“What is it honey, I’m sure it can’t be all that bad?”
“Oh but it’s worse. Worse than you could even imagine. I swear I must be losing my mind.”
Randall didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was just thinking she might need a relaxing stay at the nut house. “Go on,” he said. “I’m listening.”
They were seated on the sofa in the living room. The house was in disarray, clothes were scattered about and the carpet hadn’t been vacuumed in weeks, dirty dishes were growing in the sink faster than dandelions in springtime. Randall had been consumed with work, spending long hours away from home, and Ellie’s normally compulsive behavior to keep her house spotless had slipped away with the anxiety and stress that recently preoccupied her mind.
“Well, I had another dream.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake Ellie, not this again.” He immediately regretted the words that had spewed from his mouth, though they were instinctual and he had no control over them.
“Are you going to listen to me or not!” Ellie’s raised her voice, though it crackled mostly with fear and not anger.
“I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Remember I told you that dream I had about Abby?”
“Darrow’s wife?”
His disbelieving tone irked her but she continued without saying anything. “Yes, that’s her.”
“What about her?”
“Well it seems that Aiden’s been dreaming about her too.”
“What?” Randall stood up. “I thought I told you not to mention any of this to him, no wonder he’s having nightmares.”
“DAMN IT RANDALL, SIT DOWN!”
Her tone left no room for argument. Randall sat back down and waited silently. When she began again her tone was soft.
“I didn’t mention her at all to him. That’s why it’s so disturbing.”
“You told me that he heard you screaming her name in your sleep and that you were frightened he might be worried about you.”
“Well yes, I guess I did mention her name to him, but that’s all.”
“That’s all it takes, you know how active a kid’s imagination can be.”
“I mentioned her name, that’s it. I didn’t tell him anything about her and it seems that he’s been having dreams about her too.”
“How do you know he’s been dreaming about her then? Did he just come up to you and say ‘hey mom, I’ve been having some weird dreams lately?’”
“No, nothing like that.” She gave him a disapproving look. “You know how I told you about how I ran into Belinda Dawson the other day down at the store?” Randall nodded. “Well Aiden thought her name was Abby.”
“So he got confused, it happens.”
Ellie shook her head from side to side. “Uh uh, not like this. I think he confused her because of her wheelchair.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Every time I dream about Abby she’s in a wheelchair. I asked Aiden why he thought her name was Abby and he said he recognized her from his own dreams, recognized her because of her funny chair with wheels on it.”
“So, he’s probably just recalling what you said. It’s his way of empathizing.”
“Randall, I never told him that Abby was in a wheelchair.” She let the last word hang in the air for emphasis.
“You must have.”
“I didn’t.”
“Ellie, there’s no other way.”
“Damn it Randall! You’re not listening to me! I know it sounds crazy but I believe Aiden’s been having the same dreams that I have.” She waited for a response. Randall had nothing to say, so she continued. “I didn’t tell him about the chair, I’m sure of it.” She paused. “And there’s more.”
“Okay, what else?”
“I had another dream. About McGinty and George Talcott.”
“The guy who built Talcott Manor?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“I dreamed that he told me to help Abby. I did some research at the library and I found some old newspaper articles, and well, he appeared exactly as I pictured him.”
“That’s not unusual, you’re just imposing him into your dreams that’s all.”
“Randall, until I dreamed about him I’d never even heard of George Talcott, or John McGinty, who it turns out happens to be my great great grandfather, and I certainly didn’t know what the hell they looked like. But there they were, jumping right out of the newspaper, exactly how I dreamed them.”
Randall sat stumped. “Ellie, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything, just listen. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to listen without judging me or thinking I’m crazy?”
He nodded again. And then Ellie started at the beginning, retelling her dream down to the last detail. Randall listened without interrupting, not wanting to believe any of it, but fearing he had no choice.
Jack Darrow was just returning home with his latest purchase. He had spent the better part of two hours down at Peninsula Tack and Feed Store. He had put the clerk through the ringer with a variety of questions, making the teenager call a local veterinarian to get the answers he wanted. He hoped that his questions hadn’t provoked too much interest, but then again what the hell did he care? He hadn’t provided his name and he had paid cash so it didn’t make much of a difference. These days he did his best to remain cautious. However, he knew that the damn pigs had been watching him, like vultures they circled about him studying his every move. After making sure that he wasn’t being followed he had pulled into the store and began looking for his item.
His story had been simple. He described how he had just purchased an unruly mare and was having trouble saddling and bridling the animal so that it could be broke. Fearing that he or the animal might be hurt he had hoped to administer a horse tranquilizer to keep the horse in a relaxed state. Most of the tranquilizers were federally controlled and administered only by veterinarians, but he assured the young lady that he only needed a mild sedative and that whatever she had available would probably do just fine. Shortly after that he walked out of the store carrying three large syringes full of sedative.
Administering the drug to Abby would be difficult, he had no idea how much of the drug would give him the desired effect. He assumed it wouldn’t take very much so he would start out with just a little bit and inject more if needed. She had to be conscious but incapable of interaction. The last thing he wanted was for her to strike up a conversation with Brad Jennings, even if her words were barely discernable. She had an uncanny way about her that let her speak her mind even if her tongue didn’t work the way it once had.
He struggled to open the front door fumbling with his keys and juggling the brown bag with the tranquilizer as well as the vase of flowers he had picked up for Abby on the way home. It might make the lawyer a little less likely to think Abby was being mistreated. At last he found the right key and turned the lock. He closed the door behind him and proceeded up the stairs, left down the hallway, and then right into Abby’s room. She was sitting in her chair next to her nightstand staring out the window, exactly where he had left her this morning.
Abby heard him come in but continued staring outside. The skin on her arms was tingling the way it always did when Jack was up to something. It was like she had internal radar that let her know when Jack had a particular intention in mind. Perhaps he was predictable, a creature of habit, and all of her years spent observing him tipped her off when a plan was circulating in his head. Whatever the reason for her insightful perception, one thing was certain; whenever Darrow had intentions they were never good.
“Hey baby, I’ve got a little somethin’ for ya.”
He placed the vase of flowers on the nightstand, and then he came around and knelt down beside her, an ominous brown bag was clutched in his right hand.
“Wass da?”
“It’s just a little medicine darling. It’s supposed to help you with your pain.”
“Now don’t be frightened baby, it’s not going to hurt. I can stick you in the leg where you won’t feel a thing.”
“I don wan ih.”
“Nonsense, it will make you feel better.” He tapped the needle a couple of times and depressed the plunger slightly until a few drops leaked from the tip.
“Noh.”
Abby tried to wheel herself backwards but Jack had applied the hand brake and the wheels held firmly in place. He looked down at her with the fire in his eyes that she feared so much.
“Now you listen to me you little bitch. I’ve got a very important meeting tomorrow that could mean a lot of money for the both of us and I can’t have you running off at the mouth and screwing it all up, you understand me?”
He gripped the needle in his right hand and extended his tongue in concentration as he looked for a meaty spot in her leg. He had dressed her in shorts this morning and Abby doubted that it was a coincidence.
“Noh, I sa I don wan ih!”
She pushed his arm away. Darrow was stunned for a second, surprised at the unexpected strength in her arms. She had definitely been getting stronger, wheeling herself all around the house when he wasn’t home like a snot nosed child always sticking her hand in the cookie jar when mother wasn’t looking. He would teach her obedience yet. He brought his left hand around in a giant arc, generating as much speed as he could from his kneeling position. The back of his hand collided with her cheekbone, hard. Abby’s eyes watered as she watched the needle disappear into the meaty part of her thigh. Jack depressed the plunger just a little bit and then immediately withdrew it. A small drop of blood oozed from the wound, a perfect red pearl. Abby wondered if he had just administered a poison that would end her life. She didn’t think that was beyond him, not anymore. She knew Jack Darrow was capable of murder. He had done it before, and she had no doubt that he would kill her too if it suited his needs. He stood up and backed away a few feet and then he just stared at her, watching.
“Wah di ooh gi mah?”
“Just something that will make you a little sleepy that’s all baby. Now how do you feel?”
Abby didn’t answer. The drug worked fast through her system, starting at the top of her hips where she still had feeling and working its way upward, numbing her as it went. She let out a startled cry. She was already paralyzed from the waist down and she didn’t want to lose the feeling in the rest of her body as well. Soon her vision began to blur, her tongue felt think and heavy, drool poured out of her mouth, which was agape now against her will. She was vaguely aware of Jack checking his watch, four or five images of his arm turned upward as he gazed at his wrist.
“Bee baack in aah couple of hoooursss baaabeee.”
She could barely make out the words that spewed from his mouth in a long drawn out sentence. Then he turned to leave and Abby listened to his footfalls as his boots echoed behind her before disappearing down the hall. Her drool was dripping from her chin now, falling between her legs in long sticky strands and making a disturbing splattering sound on the vinyl seat of her wheelchair. She struggled to remain conscious but the haze was growing around her head. She felt her eyelids close slightly. With as much strength as she could conjure she tried to move her arms, command her hands to obey her will, but they just lay at her sides, lifeless and unresponsive. Her worst nightmare had come true; she was paralyzed, completely paralyzed!
Inside her head Abby Darrow screamed, a long pitiful wail that only she could hear. Damn him to hell she thought. She was married to a monster. Damn him to hell where he belonged, and she swore to herself if she ever regained the use of her arms that’s exactly where she’d send him.
Outside the sunlight was fading quickly, fading like her grip on reality. The last few rays poured in through the window dancing around her in fuzzy auras. Her head began to bob, she couldn’t feel it but she could tell it from the way her vision jumped up and down. She began to cry softly, and her hope began to die.
Aaaaabeeee. Aaaaabeeee.
The voice was emanating from somewhere inside her head, taunting her she thought at first.
Aaaaabeeee.
Caaaan yoooouuu heeeaar meeeee?
The words were thick, even within her own head.
Aaaaabeeee iiiitsss meeeee.
Breeeendaaa.
FORTY-FOUR
Connelly looked down at the woman in the wheelchair. Her hair was matted, her nightgown filthy, and she smelled as though she hadn’t had a bath in months. Open sores ran up and down her legs. She gazed outward but her eyes were devoid of luster and at first glance, Connelly was sure she was dead. The entire house had given him the creeps the instant he stepped foot inside and now he was sure he had walked right into a bizarre horror movie, the kind where the wife dies and the psycho husband, full of grief, keeps her rotting corpse as if nothing had ever happened.
“I told ya, she’s a damn invalid.” Jack Darrow said snidely over the detective’s shoulder.
If there was any grief in his voice Connelly couldn’t hear it. He knelt beside the woman and felt her wrist for a pulse; it was there but barely discernable. Suddenly an overwhelming wave of sorrow rushed through the young detective. He didn’t know the woman before him but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He stood up and faced Jack Darrow who smiled out at him with a missing front tooth. Connelly had to restrain himself not to knock the rest of them out himself, let alone keep his voice level.
“Mr. Darrow, when was the last time your wife saw a doctor?”
“Shit, she’s been to every doctor under the sun at least twice. They all say the same thing, nothin’ they can do for her.”
“She doesn’t look like she’s doing too well, maybe you should…”
“Maybe you should mind your own business Mr. Jennings.” Darrow’s tone left no room for argument. “See the thing is, death’s the best thing that could happen to her now. So don’t you worry your little legal mind over it. She can’t feel a thing anyways. Doctors say she’s been brain dead for over a year now, nothin’ but one big vegetable. Shit, you might as well be lookin’ at a fruit salad for all that its worth.”
Through the haze of the sedative Abby fought for consciousness, vaguely aware that someone was speaking, no not one person, two people! People having a conversation! She hadn’t seen another person besides Jack for well over a year now. But who was it? Who was here? She tried to speak but her mouth felt as if it were super glued in place. Darrow pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. He offered the pack to Connelly who shook his head, contempt still lacing his eyes.
“Suit yourself. Me, I always like a good smoke before I get down to business, shall we?”
Darrow motioned to the door and then led the detective from the room and down the stairs. Had detective Connelly waited a moment longer he might have seen the woman in the wheelchair twitch her fingers, or seen the wad of drool that escaped her lips as she whispered two words: “Hep mah.”
Help me.
In the living room Darrow motioned to Connelly to sit on the sofa and then he pulled the badly conditioned coffee table closer before plopping down next to the detective.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Darrow said and rapped on the coffee table to signal his eagerness.
Connelly was stalling for time, he had hoped to get a chance to look around, look for evidence, clues, anything that could tie him to the murdered girl they had found in the dumpster behind the Shell station. But Darrow hadn’t let him out of his sight the entire time. In fact it seemed that he scrutinized his every movement. There was no way around it, if he wanted a look at the mansion he would have to come out and ask, but he doubted Darrow would be willing to let him do so. Jack Darrow was a paranoid man, and paranoid men were like wounded lions, alert and dangerous. He pulled the fake legal documents from his briefcase and instructed Darro
w where to sign. Darrow snatched the gold pen out of his hand and began hastily scratching down his initials on the highlighted sections of the documents.
“You know, this is one hell of a house you got here.”
“Uh huh.” Darrow didn’t look up, his nose pressed close as he fervently worked through the stack of papers.
“I don’t normally do this, but do you mind if after we’re finished I take a look around? I’m kind of an architecture buff.”
What the fuck? God damn nosy lawyer. “No, I don’t…” And then Jack Darrow paused. Something had caught his eye, as he was leaning over. Just underneath his right elbow he was able to see the lawyer shift his weight on the couch, as he did so his sport jacket opened just a little bit to reveal the handle of a gun. Since when did lawyers start packing? Fucking pigs! Fucking God damn lousy pigs. I should have known better than to fall for their lying tricks. “Sure.” He said pleasantly. “Why the hell not? I guess there wouldn’t be any harm, and you’ve been helpful with the whole process.”
He signed the last document and then handed the pen back to Connelly with a wide smile that took the detective aback. Something about the change in Darrow’s demeanor should have tipped the young detective off, but he was too excited about the prospect of inspecting the mansion that it slipped by him.
“Great!” Connelly said and stood up, turning to leave. “I’ll just mosey about and take a look around.”
“Uh Mr. Jennings?”
Connelly turned back around. “Yes?”
“Your documents.”
“Oh right. Can’t forget those.” Chagrin crossed the young detective’s face as he took the stack of papers from Darrow.
“And I better go with you. This is a big house, don’t want you getting lost.” Darrow smiled again.
Fuck. “Of course.”
Darrow stood up and placed his arm around Connelly’s shoulder, like a long lost brother displaying affection for the first time in years. “Why don’t we start in the basement? It’s my favorite part of the entire house.”
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