Defiled

by Margaret Buffano

  Helen looks across the room at her father, sitting in his recliner.

  “Dad…what’s with the sunglasses?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says bluntly, never taking his gaze from the TV.

  Helen steps in closer for a better look.

  “Your father got into a fight earlier this evening outside the mall.”

  “Did someone beat you up?”

  “No one beat me up! Didn’t you hear your mother? It was a fight…and not even a fair fight. …There must have been at least two or three of them.”

  “You were jumped?”

  “No…it was a fight! I told you I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to lie down and read.” He storms into the bedroom and slams the door behind him.

  “I don’t understand? Is he all right? Did you tell the police?”

  “Come, dear,” says her mother. “Let’s go sit in the kitchen. I’ll make us some decaf, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Mom, tell me what happened?”

  Her mother takes her time stirring her usual two teaspoons of sugar and cream into her coffee.

  It doesn’t surprise Helen the flippant manner in which her mother relays the story of her husband’s misfortune. She shows little sympathy in her speech, and delivers the facts as if reading a grocery list.

  “You need to understand, Helen, your father is a proud man. When we first met in college, he was captain of the boxing team. You should have seen him then…quite a figure of a man.

  “All his life he was always able to take care of himself. I’ve never seen him back down from a bully who wanted to scrap, not once. But now he’s gotten old and that’s the one part of aging that bothers your father…not being able to defend himself. He feels helpless. …He feels less of a man.”

  “Mom, what happened?”

  “Oh, your father was at the mall. When he was locking the car, someone came up behind, put a beating on him, and stole his wallet.”

  “Was it really three men?”

  “No…just one. That’s your father’s pride talking; it sounds better if it was more than one.”

  “Did he get a look at the man?”

  “No, it all happened too fast.”

  Her mother takes another sip of coffee and continues.

  “He hobbled to the mall, and they called an ambulance. They took him to emergency…just a few small cuts and a big black eye. I’m sure it doesn’t hurt half as much as his wounded pride.”

  She takes another sip of coffee, places the cup down, and looks into her daughter’s face.

  “Strangest thing, though…the man who did this…while he was hitting your father, he was yelling in foreign languages. Not just one language, mind you; he was yelling in all sorts of languages…German, French, Spanish…all very strange.

  “Then, just before he ran off, while your father was lying helplessly on the ground, he kicked your father hard one last time and said, ‘That’s for Nancy!’

  “What does that mean? Who is Nancy? He must have mistaken your father for somebody else.”

  She goes back to her coffee.

  Helen rises from her chair. “Excuse me, Mom, I’ve got to pack my overnight bag. I’ll be gone early in the morning.”

  “Oh, no…not another business trip? You poor dear, they’re trying to work you to death. Where are you going this time?”

  “Back to Tannersville. I’ve some unfinished business there…something I should have done the last time I was there.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A Better Epitaph

  Helen calls ahead to tell her Aunt Eleanor she’ll be in the area on business and to ask if she can stop in for a visit. Helen also phones Kyle. He is ecstatic when he hears she is coming. Against her better judgment, Helen consents to stay at Kyle’s home during her visit to Tannersville. He vows she’ll be and feel safe from any approach from him. He’ll sleep on the couch and offers the bedroom to her. He swears to be a perfect gentleman. But it isn’t Kyle’s intents putting her ill at ease. It is her attraction to him she questions. Could she trust herself being alone with him?

  On her arrival at Tannersville, Helen’s first impulse is to go to Kyle, but she tries to focus on what motivated her to revisit Tannersville in the first place – her Aunt Eleanor. Still, she cannot forget her solemn vow to Victor, to see to the safety of his family.

  It takes a few minutes of wrong turns through town – relying on her memory, but she finally finds the home of Teresa Russell and her children. She parks the car a few houses down and is just about to get out when she sees Kyle leaving the Russell home. Teresa is with him, the two hug, they speak for a moment, and he leaves. Teresa watches from the porch as he drives off and then goes back inside.

  Helen feels a twinge of jealousy coursing through her veins and mistrust for Kyle. Then, she stops herself. She has no ties with Kyle; he is free to come and go as he pleases, as is she. Besides, she is being too quickly judgmental, and perhaps the visit is all very innocent. As she was told many times before, this is a small town and everybody knows everybody else. She is being childish – reading more into what might be nothing more than a friendly visit.

  The screen door swings wide. Teresa emerges, baby in tow and one clinging to her side.

  “Helen?” she says, surprised.

  “Teresa, I was wondering if we could talk. May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course, come in.”

  The living room is small, clean, and sparse – what little furniture she owns looks old and worn.

  “Please, sit; can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you, I only have a minute.” Helen sits down. “I saw Victor the other day, and I promised him I would look in on you.”

  “Victor…is he all right?”

  “He’s worried about you and the children’s safety. He talks as if he knows of some impending doom. He believes there might be someone out there who wants to do you and the children harm.”

  “I can’t think of anyone who would.”

  “Nonetheless, there’s a ring of truth in what he’s saying. Please, be careful for the sake of the children.”

  Teresa sits down in a chair opposite Helen, the baby still in her arms.

  “Tell me, what is going to happen to him?”

  “I have no idea. I wish I had something more to report to you.”

  Helen finds it impossible to tell Teresa the truth. How ill Victor seemed during their last meeting. That even if he isn’t convicted of any crime, he is sure to be put away for mental instability.

  “I couldn’t help but notice as I was pulling up to the house…was that Kyle Adams leaving?”

  Teresa goes pale white and silent for a moment.

  “Oh…yes…that was Kyle. We’ve been friends since we were kids and lived in the same neighborhood. He drops by every once in a while and does little odds and ends for me around the house. There are just some things a woman needs a man to do.”

  “I see,” Helen says.

  “Jeez…that didn’t come out sounding right,” Teresa says. “I mean he’s been nice enough to help out. Plus the boys need a father figure around. He takes them down to the gym where he works every once in a while. It’s good for them to be around a grown man. I’m on a tight budget, as you can imagine. He fixes stuff for me…you know…leaky faucets…backed up toilets…”

  Teresa stops in mid-sentence, gently places the baby down on a blanket on the floor between the two of them.

  “Who am I kidding?” she says. “Kyle and I have been seeing each other nearly as long as Victor has been gone. At first, it was just friendly concern on his part. He’d come by and check on us once in a while. If money was low, he always offered some to me. If it weren’t for the children, I never would have taken it.

  “Everything was very platonic for a long time, but you understand how things are. You talk, you listen, you laugh, you cry, you care, and the next thing you know…

  “Hey, it’s a small town, and nob
ody’s going to knock down the door of a woman with three kids. Oh, I’m not living under any illusions. Kyle’s a nice guy, and God knows he’s lonely, but I know he doesn’t love me. And…I suppose I don’t love him, either.”

  Helen listens. She remains silent, which is like torture to Teresa.

  “There is one thing I think you best know,” Teresa says, “something important…”

  “And what is that?”

  “Kyle told me about you when he came back from that weekend trip he took to see you.”

  “Did he tell you about the photos?” Helen asks.

  “Photos…what photos? I don’t know anything about any photos,” Teresa says. There is a look of sincerity on her face. It is obvious Teresa knows nothing of what Helen is asking.

  “Never mind,” Helen says. “It’s not important. Finish what you were saying.”

  “I’m saying, Kyle doesn’t love me. He’s never loved me and he never will. He told me about you from the start. He has strong feelings for you.

  “You need to know why he was here just now. He came by to call it off between us. He’s so excited he’s going to see you today, he can hardly contain himself. He doesn’t want to live a lie with me anymore. He’s hoping for a new start with you.

  “Please, don’t judge him or me; we did what we needed to do to survive, and now it’s over. Don’t ruin what might be between the two of you over what could never be between the two of us.”

  Helen looks at the baby on the floor and then into Teresa’s face. “Thank you for telling me this. I wish…” Helen isn’t sure what to say.

  “He’s a good man,” Teresa says. “I envy you.”

  Helen stands up. “I do need to go. Is there anything you’d like me to tell Victor if I see him again?”

  “Yes, tell him I love him.”

  ***

  Helen pulls her car behind Joyce’s car in the driveway. On the porch, she puts her hand over her eyebrows and looks through the screen door into the dark house. She pounds gently on the side of the door, and the next moment Joyce’s smiling face appears.

  “Helen, we didn’t know when to expect you! Come in! Your aunt has been waiting.”

  Inside, it takes a minute for Helen’s eyes to adjust to the darkness of the house. The air is stale and warm; there is a silence over everything.

  “So how have you been?” Joyce asks.

  “Good…I’ve been good… and you?”

  “Not so bad. It’s not that I don’t have complaints, but who’d listen?”

  “I know what you mean,” Helen agrees in a sympathetic tone.

  “Listen, there’s something we need to talk about. I want to apologize for what happened that night. I mean, I didn’t mean to scare you, and I definitely didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “I understand,” Helen says. “Kyle told me everything. Under the circumstances…”

  “Kyle has been talking about nothing but you for the past few weeks. I think you’ve made quite an impression on him.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “I need to tell you something about your aunt,” says Joyce. “She hasn’t been well lately, and her strength has been failing. She has been spending most of her time in bed, and when she’s not, she’s in her wheelchair. She hardly comes out of her bedroom. That’s where she is now. Go to her, she’s been so excited about your visit.”

  Helen walks to the bedroom door. She takes a long breath and knocks.

  “Who is it?” the feeble voice of her sickly aunt seeps through the door.

  “It’s me, Aunt Eleanor…Helen. …May I come in?”

  “Come in, darling…come in!”

  Helen enters. If the rest of the house is too dark to make out colors, Aunt Eleanor’s bedroom is too dark to make out shapes clearly.

  “Helen, it’s so good to see you again.” Aunt Eleanor sits in her wheelchair close to the window, though the shades are down. Helen kisses her on the cheek and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “I don’t see you for years and now I see you twice in the same year,” smiles Aunt Eleanor. “You are going to be staying with us? I’ve had Joyce make ready your room.”

  “Oh, no, Aunt Eleanor, I’m just in for the day on business. I just have time for a short visit.”

  “Well then, we’ll just have to make do, so let’s visit,” says the old woman.

  The next few minutes they fill with idle chitchat. Then a silence comes over the women. Helen’s mind races, she thinks of what she’ll ask and how to ask it. Finally, Helen starts slowly but straightforward with her questioning.

  “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, Aunt Eleanor, something I should have asked you the last time I was here.”

  “What is it you’d like to know?” her aunt asks, smiling.

  “I was very young when Uncle Jerry died; I hardly remember him. Tell me about him, please.”

  “Well, let’s see…he was a loving husband, a good provider, a good father, and a credit to his community. I doubt there’s a better epitaph I could write for him than that.”

  “And how did he die?”

  “Heart attack. …We were on vacation in Europe and the poor man fell over on the steps of a church in Barcelona. It happened oh so suddenly. As I remember it, he grabbed hold of his left arm as if in pain. He went sheet white, fell to the ground, and the next moment he was gone.”

  “You say he was a good father?”

  “Of course, he was! You just ask either one of my boys; they’ll tell you.”

  “Your boys…I thought Nicholas died years ago in a car accident?”

  The smile leaves the old woman’s face.

  “Yes, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise. It’s just it’s been such a long time ago…I meant just ask Victor.”

  “I did speak to Victor, and he paints a much different portrait of his father than you do…a very dark portrait.”

  Her aunt’s tone turns cold, “I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest.”

  “Aunt Eleanor, do you know where Victor is right now? Do you know how he’s been living and where?”

  “Of course, I do! He’s married and he lives with his lovely wife, Teresa, and their three children. He works at the cement plant as a supervisor. They’re all very happy!”

  “Aunt Eleanor, Victor and his wife have been separated for months. He’s in jail right now!”

  “Jail…” whispers the old woman, as if not surprised, as if she knew it was a question of when and not if. Yet, outwardly, she does not accept what she knows in her heart. “That’s impossible,” she snaps. “What would Victor be in jail for?”

  “He’s been accused of murder!”

  “There must be some mistake; Victor never hurt anyone!”

  “That’s what he says, and I agree,” Helen says. “He says someone else did the murders, and that someone told him…no…forced him to confess.”

  “Who…who would do such a thing?”

  “Victor says it was his father.”

  “His father!” exclaims Aunt Eleanor. “But Victor’s father has been dead for years. I don’t know where you’re getting all of this, young lady, but…”

  “From Victor…Victor swears his father is still alive. …He visits him and tells him to do things.”

  “Well, I don’t believe a word of it. Poor boy must have lost his mind!”

  “Perhaps he has. But I think it a strange and callous conclusion for a mother to arrive at so quickly. Unless, Aunt Eleanor, I think you know more than you’re telling me. I think you’re hiding something.”

  “I don’t know what you mean!” The old woman’s voice grows cold as do her staring eyes. Helen realizes she hit a nerve.

  Helen presses on. “All those years, living under the same roof, you must have known what was going on. You at least had your suspicions. Or did you turn your eyes from what was happening and bury your head in the sand?”

  “Young lady, what are you implying?”

  “I’m talking about your
two boys…your two sons…and their father locked for hours together down in the basement. I’m talking about the endless line of young boys coming and going.”

  “I still don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “I think you do! The more I think about it, the surer I am you knew.”

  “Knew what?” she demands.

  “That your husband molested your sons and other young boys.”

  “That’s a lie! You’re lying! Who told you this…Victor? He’s a liar! No one will believe him, and no one will believe you! There’s no proof. …You have no proof!”

  “You did know…didn’t you?”

  “He wasn’t like ordinary men,” argues her aunt. “His taste for life was deeper than other people. He was a genius, and a genius needs to drink from many wells!”

  “Who told you that? Did he tell you that? And you believed him? Those were your sons, your own flesh and blood!”

  “Go ahead, say whatever you want, tell whoever you want, it doesn’t matter. You have no proof!” Her voice goes hoarse.

  “No proof…I’ll show you proof!”

  Helen reaches in her pocket and pulls out a handful of photos – pictures taken from the basement.

  “Where did you get those?” The old woman leaps from her wheelchair at Helen. “Give me those, you little slut!”

  The old woman grabs the photos from Helen. She holds herself up for no more than a few seconds and then goes crashing to the floor. Joyce comes rushing in and falls to her knees alongside Aunt Eleanor, taking the pictures from her grasp.

  “This wasn’t why we gave them to you!” says Joyce, handing the pictures back to Helen.

  “I hope he kills you!” Aunt Eleanor hollers, gasping for breath and choking on her words. “I hope he kills you!”

  Aunt Eleanor’s eyes roll back in her head. In one quick motion, Joyce picks up the old woman and drops her down on the bed.

  “There’s a phone in the kitchen; call for an ambulance!” Joyce commands Helen.

  Ten minutes later, the paramedics are storming into the house.

  “She’s in there,” Helen says, pointing at the bedroom door.

  They run in, slamming the door behind them.