cellphone from the clip on my belt, dialed 411 and got the number. It began to ring. And ring. And ring. Finally an answering machine picked up and a scratchy recording informed me they were closed. “Great.” I disconnected. “They’re closed. So much for that plan.”
“I’m assuming they’re still the only one in town,” Betty said.
“In this bustling metropolis I’d say that’s a safe assumption.”
“Far as I remember the next closest was a few towns over and even if they’re still in business and open, I doubt they’d come this far.” Laurent let out a loud and dramatic sigh. “But just the same, I surely do appreciate such a kind gesture.”
I killed my glass of wine in the hopes it might help even me out and keep me from getting upset. “You’re sure there’s no one else in town who could help?”
Betty threw me a disapproving look.
“I’d be happy to hunker down in the car out in the driveway,” Laurent said with a straight face. “That way I wouldn’t be in the house and—”
“That’s ridiculous,” Betty snapped. “For God’s sake, we’re not going to have you sleeping in the car.”
“No, now Betty, I understand Will not being comfortable with a stranger staying the night. You and I know each other, but Will and I just met.”
After more death-glares from my wife I said, “It’s not that, Bob, I just—”
“Tell you what,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ve been enough of a bother to you both this evening. I’m sure I can make other arrangements. I’ll just grab my suitcase and get right on out of your hair. I can walk back to town and figure something out from there.”
“No.” Betty turned to me. “Will, he cannot walk all that way in this storm.”
“No,” I begrudgingly agreed, “of course not.”
“I think we’ve exhausted our options here.” This time Betty spoke directly to Laurent, as if I was no longer part of the conversation, which I suppose I wasn’t. “I can make up the couch in the den for you and in the morning we can get you down to the garage to see about your truck.”
“Much as I appreciate that,” Laurent said, suddenly looking like an abused and abandoned puppy, “I don’t want to stay if y’all aren’t comfortable with me being here.”
“It’s fine,” Betty said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Truly.”
“You sure you’re all right with it, Will?”
I wasn’t but nodded anyway.
“You’re sure?” he pressed.
“Yes.” I clenched my jaw. “It’s fine.”
“Then it’s settled,” Betty announced. “You’ll stay the night.”
Laurent put his hand out. “Thank you, Will.”
I shook his hand. Quickly.
“And you too Betty.” Laurent drew her into another hug.
Our eyes met. Very slowly, one of his hands lingered near her lower back then slid down just enough so that his fingertips were touching her ass. I could tell he was purposely making very light contact so Betty wouldn’t feel him through the robe, and as she hugged him back he smiled at me over her shoulder. It was a triumphant smile, void of humor or kindness and laced instead with an air of superiority and gleeful depravity. Perversion.
Do something his eyes dared me. Say something. Go ahead. Do it.
It was then that I realized there was more to his brilliant blue eyes than I’d noticed previously. The color served as a distraction, but for the first time I saw beyond that. There was something wrong with his eyes, something horribly wrong. It was as if they were disconnected somehow, distant
and present all at once, like the eyes of something that was alive but shouldn’t have been.
In that moment, Bob Laurent barely seemed human.
Despite my discomfort, I held his stare with one of my own. One designed to let him know I had his number and understood exactly what he was up to.
Problem was, beyond the obvious, I really didn’t.
And he knew it.
4
In the dream, the children were always there too. They looked human until they turned to me and I saw that they had no faces. No eyes, nose or mouth—not even ears—just a flat stretch of smooth skin where those things should have been. Like they weren’t quite finished. Or perhaps those things had been brutally scraped smooth intentionally. As if, in some way I couldn’t yet understand, they’d been erased as whole and unique human beings, and these abominations were all that remained; deaf, dumb and blind mutations.
They had no ears. Yet they could hear.
They had no mouths. Yet they could scream.
They had no eyes. Yet they could cry.
My God, I thought. Could any of this really be happening?
Frightening as it was, the possibility that it was all in my mind was even worse. It meant this was about me and no one else. It meant I’d slipped off that wall I’d been balancing on since this nightmare began. It meant I’d finally fallen over the side. And there was no way back.
* * *
Nothing seemed quite real. I’d never felt so vulnerable and unsafe, even in this house, where I’d never felt particularly welcome or comfortable to begin with. Now it was as if I’d been caged in a zoo and only just then become aware of it. It was like I was trapped inside a mirror looking out, a helpless reflection watching the night play out before me. Laurent was clearly goading me, but why? What could he possibly have against me? We didn’t know each other, had never even met. What did he want, and why was he purposely trying to provoke me with his behavior around Betty? Much as I wanted to tell him to keep his goddamn hands off my wife and his inappropriate comments to himself, I knew that’s exactly what he was hoping for, so he could feign innocence and I’d look like even more of an ass. But why, what was the point? I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of playing into his hands, but at the same time, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to stop myself from reacting, particularly if he continued ratcheting up his behavior, gradually tightening a vise I couldn’t ignore forever.
The Rain Dancers Page 4