by TJ Vargo
She laughed a little, and Jackson could hear by her tone that is was more out of sadness than humor. He watched her eyes become idle and unfocused as she continued.
"I remember one summer when I was still at the convent, the Mother Superior hired this guy that just came over on the boat - one of those Bosnians or Serbians..., whatever, he came from some war zone in Europe, supposedly escaped from it. He was our groundskeeper for that summer. He used to watch me with these haunted, hollowed out eyes. I'd walk across the yard and he would stand up, lean on his rake and stare at me, his face all grizzled and thin. Scared me silly. So I started to avoid him, but he caught on pretty quick. One day I'm walking around the back of the vestibule at the church, all alone, getting things ready for Mass. At some point, I turned around and there he was, in the doorway not more than two feet away. And no one else was around. No one."
"What did he do?" Jackson asked. His mind was drawing pictures of Sam Lewis, laying leather across his back while shouting a jumble of Bible verses. His mouth was dry just thinking about it and he touched at the bulge in his pocket, feeling the belt buckle he carried with him everywhere.
"When he saw how scared I was, he put his finger to his lips and gave me a soft little, 'Shhh.' He shouldn't have bothered. I was too scared to make a peep. Then he pointed at himself, bounced his black, hairy finger into his chest and said, 'Do you know why I here?'
The more Felicia talked, the more restless Jackson became. He scratched at the back of his neck and crossed his legs. He didn't like the direction of this story. It reminded him way too much of his own helpless youth.
Felicia grinned a little, her eyes growing hard and bright. "I just stood there, frozen. Couldn't say a thing. Then he got this crazy smile on his face and said, 'I tell nuns I escaping from war, from people who kill my people and try to kill me.' She bounced her closed fist on her chest, imitating the image she was remembering. "And then he grabbed my arm, pulled his face right into mine and whispered at me, 'But that not true. I only here to escape from the spirits of all the people I kill. Many, many people.'
She swallowed, her eyes still far away, but holding that bright, hard focus. "He let me go, my heart was going a million miles a minute. I thought he was going to leave, in fact I was praying for it. And he almost did. But something stopped him. He turned, grinning like a ghoul, happy to see that his little confession had scared me shitless. Then he said his last little piece. 'Coming here kept the spirits away for a time little girl, but they find me. Yes. They find me and scare me. You know what they want me to do now?'"
Jackson noticed Felicia's hands. They were white-knuckled from her fingers digging into the arms of her chair. She looked to be holding on for dear life. He wanted to stop her, but he could tell she had to get this out. Her voice had a little shake to it as she continued.
"I couldn't breathe much less answer him. So I stood there while he leered at me. Fucking mental case. He said, 'Spirits tell me I need to kill again. They tell me it is the only way to keep them resting in peace.'"
Stopping for a moment, she licked at her lips, her face ashy, then continued. "He waited for a minute, letting that sink in, the, 'Spirits tell me I need to kill again,' part. Then he added, 'Maybe you help me with this little girl, heh? Maybe you be one I can kill to keep them happy, eh?'"
Jackson stayed silent for a long stretch of time, Felicia's words still hanging heavy in the air. Her eyes looked small. Tight and small as she relived her horrible encounter. He was about to get up and go over to her when she started talking again. This time, her voice was thin edged with desperate anger.
"The whole rest of the summer I went to bed with a straight razor under my pillow, waiting for that mass murderer to come creeping in, looking to add me to the list of spirits haunting him. It never happened, but I still wake up thinking I see him in the dark corners of my room. He's never left me."
Drained, his own memories of harrowing nights with Sam Lewis tumbling in his head, Jackson knew exactly why Felicia bristled when the word "mother" was brought into a conversation. His voice was filled with compassion as he asked her, "So that's why you hate, I mean don't like, our mother. Because she wasn't there for you when you needed her."
Slack faced, the focused look in her eyes fading to idle despair, Felicia leaned back in her chair and barely nodded, then said, "She's never been there for us Jackson. Never." She took a deep breath, thinking hard for a moment, then added, "I'll take Nathaniel any day of the week. At least he's here. He actually searched for me and wanted me. And even though he has me do strange things, there are times I can convince myself that it all feel's good - like he says, open up and let it in and it will all feel good. No matter how bad it gets - and it gets a lot worse than you've seen, believe me, a lot worse - it can all feel good. Nathaniel taught me that. I can make it all feel good if I try."
She sighed deeply, making Jackson feel miserable for tearing open this wound of hers that was much deeper and more painful than he could have ever imagined. He tried to think of something to say, change the subject if possible. But he could see that she would have none of it. Her eyes were still weary, but they had a new addition. A deep desire was mixed in the bottomless brown of her eyes now, pulling at Jackson. She trained her gaze on him, bearing down on him.
"Is she in your dreams?"
"What?"
"Our mother. Is she in your head, in your dreams?"
Is she? Is it her? Jackson didn't know for sure. How could he know who the little girl that had grown up to a woman in his dreams was? His guardian angel that always looked out for him and made him feel safe. Was that who his mother was? Felicia's gaze burned into him. His voice sounded far away, echoing from far outside himself as he said, "It must be." He caught the slightest bit of a smile raise the corners of Felicia's mouth as he said this. It was gone before he could say it was really there. She leaned out from her chair, reaching out to place her hands on his knees.
"You want her to come back, don't you?"
He could only nod. She nodded along with him and then quickly got to her feet. All barefoot and slinky and beautiful, he watched her turn and listened to the soft sticking sound her feet made as she crossed the room and went into the bathroom. A couple minutes ticked by before he began to wonder.
He got up and crossed the room, lightly knocking on the bathroom door. He thought he heard a soft sob. He opened the door. Felicia’s back was to him, but she turned toward him with her lips pressed tight. For some reason, he felt strangely ashamed. She wasn't the kind of woman he'd ever imagine as a crier, and for the first time he let himself recognize the hardness in her face that had always been there. This woman, his sister, she had the eyes of someone who'd seen a lot. And he wondered what exactly it was that she had seen.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
She jumped toward him, burying her head against his chest. Trying to hold back tears, her body rose and fell in his arms, then quieted as he stroked her back. With her voice tremoring she said, "Nathaniel told me about how you grew up. It makes me sad to think that she wasn't there for you either."
His hands trembled as he held her. An odd thing. He couldn't stop it - they were doing it on their own. His mother left him on a doorstep. Left him with an abusive drunk. And she left his sister to a similar fate. A hole opened in his chest. He tightened his hug on Felicia. He'd never felt so close to anyone in his life. If someone had told him there was someone else on this earth that had grown up like him, he would've never believed it. But here she was. And a sister to boot.
Grabbing Felicia's shoulders, he pushed her back and turned his back to her. Too much to think of all at once. He walked out of the bathroom to stand in front of the empty fireplace on the other side of the room. Closeness, emotional or physical, made him uncomfortable. Who was he to even deserve having someone love him? His hand curled into a fist, banging against the side of his leg as he stared into the empty fireplace. How could his mother do this to him - turning him into a social misfit
that couldn't even accept love? What could have driven her to abandon her children? His fist banged into his thigh faster. Why did she do it? There had to be a reason. And there it was. His fist stopped banging and slowly unclenched. Turning, he looked at Felicia and said, "I think she was protecting us."
Felicia was still across the room, near the bathroom door, but she closed the distance between them quickly, her bare feet padding the floor as she asked, "What do you mean?"
"She was protecting us from him, from Nathaniel. Look at what he did to you tonight. I can only imagine what he did to our mother to make her leave here and abandon us." He took a step toward her and grabbed her hands. "What is this place Felicia?"
Her eyes flashed with a knowledge and dark understanding that sent a warning signal through him. She answered in a whisper.
"This is Nathaniel's place." She lifted a hand to Jackson's face and stroked her fingers down his jawline, stopping on his chin. Her fingers clamped onto his jaw, staring at him with an earnestness that unsettled him. "If he knew I was saying this he would..., never mind, just leave. Get out of here while you can."
It was her touch and her eyes that held him steady, helping him fight against the voice in his head shouting, "Leave. Listen to her. Turn and run and never look back." But it wasn't an option - not as long as she was here. Steadying his gaze, he looked into her eyes. The way she set her jaw told him she knew what was coming, but he said it anyway.
"Only if you come with me."
Her eyes grew harder, not believing she heard him correctly. Jackson felt her grip on his chin tighten. Then her eyes softened. She lifted up on her toes and quickly kissed him on the cheek, then pushed his head away and backed up a couple steps.
"I've never met anyone like you," she said, then combed her fingers through her hair and sighed. "Never. Never, ever."
"Let's leave together Felicia. Come on. We'll just get our stuff together and..."
She turned her back on Jackson and walked toward the open bathroom door, slipping out of her dress as she went. "I have to think Jackson - leave me alone. Go get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning."
Jackson watched her black evening dress puddle around her bare ankles. Her feet stepped out of the dress gracefully, her bare bottom moving into the bathroom, the door closing behind her.
In the hallway outside Felicia's room, standing under the torch, Jackson looked down the tunnel of darkness he had traveled through to find her. His muscles flinched at the mere thought of going back through that darkness. Looking down the staircase to his left, he waved at the darkness of the hall and said, "Maybe another time."
The stone staircase wound down toward a door with light leaking around its frame. He could hear the sounds of pots and pans being dinged into one another and the splash of running water from the other side of the door down there. He stepped downward. The torchlight in the hallway above danced shadows around him. Every shadow seemed to be a creature stalking him from behind. Hurrying to reach the bottom, he grabbed the doorknob and pushed his way through the door. He barely had enough presence of mind to reach out and grab the woman that walked into him.
"Sorry, sorry," he grunted, helping catch the platter she was holding. It was the young fat woman he'd noticed from the dining room earlier. Her face still glowed with red splotches on her cheeks as she stared at him in surprise. By the looks of what was on the platter, a chocolate and a white cake, both with generous helpings of sliced strawberries layered over their tops, she was still in the midst of the eating debauch Nathaniel had catered. Her cheeks quivered while she closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her shiny forehead.
"Thank Jesus you caught that platter young man. I don't know what would happen if I had to go back in that room empty handed."
"No problem," said Jackson smiling.
Looking around, Jackson walked over to a stainless steel counter and placed the platter down. Nathaniel's kitchen was well outfitted. Stainless steel counters, sinks and ovens all around with every pot and cooking utensil imaginable hanging from overhead racks. He nodded at a couple of men in white chef uniforms still attending to the last touches on a variety of desserts that made Jackson sick to look at. He turned his attention back to the woman, ignoring the desserts on purpose. Weird as it was, and as full as he was, he felt the urge to begin eating again. Something about this place prodded at his desires, making them always alert and always unfulfilled. His mouth started watering even though he knew damn well he was full. A belch caught in his throat, then slipped out silently. God what was wrong with him?
"Why don't you sit down for a second?" he said, training his attention on the fat woman, hoping it would take his mind off food. He sat down on a stool.
She nodded, mincing over on feet much too small for her generously proportioned legs and body. He almost laughed, but held it in. She could've been one of those dancing hippos in Fantasia. Now why did he have to think of that?
Settling onto the stool next to him, she swallowed, licked her lips and breathed heavily. The red splotches on her cheeks faded quickly. Reaching a hand out to pat Jackson's knee, she said, "Young man, you saved my life, catching those sweets like that. I'm Frida Commons. If you're ever in town and you need anything, you come see me."
Jackson returned her folksy smile. It wasn't hard to show teeth, what with images of dancing hippos still in his head. But his smile disappeared fast. Her hand was still on his knee, and he could feel it shaking. She saw him looking at it and she pulled it away. It fluttered nervously to her forehead, trailing shakily across her brow. He couldn't help but notice the way her hair hung limp and stringy from her previously tight bun. Then the memory of her dabbing a handkerchief on her mouth made his stomach twist sickly. Nathaniel was a monster. The poor woman was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Frida, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jackson, Mr. Thorne's son."
That only made it worse. She brought her shoulders up and swallowed, her eyes bulging at him. Jackson shook his head, keeping his voice low.
"It's okay Frida. Calm down. I'm not like him."
Turning her attention toward the doors going into the dining room, she licked her lips. Her voice came out husky. Almost dreamlike.
"I know. No one is like him."
Jackson sneaked a quick look around the kitchen. The chefs were engrossed in their dessert artistry. Leaning in close to her, he said, "Frida, you don't have to stay here. If you want, I'll take you home right now."
Her head swiveled around. There was a slight crease in her brow. "You can do that?"
He nodded his head, pity welling up in him at the look of hope in her eyes. She noticed his reaction and dropped her chin, her cheeks flushed.
Bringing her lower lip up, Frida took on a look of resolve. She smoothed a hand over her rounded lap, brushing at the food stains. "You know, I am a bit under the weather tonight. Must be a touch of something - maybe a little bug." Stopping long enough to give Jackson a quick glance, she said, "I would be in your debt if you could see me home now Jackson. My husband, Thomas, he would take me, but he's having the time of his life in there with your father, Mr. Thorne." In spite of the tight smile she was forcing out, desperation crept into her voice. "Are you sure you can do this?"
Sliding off his stool, Jackson took her hand. "Don't worry about it. It's fine."
Frida began to rise, then settled her large derriere back onto the stool. Her strength surprised Jackson as she grabbed his hand. That pink, fleshy, fat face, sweaty and splotched as it was, it took on a new look. One that said, "This is all business boy, so listen up." Jackson was eye to eye with her, her hand holding his tight as her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I'll remember this Jackson. I'll remember this and keep my promise. You ever need anything - and you will, I know it - you come see me. I'll pay you back in spades. No matter what you need, Frida's there for you from now on."
Her grip loosened on his hand and Jackson took a step back. S
he slid off the stool, letting out a little giggle as her black dress caught on the stool. It pulled up around the tops of her legs, showing her wide rear end. Her elephantine thighs jiggled under support hose as she tried to quickly push her dress back down. Jackson looked away, waiting for her to arrange herself.
Sitting on his bed and peeling his socks off, Jackson could still feel the buggy underneath him. The way the horse clip clopped down the road. Unbelievable that a place like this, a place where people still rode horse and buggy contraptions, that it still existed. Frida had thanked him all the way back to her house, an old white clapboard colonial that looked really cozy. Carefully folding his old jeans and t-shirt and laying them on a chair in the corner, Jackson remembered seeing the fire inside the windows of Frida's house. How outright charming it had appeared. That was the problem. Everything around here seemed so nice. So charming. You just wanted so bad for it all to be real. But it's not, and you know it's not, a strange voice in his head said. And you have to look out for those things you know, but you can't see. Mark my words, watch out for them boy.
Jumping into his bed, Jackson lay in his underwear and looked at the ceiling. He forced a grin. The hell with it. He'd long stopped being afraid of boogie men in the night. And scary thoughts in his head.
All too soon the quiet of his room overtook him. It was late, he was exhausted and he needed sleep. Pulling his covers over him, Jackson turned off the bedside lamp and closed his eyes. It was the sudden darkness that did it. The thoughts were still there. How about that thing in the dark? Remember that? That was more than a scary thought, wasn't it? His breath whistled over his teeth. A bristly thing. Tall as a man. He tossed and rolled for a couple minutes, hoping to jar the memory from his mind. Sleep overtook him, the dark hall crowding its way into his mind. He was back there, in the darkness of the hall, hands clenched in a cold sweat. Only this time there was no torch light in the distance - just black, impenetrable darkness. He moved stealthily, every sense humming like an electric line. Stopping, shifting the weight of his body onto the balls of his feet, he listened. It was there again, in that darkness. Far back. Sniffing for him. Scraping its hooves as it tried to close the distance between them. A sudden iron grip latched onto his forearm, followed by the croak of Sam Lewis's voice.