Nathan stood over one of the urinals, leaning his weight on his left hand against the wall. So far, so good. After his bad start to the evening, he could finally feel the tension in his neck and shoulders stating to subside. Thank God, he thought. He wasn't sure if he could continue much longer. There was too much temptation around him. He could feel the familiar gnawing at the back of his brain, urging him on.
Go on. One more. One more can’t hurt.
No, he thought. Tonight he had to fight it. There could be no giving in.
He zipped his blue jeans up and walked over to the sink. After washing his hands, he splashed the harsh cold water on his face. He stared intently at himself in the cracked bathroom mirror, one hand on the sink. The crack ran the length of his face. His eyes, haunted and weary. He hated it, the control it had over him, the things it made him do. All of it. Like a relentless wolf hunting its prey, the desire to appease the addiction never left him. There was a lot of pressure on him to sort himself out, which didn’t help; his Pa was the sheriff, how could he not assume he would be able to escape the weight of expectation to hang heavy on his shoulders. It was an impossible situation.
He continued to stare hard at himself. People laughed at him behind his back, he knew that much. Coward, that’s what they called him. Weak. A good for nothing drunk, that’ll no doubt kill himself one day. Maybe he would, he thought. But not before he’d shown them all what he was capable of.
A clatter behind him caught his attention.
“Evenin’, deputy,” a grizzled old man said, as he waddled over to the urinals.
“Stanley,” Nathan replied, heading towards the door.
“Mighty fine lady, ya got yerself out there. Why, I reckon she’s prettier than all the flowers in the sweet Lord’s garden.”
“You might be right there.”
“I know I am, young’un. Fine pool hustler too,” he added with a wink.
Nathan laughed. “Damn straight.”
“You keep a hold of that one, Nate. Mighty fine woman.”
“I will,” he said, turning to leave.
The old man’s words had struck something inside him. It felt as though a torch had been shone on a dark part of his soul and scared away the spiders. Becky was on a date with him because she wanted to be, nobody had made her. She didn’t know his past, or any of the things people said about him. Not yet anyway. But none of that mattered anymore. She was his chance for a fresh start. Redemption.
He stopped, halfway out the door. “Thanks, Stan.”
Then he left.
Becky was still sitting by the bar where he had left her. He sat back beside her.
“You look pleased with yourself,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Do I?” Nathan replied.
“Yeah.”
“Must be the good company I’m keepin’ these days.”
He caught the appreciative glimmer in her eyes, as she realised he was talking about her. She really does have pretty eyes, he thought, watching her over the top of his beer glass. Any thoughts of Rachel had been pushed from his mind.
“So,” Becky said, lowering her glass. “Tell me more about you.”
He gulped at his beer. “Not much to tell really.”
“There must be something. You grew up here, right?”
“Yep.”
“What was it like back then?”
Nathan put his empty glass next to hers on the bar and cleared his throat. “Willows Peak hasn’t really ever changed all that much. It’s always been a sleepy town stretched out on some back road off the main route. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. Merryville is the only other town nearby.”
“I’ve heard of it. Wasn’t it on the news a while back?”
“It’s always on the news. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got our own fair share of oddballs, but the folks are damn crazy up there.”
Becky let out a giggle. To Nathan it sounded nervous.
“I’m sure they’re just rumours,” he added.
The two of them chatted a while longer, exchanging stories of their pasts. Friendships, school, embarrassing moments. All of it came under scrutiny. But for the first time in over a year, Nathan was enjoying himself. For too long he had been trapped in a cycle of guilt and self-loathing, mixed with a garnish of regret. Not anymore. He was finally breaking free.
“Rachel never talks about her life here,” Becky said, turning a napkin over between her fingers. “I mean, she’s told me what happened at the house, but only snippets. Whatever happened, it’s terrified her right down to her bone marrow.”
Nathan’s jaw clenched, the Masseter muscle pulsating.
“She wakes, screaming sometimes.”
“Sure.”
“What really happened out there, Nate? You’re her friend, has she ever said anything to you?”
“I don’t know what happened,” he lied. “I wasn’t there and she was shipped off to college three days later. I hadn’t seen, or spoken to her since then, until the other day.”
“I just wish there was something I could do.”
Nothing more was said on the subject. Nathan was glad, but now he couldn’t shift the thought of Rachel, out on a date with David, from his mind. He needed a distraction. Or it would start calling again.
“Fancy another game of pool?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Cool. I’m going out for a cigarette, so rack ‘em up and I’ll be back.”
“Sure you want another butt whipping?”
“No chance.”
As he walked away, he took a look at the whisky bottles stacked behind the bar. He licked the sweat from his top lip and walked out.
***
Rachel was glad the conversation had steered clear of her past and anything connected to the house. For a while at least. She couldn’t dodge it forever, she knew that much. But since mentioning the kiss, David hadn’t pushed her at all. If anything, he’d gone in the opposite direction, she thought, taking a sip of water. He had led the conversation, steering them around casual topics and away from talk of the house. Maybe he had heard enough? She wondered. It suited her just fine.
She gazed at him as he spoke. There was still that feeling of familiarity deep inside her. Still, she couldn't put her finger on what it was about him that she felt she had known before. His speech, his mannerisms, even his eyes had something that seemed so recognisable and yet, so very different. He had a quirky charm about him. One that had made her feel at ease from the very first moment they met. She put it down to the fact that he was a psychiatrist; they always know how to handle people, it's part of their job. But this was something more. In a strange kind of way, it excited her. She liked it.
“David,” she blurted out, cutting off his speech. “I need you to be honest with me and answer a question for me. Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
He laughed. “No, definitely not. You asked me that earlier.”
“I know, but there's something about you. It all sounds crazy, but I feel like I know you somehow.”
“What, like a past life?”
“Now you're just making fun of me.”
He adjusted his tie. “Honest I'm not. Don't you believe in that kind of thing? The supernatural and all, I mean?”
Rachel sat back in her chair and thought about it for a moment. When she was younger, her parents used to make her go to church on a Sunday morning. The preacher had been some greasy fat man that ended up being thrown in jail for inappropriate relations with young boys. She hadn't any other experiences with religion, or the supernatural. The real world was scary enough. She knew that first-hand.
“No, I don't think I do,” she replied.
“I didn’t think you would. You’re not the type.”
She was intrigued. “Oh really, and what type am I?”
“Well, you seem like a well-grounded kind of person. I mean, you’re majoring in Behavioural Science, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That means you pro
bably have an inquisitive mind, but also an empirical one. You need cold hard facts, rather than conjecture. You also don't seem like the kind of girl that does things on a whim.”
“I’m here, aren't I?” Rachel said with a cheeky grin.
“Nobody said psychoanalysis is an exact science.”
They both laughed at that. She could feel the air around her becoming lighter without the stench of the past clinging to them.
Despite beginning to enjoy herself, the image of the house standing there on the desolate hillside sat firmly in the forefront of her mind. She wished she knew who had rebuilt the damn thing. If it wasn't there, then she might have been able to enjoy her time being home. Despite the circumstances of her return.
She missed her parents deeply. The thought of never seeing them again, hearing their voices, smelling her mother's perfume, overwhelmed her. But then she remembered how they had been with her since that night. She could remember their faces. They had shown no care, or concern. Only fear. They had been afraid of what the neighbours might think, or that their precious membership to the yachting club might be withdrawn because they had a crazy daughter. Damaged, she’d heard her mother call her the night before they shipped her off to college. She had hardly spoken to them since then; a phone call, a birthday card and a visit at Christmas was all. How could she feel aggrieved after they had shunted her off to somewhere at the other end of the state not wanting to be associated with her? But still, the loss bit deep into her heart.
“Are you okay, Rachel?” David asked.
“I was just thinking about my parents.” She hadn't meant to tell him. It had just spurted out.
“I never had the chance to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I never met them, but I've heard they were well respected members of the community. You must miss them a lot?”
“I guess so.”
“Have the police managed to get any further with the investigation?”
“No. They’re pretty certain there was no foul play involved.”
“Well, I suppose that's a good thing. If -“
“Can we change the subject, please?” she cut in.
“Of course, if that's what you want.”
She regretted snapping at him as soon as the words had left her mouth. He was being so kind and sweet to her. She wanted to make it up to him, but she didn't know how. Apologising had never been her strong point.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry, it's just my parents, I haven't had much to do with them since I left town. In fact, it was them that encouraged me to go.”
“Please, don't worry about it. I fully understand what you must be going through. The loss of a close family member, especially a parent, is always a hard thing. Maybe it's time we got back to the reason we’re here?”
The inevitable had arrived. It dawned on her, that he had been leading them back to the subject all along. He was good. She had to admit that.
“I guess we could.”
“You can stop any time you feel it's getting too much. I'm here for you.”
She knew he meant it too. She could see it in his eyes. “Thank you.”
“It’s what I'm here for. I'm ready when you are.”
She took a deep breath and cleared her mind.
“We were having a good time after the kiss. None of us had a care in the world. I guess at that age it's how a group of teenagers should be on their last weekend together. Carefree. Somehow, even the house seemed less gloomy and oppressive. I should’ve known it wouldn't stay that way…”
Chapter Fifteen
The group of us had been partying for over an hour, with most of the alcohol already gone. I felt as though I was viewing the world through glasses that were way too strong for me; I had only drunk a few vodkas, but it was far more than I could handle. Chelsea, who had drunk nearly a bottle of wine, was fine. Justin had been by my side the entire time.
I could still feel the lingering traces of the kiss on my lips. My heart hammered in my chest every time I thought about it. I was in love, there was no denying that, but the fact that I would be leaving for college the other side of the state, tainted it. Long distance relationships never really work. It wasn’t just leaving Justin that made me feel down. I looked around the dank room. It was becoming more and more of a paradise by the minute. Chelsea and Tim were at each other again; every now and then she would let out a girlish giggle signalling her enjoyment. Apart from that, and the crackling flames of the fire, everything was quiet. It was perfect.
“What’s up?” Justin asked, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Can’t fool me,” he said, with a nudge. “I hope it wasn’t the kiss upstairs?”
“No, don’t think that. It’s just…” I let the sentence trail off. Should I tell him? I fretted. Should I pour my heart out?
“You can tell me.”
“I just don’t want to say goodbye to everyone. My friends are all I’ve ever had. Well, them, and a credit card as a parent.”
Justin laughed at my feeble attempt at humour, stroking my hair and smiling at me. “Try not to think about it. Nobody can predict what might be around the corner.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” he replied, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “I’m getting a drink, you want one?”
I thought about it for a moment. “No, thank you. I think I’ve drunk enough.”
“Go on, one more.”
“I can’t, I think I’m already drunk.”
“Then one more won’t hurt,” Tim said. “You’re always so prissy. Lighten up will ya.”
“Shut up Tim!” I retorted, shooting him a look of annoyance. He was right though, I did need to stop being so stiff. “Okay, just one more. But not too much.” I didn’t want to puke in front of him.
Justin smiled and shot off in to the kitchen. Chelsea stood up and then adjusted her skirt. She looked in my direction, tipping me a wink, before grabbing Tim’s hand and leading him to the doorway. I quickly caught on.
“Don’t go yet,” I hissed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’ll be fine, don’t worry. Have fun.” Then they were gone, leaving me alone in the room.
The light from the small fire made the shadows in the room look as though they were doing some kind of macabre dance around the battered walls each time the flames flickered. For the second time that day, I found my gaze drawn to the portrait. The family sitting there looked so happy. But the mother’s eyes gave her away. They seemed to have a deep rooted sadness in them.
I sat staring at the picture for several moments, my eyes following the contours of the faces looking back at me. Slowly rising to my feet, I wandered over to get a closer look. Not once did I blink. My eyes were locked on to the girl. The only sound was my heart beat filling my ears.
“It’s amazing that picture has survived all this damp.”
The voice made me spin on my heels with a start. Justin was standing there watching, two drinks in his hand. How long had he been standing there? I hadn’t heard his footsteps.
He walked over and handed me one of the glasses, his blue eyes encouraging. “Do you know the story of this place?” He asked, walking past me towards the portrait.
“Ummm, kind of.” I didn’t really know it. All I knew was that a lot of accidents happened there.
“I thought everyone knew the stories. Want me to tell you?”
“Okay.”
The two of us sat down on the moth eaten sofa. I sat close, so that Justin could put his arm around me. He took a sip of his drink before starting his tale.
“This old house was built in the eighteen-hundreds by a farmer that owned the fields around the hill. He did it for his family.”
“Is that them in the picture?”
“Yeah, I think so.” He looked at my drink. “You drinking that?”
I took a large sip, the coke fizzing on my tongue. “So, what happened to them
?”
“Well everything started off fine for the first ten years. The farm was doing well, money was pouring in and Mrs McCain had given birth to a fine, healthy boy in that time. Then it all went wrong.”
I hung on every word. How did Justin know all this stuff? I guessed his father had told him, what with being the owner and all. I snuggled closer to his chest while I listened to more of the sad tale.
“Mrs McCain eventually gave birth to a daughter. At first, everyone was happy, but after a time a cloud settled over the house. The crops failed, which made the money dry up. The story goes that Mr McCain took to drinking and Mrs McCain had become a recluse after the birth of Lilly.”
“That poor family,” I said, taking another sip of my drink. I just couldn’t believe how a person’s life could go from heaven to hell so quick. There was one question I had to ask. “What happened to the kids?”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Yes.”
There was an intense pleasure behind Justin’s eyes. He looked as though he was enjoying making me hang on his every word. I found my chest rising and falling in rapid bursts.
“Well the story goes that one day Mr McCain came home blind drunk. Jacob, the son, was pushing his little sister on her swing outside.”
I shuddered, the image of the girl standing next to the swing flashed through my mind. Justin must have noticed my discomfort. He pulled me tighter to him, before continuing. He had a knack of making me feel safe.
“Mr McCain entered the house only to find his wife dead. She had committed suicide while the children had been playing.”
I took more of my drink. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the rest, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything.
Justin continued, his eyes growing wider. “Without saying a word, the farmer reached for his hunting rifle. Life would be unbearable. He shot himself at point blank range. The locals claimed the shot rang out over the valley like thunder.”
I drank the last dregs of my drink.
“Want another one?” Justin asked.
“I want to hear the rest of the story first.” I had to know what happened.
Justin grinned. “Well I need a drink. Be right back.”
The House of Wood Page 11