by J. C. Gatlin
Mallory stepped up the spiral staircase into the bedroom loft. A single cot with just a mattress stood pressed against the far wall. The closet doors hung open, and inside Mallory saw what must have been twelve pairs of blue jeans overalls hanging neatly on a pole. Each looked as old and worn as the next, all were identical. There was a small desk with a computer. The monitor was black.
She glanced around the walls. It looked like a shrine. Sepia colored photographs, all aged and crinkled around the edges, pinned to the walls. In them, a teenager with flowing black hair and large eyes smiled at the camera. There were pictures of this girl with a high school boy. Intermixed with the photographs were handwritten poems. Mallory took a photograph from the wall and stared at it in awe.
The girl in the photo looked eerily similar to…
“Kimberly,” she whispered. She read handwriting scribbled on the bottom edge of the photograph: My darling Bonnie - 1974
Downstairs, the front door closed. The sound echoed in the darkness. There was a click, then another click. Someone was locking the door.
Mallory held her breath. Turning around, she watched the swaying light of a lantern rise up the steps and the shadow of a man rose on the opposite wall. With slow, methodical footfalls, the landlord stepped into the bedroom loft.
“You shouldn't be in here,” he said in a deep, hushed tone.
Mallory moved toward him. “Who is this girl in all these photos? Who is Bonnie?”
He shook his head mournfully, his eyes burning red just below the rim of the straw hat sitting low on his head. With a single quick motion, he ripped the photograph from her hands. Glancing at it a moment, he kissed it then carefully pinned it back in its place on the wall. Once satisfied, he shuddered with grief, but that gradually dissolved, only to be replaced with an eerie, unnatural calm – as if his soul had just been ripped from his body and carried away with his daughter’s.
Mallory took a step backwards, pressing against the little computer desk. She suddenly understood.
“You shouldn't be in here...” he repeated, focused on the wall. He turned around, facing her. Shaking his head, he said it again. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
* * * * * * *
“I loved her.” Addison screamed at Kim. “I loved her and she made a fool of me with that lumbering Neanderthal.” He raised the bat again for emphasis and shook it at her. Surprisingly, he paused, as if a thought had occurred to him. Something he hadn’t considered before.
“How many other men have there been?” he asked. Kim didn’t answer. He let go of her arm and aimed the bat at her. “How many? Tell me, Kimberly. How many!”
Kim pushed him away and violently swung the front door open. Racing outside, she rushed past the sidewalk to the parking lot toward Mallory’s Miata. Addison was right behind her, the bat in his hands.
Making it to the little sports car, she yanked open the door and scrambled into the driver's seat. She slammed the door shut and locked it. Addison reached the car, pounding on the windshield.
“How many?” he yelled, beating on the glass. “How many men have there been?”
Kim searched frantically for keys. She flipped down the visor. She opened the glove box. She lifted the center console. There were none to be found. Addison peered into the driver's side window, his fingernails clawing the glass. Kim screamed. He slammed his fists against the car door, then took a step back. Raising the bat, he yelled as he slammed it into the window, shattering it.
Kim screamed again as shards ignited around her. He reached into the car, grabbed hold of her, pulled her arm out the window. She opened the car door, slamming it into him, pushing him away. Crawling over the gearshift, she climbed out the passenger side and ran away from the Miata.
Rushing to her front door, she fumbled for her house keys. They were in her pocket. As she fished them out, she hesitated and turned her head.
Addison lay on the ground. The baseball bat was beside his arm, rolling away. Sitting up, he shook his head, stunned, and struggled to get to his feet. From behind him, slipping out of the dark, Kim saw the familiar overalls and straw hat belonging to her landlord. He was approaching Addison.
She smiled, thanking God.
The landlord came up behind him. Grabbing his neck, he tipped Addison’s head back with one hand and raised his other. His fingers gripped the awl, its metal spike glistening in the moonlight. Startled, Addison barked a partial What the– as the landlord jabbed it into his right eye.
It was one, swift motion.
The landlord stepped back as Addison’s body twitched violently, his hands flailing toward the wood handle sticking out of his eye socket and pressing against his nose. A second later, he crumbled to the pavement. The landlord stood there and watched him die, then turned toward Kim.
Kim screamed. She struggled to unlock the door. She could hear Zeus behind it, barking. The landlord approached. Kim turned a lock, then another. She looked behind her shoulder again. He was on the sidewalk.
Kim turned the last lock, pushed open the door and rushed inside. She slammed it shut. Immediately she turned the dead bolts, all five of them. Her hands were shaking so that she could barely maneuver her fingers.
Zeus growled focused on the door.
Locked tight, Kim leaned against it. She inhaled deeply, rested her head against it and listened. Was he on the other side? It was quiet. She looked through the peep hole. The porch was dark, empty. He wasn’t there.
Zeus growled.
Grabbing hold of her dog, she fell to the floor and hugged him, then rolled onto her back. She wanted to cry, and ran her hands through her hair, forcing herself calm again. Turning around, she lifted up on her hands and knees and crawled to the couch. She reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver. Her fingers pressed 911. Nothing. She panicked, glancing at the door then back at the phone. She pressed 911 again. No dial tone. The phone was dead. The line cut.
Screaming, she threw it on the floor.
There was a noise at the door, the rattling of the locks. A key inserted, turning. Unlocking. Zeus erupted into a barking fit. Kim watched him, then stared at the door. Another lock turned, and then another. Zeus jumped at the door and snapped at the handle.
The final lock clicked. The door opened.
20
Love, Daddy
The landlord stood in the doorway, yellow street lights from the parking lot bright behind him. Zeus lunged, leaping into the air, his jaws snapping toward the old man’s throat.
In a single motion, he grasped the dog by the neck with one hand and raised his other to reveal the thin, needle sharp awl. Its pointed tip glistening red with Addison’s blood and brain matter. He slashed the awl into Zeus’ back, piercing him from his spine down to his stomach.
Zeus yelped and dropped to the floor. Kim screamed as Zeus whimpered in pain. Then he was silent. For a brief second, she wanted to run to her dog, but she held herself back, slowly looking up at the old man.
“Your dog doesn’t seem to like me, Missy.” He shot her a penetrating look. Like a ghostly silhouette in the doorway, he watched her with red eyes barely visible below the rim of his straw hat. “I’m still considering adding a no pet clause to your lease.”
“What do you want?” Icy fear twisted around her. “Why are you doing this?”
Stepping inside, he removed his hat. His bald head glistened. A shrill wind rushed in around him as he bent to pick-up the tool box lying on the threshold. Grasping it, he entered the townhome and shut the door behind him.
“I want to protect you, of course,” he said quietly. He set the tool box on the floor at his feet so that he could lock the door. Deliberately, he turned each lock, then turned to her. He returned his straw hat atop his head. “You should have worn your hair up.”
“What?” Kim’s voice trembled. The whole thing was surreal.
“At the funeral. It would have been the proper thing to do.” He walked to the wall where the framed photograph of Ross had fallen. Among t
he broken frame and shards of glass, the poetry book lay angled in pieces. He picked it up and thumbed through the pages.
“Pablo Neruda,” he said. “This belonged to my daughter.”
He opened the front flap, his eyes moving left to right as he read. He suddenly shut the book and stared directly at Kim. “If You Forget Me,” he said. “Beautiful, isn't it?”
Kim's stomach clenched tight. She thought of the inscription scribbled inside it. For my Darling Bonnie. You will always be my angel. Love, Daddy. She didn't want to believe it. “You're Daddy.”
He stepped toward her. “I was wondering if you still had it. I slipped it into your books when I was fixing your sink.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s such a lovely book. Did I tell you it belonged to my daughter. She loved poetry.”
“But why? Did you…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Did you kill Ross?”
“I did what any father would do.” He was emotionless, with no inner light in his eyes, no reflection of empathy.
“You killed him, didn't you? Didn't you?”
“He had your ring.” He briefly looked away, toward the slashed photo among the broken frame. Then he turned back to Kim. “He had your ring. You kept searching for it, longing for it. I returned it to you.”
“Why though? Why would you kill him?”
“Because I want to protect you.” He knelt down, seemingly focused on his tool box. His hands gripped the wood handle of the awl, his fingers tightened around it. “Because I couldn’t protect Bonnie.”
“Protect her from what?”
“From losing her innocence. It’s a father’s job.” He looked at the book in his hand. “But I failed. I couldn’t save Bonnie’s innocence. I tried. I told her to be good. But I failed.” Dropping the book, he focused on Kim. His other hand gripped the sharp awl. “But I didn’t fail you, Missy. I protected you. I did what any father would do.”
“The Congressman?”
“He was touching you. He should’ve known better as should’ve that boy from your class. The one who made you cry at the funeral.”
“Michael.” The thought tore at her insides. A thousand horrid images raced through her mind at once, and she wanted to run. She wanted to fall to her knees and cry. But something inside her told her to stay calm. Struggling to steady her voice, she whispered, “What have you done to Mallory?”
“Why Missy, you’re shivering,” he said. “Are you cold?”
Her pulse beat erratically at the threatening gentleness in his words. He stepped closer.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
Anxiety spurted through her. She could take it no more and Kim charged forward, then shuffled past him to the door. Frantically, she pulled the knob then realized the deadbolts were locked. She reached for the first bolt. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't move her fingers. She couldn't turn the locks. She grasped the door knob again, desperately trying to pull it open. She was crying now, and her fists pounded on the door. Without turning her head, her eyes moved and she could see him from her peripheral.
Like a motionless scarecrow, he watched her.
Part of her said run. Part of her said break a window. She screamed and pulled harder on the door knob. She twisted it, then beat her fists on the wood panels.
He was behind her now. She could feel his heavy presence and he softly touched her arm, his raw, cracked fingers grazing her skin. She froze, her back turned to him.
There was a long, brittle silence.
Finally he inched closer, his breath like ice on the back of her neck. He spoke in her ear. “That boy came running out of the forest with my naked daughter in his arms. They had been doing things in the lake. Things that scared fishes.”
Kim stopped moving. She looked down at her feet. She felt the nauseating sinking of despair. His thin arms surrounded her.
“I came out of my farm house to find that boy had drowned my little girl,” he said. “I forbid her to see him. But she snuck out of the house in the middle of the night. She snuck into the woods with that boy, shuck her clothes and Lord knows what they did before His almighty mercy ripped her soul from this earth.”
Slowly, Kim turned. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze straight on. Their eyes locked. Her heart pounded, her legs about to collapse.
“I couldn’t protect her,” he said again, quietly, softly touching her hair, patting her head.
She crouched back against the door. “What do you want?”
“To protect you.” He enveloped her. He stood with his body against hers, his face near her face, his breath moistening the soft skin above her ear.
“You're insane.” She turned her head.
He inched closer. “I'm a father.”
She closed her eyes, drew a breath.
He lunged for her, grasping her by the neck with one hand and pulling her away from the door. She struggled with him, trying to break his grip from her throat. His hands tightened. His thumb pressed her larynx. His right hand raised the awl.
“But I'm getting old and tired, my dear, sweet Missy, to truly protect you.” He spat through his teeth, as if it caused him pain. “My days are growing short. And, I have to save your soul before it's too late.”
“No...”
“I couldn't save Bonnie's, but I can save yours.”
“Please...” She grabbed his arm with her hands, struggled to hold back the glistening spike. “I love you,” she suddenly cried. “I love you, Daddy.”
He moved his arm, lowering the awl.
“Daddy, I love you.” She fought to control the spasmodic trembling within her, and the tension dissolved from her face. “I love you and I’ve missed you.”
He studied her, his red eyes piercing hers.
“I know I hurt you, but you were right.” She spoke slowly, her hands wrapping around the arm gripping her neck. The grip loosened. A glazed look of despair spread over his face.
“You were right,” she continued. Her hand moved to grip the thin straps of his overalls, then her fingers reached down toward the clasp. “I should’ve never been out that night at the lake, sneaking off with that boy. You told me and I disobeyed you. I won’t ever do that again.”
This seemed to confuse him.
“Are you playing games with me?” He hesitated as if momentarily considering her sincerity.
“No.” She forced remote firmness in her voice. “No more boys.”
He let go of her neck; his eyes filled with tears. “You love me? After everything I’ve done.”
“You were protecting me,” she said. “Like a father.”
He stepped closer and touched her cheek. “Then give me your hand,” he said, and took her hand in his.
She looked into his wrinkled face, his tattered straw hat. His eyes were lowered, focused on her outstretched palm. He raised his hand that gripped the sharp awl. She began to shake as fearful images built in her mind.
The needle-like tip sliced into her open palm, across the deep love lines from her thumb to her pinky. Kim cried out, struggling to free her arm.
“You had to be punished,” he said to her.
Now instinct took over. Kim lifted her knee to his groin and pushed him away. The old man screamed in pain and flung the awl at her head. She ducked. The awl hit the wall above her and splintered the wood casing.
He lunged forward in the confusion, the straw hat flying off his head, but Kim was ready. She stumbled over him and ran. She leapt up the stairs.
Panic like she’d never known before welled in her throat as Kim rushed into the loft and headed to the window along the northern wall. Her hands hit the glass, forcing it open. She looked out, searched for an escape route. But there was no access to the roof and it was a straight drop to the ground below.
She turned away from the window toward her small closet. There had to be something inside it to use as a weapon. She was only halfway to it when she heard approaching footsteps. The heavy, urgent tread vibrated the
wrought iron of the staircase.
Kim threw open the closet doors, shoved through the cramped clutter of jackets and blouses, pushed boots and pumps aside. Nothing. She didn’t even have a wire hanger – they were all solid plastic.
Frustrated, she dropped to her knees. Crouched in the corner of the small closet, she was barely hidden. But she was out of options. It was all she could do.
At the top of the staircase, the footsteps stopped.
Kim listened. Her back in the corner, she wriggled as deep as she possibly could among the assorted shoes and hanging shirts. A belt hung down over her shoulder like a slithering, black snake. She swatted it away when she noticed a shimmering sparkle on the floor a few feet away. It was her diamond engagement ring, twinkling in the light falling from the skylight above. The diamond looked like a star that had fallen to the earth and landed in her bedroom loft, where deep shadows filled the room and hid the corners in blackness.
The floor squeaked.
Kim couldn’t see him, but she knew the landlord now stood just inside the threshold. He wasn’t moving, evidently surveying the room. He would see an unmade bed with frilly pillows arranged against the headboard. There was a vanity cluttered with make-up and hair products. And of course the closet.
A shadowy mass moved to her left deeper into the room, and Kim’s eyes widened to follow him. He stepped to the bed. Hesitated.
“Missy, I'm old. Death stalks me.” His voice was almost an affront to the silence. His words piercing. “I won't be able to protect you, so you understand this is the only way…”
He walked around to the other side of the bed. From the spiked awl in his right hand, a fat red droplet fell to the carpet. Plop. Then another, and another. Plop. Plop. Blood. Her blood. She looked at the cut on her hand. She didn't have time to think about that now.
Kim turned her head, slightly straining her neck, to keep track of him.
“Don't be frightened,” he said. She didn't fail to catch a note of empathy. He spoke slowly, spacing his words evenly. “Death is a natural part of life. In death, you will always be young and beautiful.”