by A. A. Vacco
Alex cocked his head to the side. “Who?”
Without pausing, Easton continued, “More each year, he spends his time there. More each year, he paces within.”
This wasn’t the ramblings of a mad man, was it? thought Alex. Had they really come all this way for a delusional man to create riddles from his distorted mind?
“More and more, but the house embraced him, welcomed him, controlled him.”
Alex tried again. “You, Mr. Easton? Were you in charge of the house and kept going inside? Getting more attached to it?”
Easton ignored Alex. “He paces, he waits. He fears its loss. Now those who threaten he threatens back. He is prepared in case someone comes. Comes to take what he owns, but knows what also owns him.”
Alex sighed and buried his face in his hands. It felt pointless. The medications and whatever Easton suffered turned him into an inventive storyteller, but a nonsensical, rambling one. He would do well in a Disney movie, thought Alex.
“The two were inside, keeping it clean. Counting the earnings. The two were new this year. They weren’t from around. They kept making light of true darkness.”
“Who?” asked Alex, “Janice and Marcus? The interns last summer?”
Easton again ignored the interjection. “The two were afraid, but had a plan. A plan that benefited them. They’d tell all. Test the mansion and if successful, make a display to their credit. But they didn’t know. They didn’t listen.”
Alex felt a chill run down his spine. “Byron," he whispered, “What-what did you do to them?”
Easton tilted his head slightly, but kept the flat, stoic expression and robotic tone consistent. “He saw them. He heard their scheme. They were to take what wasn’t theirs. Take it and see the effects and events unfold.”
Easton’s voice dropped to a murmur. Alex wasn’t sure if it was due to the drug-induced fatigue or if he was about to reveal something he only wanted Alex to hear. “The night...that night. They spoke of it again, walking up the driveway. Loud, thoughtful...stupid. A doll, removed and cameras to catch the effects. They'd make money. But the man wanted to protect. He had to protect. The house owned him as much as he owned it. He'd been there too long."
Alex nodded. "You worked there a little over ten years. Did the house feel like it was yours?"
"Too long. Too, too long. The house had its weapon...used to protect itself."
"The rifle you had when you came inside," mumbled Alex.
"He the weapon, the weapon was part of him. But he couldn't let them finish. They'd ruin the house. Change would not be good. What exists must be protected."
Alex jumped a little when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and saw Dr. Karcher standing next to him. "Dissociative fugue," Karcher whispered, "only speaks in third person when he recounts anything about that night. He removes himself from the situation as a method of coping."
Alex feared Dr. Karcher's presence would stop Easton, but Easton didn't seem to notice. The pieces of his third person account went on. "The house used him as the weapon. It tried on its own. Tried to scare them, tried to force them out. But he showed up."
Easton paused and slumped forward. He drew in several deep, labored breaths. His eyes stayed open, but were looking down at Alex and Dr. Karcher's feet. With a final exhalation, Easton's head snapped back up.
"BANG BANG!" he yelled.
From the vending machine area, Kat jumped back and knocked over a chair. Elle spilled the soda in her hand and swore under her breath. Alex reflexively grabbed Dr. Karcher's hand that was still resting on his shoulder.
"The rifle fired. Then again. Smoke circled the room. They wore red. The walls wore red. The man saw red."
Easton's voice no longer drawled with fatigue. Now, his speech was pressured and almost shouting. His stare bore directly into Alex's startled face. "There they were. There they lay. Tangled. Red. And the man ran, ran from all the red. The weapon stayed behind. Examined with the tangled parts. But none were saved. None survived, except the protection of the house."
Then, as fast as the energetic rant began, Easton blinked, and Alex watched the expressionless mask creep back over his face. His eyes once again stared off and his body slumped back into the chair. Easton said nothing more.
Dr. Karcher slapped Alex on the back and said, "Follow me. It's best we talk outside."
Alex stood. Kat and Elle made their way over to join them. As they headed toward the doors from which they entered, Alex heard a soft, "So long...Al."
He turned toward Easton’s slouched figure and replied, "Take care, Uncle Byron."
Dr. Karcher led them to the dining area. They sat around a table in soft, swivel chairs. Dr. Karcher expressed his concerns about Easton. He told them that Easton doesn't say a lot anymore, but when he does, it comes out in fragmented, slow phrases. He said that almost anything related to Millerton would be recounted in third person to avoid Easton reliving or remembering the event with him as the one who fired the gun. Dr. Karcher told the teens that Easton would probably need to live here for the unforeseen future. His medications were strong, and required monitoring. That wasn’t all regarding medications, Dr. Karcher informed them. Since multiple deaths were involved, he had a court order to take them. The only way they could ensure this happened was to keep close watch, and therefore, Easton needed to stay in the facility.
“Besides," added Dr. Karcher, “Without the medications, it is hard to predict what he will do. But from what we have witnessed here, it isn’t pleasant or safe.”
Kat took a loud slurp from the remainder of her soda and the others turned to her. She smiled, smacked her lips, and said, “So, Shedd Aquarium, anyone?”
16
Alex, Kat, and Elle left Rockford. They decided since the trip only took up a few hours that they could hit one of Chicago’s attractions, grab some pizza, and make their way home well before dark. The girls overruled Alex’s call to see the Museum of Science and Industry and wound up at the Shedd Aquarium at Kat’s insistence. As they drove home at the end of the day, they found themselves discussing Easton’s shattered rendition of the double homicide.
“Please keep in mind," started Elle, “we didn’t catch the entire conversation between you and your beloved Uncle.”
“Yea," added Kat, “So if we missed a few details, we are either exactly on the same page, or like, a chapter off.”
With a smirk, Alex answered, “Well, maybe we can all help fill in the gaps. His story wasn’t just scattered. It was heavily influenced by antipsychotics. The dude was gorked out of his mind.”
“Maybe we should smoke a bunch of pot and have another conversation. Get on his level," said Elle.
Kat rolled her eyes. “Yea, Miss-Ever-So-Calculated, go smoke ‘the pot,' and then we’ll talk.”
“Seriously, focus!” said Alex. After receiving a dual death glare from the girls, he continued, “Drugged or not, the man probably laced a lot of fact into what he did tell us.”
“Literally, a verbal puzzle," mused Elle.
“Yes!” exclaimed Alex, “Treat it like a puzzle. We have the objective story...ok we have the newspaper and Human Resources account of what happened. Let’s string that together with what Byron said and see what we can make from it.”
Kat glanced to her left at Alex driving and asked, “Tell me, did you happen to write down anything that the lunatic said at any point in that exchange?”
Alex shot her a look of pure annoyance. “No, Dearest One, I did not. I don’t suppose you did, while you and Elle sat idly by, eavesdropping on the conversation.”
“She did not," interrupted Elle, “But Miss-Ever-So-Calculated happened to jot down a few points of interest.”
“Oh c’mon, Ellbea, I wanted to rub it in his face that we did something worthwhile!” whined Kat.
Elle laughed. “You mean that I did something worthwhile. You just sat there!”
“My god, you two talk a lot.” Alex felt tired, and still had the luxury of driving them
back to Millerton. His patience wore thin, and he truly wished to get something out of Easton’s seemingly psychotic rant.
“Actually," he heard Elle clarify, “psychotic means a state in which the mind creates scenarios where you hear and see things others cannot. You’re in this altered state, either from drugs, illness--,”
He cut her explanation short. “Elle, hate to break it to you, but we don’t care. Call it what you will, it wasn’t normal. Now, please, what did you jot down?”
Elle sighed and pulled out a notepad. Several pages were littered with sticky notes covered in quotes. Under each sticky note were Elle’s thoughts and interpretations. “I wrote, ‘everything is in third person,' followed by, ‘Ownership of the house,' she said, pulled up one of the bright yellow sticky notes.
Kat chewed her ring finger and said, “Guess that’s a start. So, Karcher said third person was because of this disguised feud state?”
“Dissociative fugue," corrected Elle. “It’s when someone’s mind actually removes them from a situation they were in and makes them take on another identity. It’s like a psychological protection and ironically a mental illness.”
Kat looked at Alex. “Is that true?”
“How the hell should I know!” said Alex, “Elle’s the walking encyclopedia, not me!”
“Sheesh, calm it, I was just asking," Kat replied, rolling her eyes. “Ok, so say Elle is on the right track with this ‘fugue’ business. We just accept that as part of the illness?”
“I’d say to keep things simple, we should accept it for now and go off of whatever else we can," said Elle.
Adjusting her shoulder buckle and slouching at an angle to face the two up front better, Elle flipped through her notes. “Right, so that leaves us with ‘ownership of the house,' and ‘weaponry.'
Alex raised his eyebrows and repeated, “Weaponry?”
“Yea," said Elle, “Easton kept referring to a weapon. He said that the weapon was used to protect the house.”
“Ok but who used the weapon?” asked Kat.
“Presumably him," said Elle, “since he shot the interns and keeps removing himself from the incident. So he’s stating that the house used him as the weapon, and as a result, he fired the rifle under the house’s control?”
Alex nodded, taking it in. “You know, he never exactly said that. But, if we merge the story told by Easton’s prior employer, along with the newspaper article and of course, Easton’s account of the events, that is what makes the most sense.”
Elle laughed. “It almost seems too obvious. Too cut and dry.”
Kat sighed with annoyance. “This isn’t like some episode of The Twilight Zone, Elle. It’s based on the facts we know, the facts we gathered, the stuff we endured at the mansion, and now, Easton’s own story!”
Elle paused, staring at Kat. “Wait, that’s it...," she whispered.
“Hm?” asked Alex.
“What happened to us! That’s it!”
Still slightly put off, Kat put her head in her hands and said, “Now what? Me almost getting killed is somehow relevant to this circus?”
“In a way," Elle paused as her mind scrambled to rationalize the thought.
“In a way, what?” coaxed Alex, not quite sure where Elle was headed with this.
“Kat, what were we talking about that day?”
“You know, of all the things I recall from that day, our boring conversations aren’t part of it.”
“Seriously, you don’t remember?”
Kat tilted her head back to face Elle. “No, because we weren’t talking about anything important. Just our usual B.S.”
“You threatened to take a doll from the house and hide it in my room. Remember now?”
Kat scrunched her nose. “Really? That’s your big connection?”
Pushing a strand of hair from her face, Elle continued, “I know it’s a leap, but it’s the only thing that sounds remotely similar to what Easton said.”
“To be fair," cut in Alex, “Easton said a lot of garbled nonsense, so you can make a lot of loose connections with it.”
Elle shook her head. “I know, I know, but what he said sounded like the interns, new that year if I’m not mistaken, wanted to basically stage a reaction from the house. Take something and see if the house would retaliate, and catch it on camera.”
“The Valors have a strict ‘no camera’ policy," said Kat, “I doubt they’d allow staff to have film or recorders of any kind.”
“Yea, hence why they would have to plan ahead," replied Elle.
Alex shifted his weight and asked, “Ok so what would be the big issue with that? So a couple of kids film some weird stuff that moves in a house.”
“Still working on that," said Elle, “But what I can guess is that since the mansion is only a local attraction and not well advertised, the media these kids could generate might get the house more attention or, even sold to someone who could renovate it and make it more of a commercial attraction.”
“That’d fit, actually," said Kat, “because that’d give the house a reason to want to protect itself.”
“So it used Easton as its weapon?” asked Alex. “Sort of the raw end of a deal for him. And since when did this place develop mind control that caused people to absentmindedly kill anyone it feels threatened by? I’m not sure I buy that.”
“Buy whatever you want, I’m just trying to connect the few scattered dots that we have.” Elle leaned against the window and noticed several snowflakes twirl past the glass.
Kat curled a lock of blonde hair around her finger, noticing the snow as well. “But here’s the thing, Elle, we never felt like the house had some ‘mind control’ or ‘force’ that made us do things. Sure, it tried to kill me, but we were us when it went down. There wasn’t anyone or anything there beyond menacing dolls and whatever else that place conjured.”
“I mean, The Valors were technically there," said Elle. “But that goes without saying, since they live close by.”
Silence again, as the three stared at the dancing little, white, ice crystals swirling around the car as they drove.
“Unless," Elle broke the silence, causing the other two to jump a little. “What if, hear me out, Mr. Valor saw the two interns being attacked, rifle in hand, like he did when Kat and I were under siege?”
“Did he have the rifle then? I can’t remember," said Kat.
“Yea, it was tucked under his jacket, but I saw it.”
“He keeps it in the shed—the shed at the mansion, for that matter," Kat mused. “So instead of running right over to help us, he grabbed the gun?”
“Must’ve. But if this sort of thing happened before and it was pretty intense, maybe he thought he would need it.”
Alex pulled off the highway and exited onto the unpaved road leading into Millerton. The last gleam of the sunset dipped below the horizon. He was developing an uneasy feeling about where Elle was going with this new notion. “Ellbea, what are you saying?”
“Nothing yet. I just...I wonder if Mr. Valor was there a lot sooner than Easton realized. Maybe he saw something else, or knows more about the incident than he lets on.”
“Perhaps," said Alex. “But if he saw Easton with the gun and standing over two bodies with bullet holes, I’m pretty sure even if he was there, the story tells itself.”
“Do you think he gave Easton the gun?” asked Kat.
“I really don’t know," said Elle, shaking her head again. “What I can say is that the Valors did one hell of a job keeping the whole incident silent on this end of town. No one knew even the slightest detail until we went to work there. Remember Mrs. Valor hinted something happened last year but refused to go into it?”
Kat snorted. “Yea, yea, I remember she made it seem like someone walked into cobwebs and got spooked. The whole double murder thing seemed to slip her mind.”
Turning into Elle’s driveway, Alex put the car in park and turned to face her. “Do you want to ask Mr. Valor anything? Have a sit down with him an
d see if he adds anything to the story?”
Elle shook her head and shuddered. “No way, that guy gives me the creeps.”
Kat wanted to agree, but part of her knew that Mr. Valor may hold more to the story than they currently knew. “What if we went together? Daytime? And made sure our parents knew where we were going? Let them in on it so that if anything dangerous does come up, they know where to...”
“Find our corpses? Yea, that’ll be a great way to kick off the new year.” Elle wouldn’t budge on this one.
“But Elle," pressed Kat. “What if there’s more going on?”
Elle sighed and unlocked the back door. “Of course there’s more going on. We know that. But do you honestly think Mr. Valor will open up to three teenagers in town, two of which almost ended up just like his former employees?”
Kat tried to cut her off, but Elle, tired and hungry, yelled over her, “And lastly, there are only a handful of outcomes that actually went down. Either Easton did kill those interns, whatever the motive. Or, and this is why I doubt Mr. Valor will tell us anything more than ‘get out of my house,' the Valors were involved. Whether they were involved just a little or orchestrated it all, they aren’t going to publicly share that information!”
A little surprised at Elle’s vehemence, Kat kept her reply simple. “Hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“No, clearly not. That’s the benefit of calculated thoughts, Kat, they can keep you out of potential shit storms you may not have otherwise seen coming.”
“Ok, ok, guys, it’s been a long day.” Alex regained control of the conversation. “To ensure we are all still friends tomorrow, let’s split, eat, and sleep on it. We’ll see each other tomorrow and chat more later, cool?”
Elle nodded, thanked Alex for the ride, and slid out of the car. Alex pulled out of the drive and headed toward Kat’s home, then his own.
The following day led to a compromised resolution. They knew they’d never get a story from the Valors, and Easton’s version was scattered and drug-induced. So they put together what they knew by filling it with the story from the paper and Human Resource department. Over several weeks, Kat, Alex and Elle lost interest all together. The Marionette Mansion had closed for good, and over time, everyone in the town forgot it even existed.