by A. I. Nasser
Of course you are. I’m basically writing your story for you.
“Cheers, brother,” John said in the closest imitation to Derrick Fern he could muster. He chuckled to himself.
If you could get her to leave completely, it would free some extra room in that bed for someone else.
John smiled, thinking of his nights with Eva, images flashing before his eyes.
Sounds pretty good to me, Johnny-boy.
His mind wandered to thoughts of Eva, what he would do to her if given the chance. The blonde would be helpless in his hands, and this time he wouldn’t let her leave. Just one night, that was all he needed. He didn’t care who her father was or how much pull he had in town. The girl was old enough to make her own choices. What was the saying? The heart wants what the heart desires?
There’s more than heart in this one, buddy.
John chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette, his nose stinging from the scent creeping up from the basement, the rattling of the attic door starting to become louder. He heard the window latches turning, slowly, screeching, metal scratching against metal as they loosened completely and the living room windows flew open with a crash. The house suddenly felt like a whirlwind was blowing through it, and the lights flickered on and off, on and off. A bulb in the hallway burst, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the empty house.
“Show off,” John whispered, a smile on his face as he sat still in the chaos around him.
Then, suddenly, all at once, everything stopped. The stench dispersed, the lights stopped flickering, and the attic door was suddenly still.
She’s coming.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, soft, calming, squeezing him gently. John laid his head back, looking up into the face staring down at him, eyes dead, beard similar to the one he was growing, grin wide and manic.
She has to go. We have work to do.
John smiled back, and the sound of his laughter echoed through the entire house.
Chapter 14
“Did you remove the towels?”
John sighed at the sound of Karen’s voice calling from downstairs. He had just started writing, opting out of breakfast after his wife had returned the other night and had gotten into a fit about him smoking indoors, and of course, the smell. She had replaced the towels, closed the windows and had decided not to talk about her day, especially after John gave her the cold shoulder when she tried to ask him about his writing.
The truth was he couldn’t bring himself to ask her to leave. He wanted to, God did he ever. Every inch of him was aching to tell her to go home, but his mouth would open and nothing would come out.
When they had finally fallen asleep, still arguing about the smoking, John had already promised himself that he would do it in the morning. But he had woken up with an urge to continue writing, and the thought of having a break that would get into another heated argument made him wince. The conversation could wait.
No it can’t, Johnny-boy. She’s already settled in and made friends. It’s only going to get harder.
John ignored the voice and went on typing. Not now. It could wait.
That wasn’t our deal.
“I said I’ll do it tonight,” John whispered, eyes concentrated on the work at hand.
“John!” Karen called out from downstairs. “Where the hell are the towels?”
John sighed and slammed his laptop shut, ready to drive his fist into the wall in frustration.
I guess she’ll push you to do it, buddy.
John quickly made his way downstairs, angrily storming into the kitchen as he pulled the towels out from behind the door. He held them out to his wife, Karen’s fury apparent in her eyes as she stared at him accusingly, as if he were the one causing problems. He wanted to slap her across the face.
“Why do I get the feeling that you actually enjoy the smell of whatever it is that’s coming up from there?” Karen spat, snatching the towels from his hand.
“I warned you about that,” John retorted. “I told you something’s dead in the walls.”
“Then fix it!”
“I tried!” John threw his hands into the air. “How about you do something about it? I’m actually busy!”
Karen stared at him angrily, then slammed the towels into the sink and turned the water on them. “Right, of course,” she muttered. “Why do anything when I can, right?”
“What was that?”
“You heard me!” Karen shouted, turning around to face her husband. “For the past few years it’s been me taking care of every little thing while you sat at your laptop and made up stories!”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Hey, that’s not fair!” he shouted. “I’ve been helping out just as much as you have. You can’t deny that.”
“Sure you were,” Karen scoffed. “Tell you what, the next time I need a babysitter for Dylan, I’ll give you a call.”
John slammed his hand against the countertop and pointed at her angrily. “I gave this family as much as you have, if not more! Don’t you go taking your frustration out on me!”
“I wouldn’t be frustrated if someone had talked to me last night like they were supposed to,” Karen hissed.
“You’re the one who came in shouting up a storm.”
“You were smoking in the house!”
“It’s not even our house!”
They stared at each other for a few seconds, both frowning, each trying to come up with the best thing to say to get under the other’s skin. When neither could think of anything, Karen turned back to the towels and John stormed out, making his way back upstairs.
That went well.
“Shut up,” John said as he sat down, opened his laptop, and picked up where he had left off.
***
June Summers felt a cold wind rush through the store when David Green walked in.
The man was a towering presence, quick with a smile that chilled and eyes too cold to really be mirrors into any kind of soul. His white hair cascaded over his shoulders in neatly combed waves, and June was quick to notice how they hid a nasty scar along the side of his neck.
Fishing accident, she remembered someone once saying. She wondered how much truth was behind that.
David gave June one of his infamous smiles and absently grabbed a pack of chips off the closest shelf to him, his eyes locked on her. She braced herself as he walked to the register and dropped his purchase in front of her.
“What do you want, David?” June asked, matching his stare but not his smile.
David looked down at the counter and then back at her. “Chips,” he said.
“I’m serious.” June pressed her lips together, already annoyed.
“The author, the one living in the old Dean house, what’s his name?” David said, snapping his fingers as he looked away thoughtfully.
“John,” June said, trying to hurry the conversation up.
“That’s it,” David said, pointing at her. “John. I see his wife’s moved in with him. You wouldn’t happen to know if they’re buying the old dump, would you?”
June shrugged and swiped the bag of chips against her screen, pushing buttons on the register. “No idea,” she said. “Why don’t you ask them?”
“I would, but I doubt they’re a very friendly bunch,” David said. “I’ve seen his wife in here a few times,” David went on. “Seems like the two of you have gotten pretty close.”
“That’s really none of your business, but what of it?”
David smiled and leaned against the counter. “I thought that June Summers would be able to help a friend out and share some of what she knows,” he said. “I know where the town gossip starts.”
June folded her arms and stared angrily at the man, her eyes squinting. “First of all, you ain’t my friend. Second, you can find your gossip in the bar down the road, if they’ll let you in.”
June thought back to the month before when David and Hank had been at each other’s throats in Denny’s Bar
after a heated argument. Denny had kicked them both out, and had warned them to never set foot in the bar again. Since then, Hank had apologized and won the man’s trust back. David Green was not the apologizing type, and had been trying to shut the place down since. Needless to say, it didn’t make him any more popular.
“How is Hank anyway?” David asked, his smile widening. “Has he gotten over Irene yet?”
“Watch it, David,” June warned.
David Green chuckled, a deep, hoarse laugh that had always made June cringe.
“So there’s nothing you can tell me?” he asked.
“There’s plenty,” June shrugged. “I just don’t want to tell you.”
David nodded as he straightened himself. He looked about the small shop, his eyes taking it all in, before he took out a few bills and threw them on the counter.
“I’ll be seeing you around,” he said, turning and walking out.
“You forgot your chips,” June called after him.
He didn’t answer her. June watched as the man pulled up his collar against the wind, looked back at her with that smile of his and walked away.
***
Karen blew smoke out in rings as she sat quietly on the bench outside. Wrapped up in her windbreaker, her hair loose and her knees pulled up to her chest, she quietly watched the skies change color as the sun set. It was calmer out here, more peaceful, and there was no way she was going to spend time inside the house with that foul smell floating around. How did John even handle it?
I think he’s right. Call an exterminator.
She wasn’t going to call anyone. If her husband couldn’t pick up the phone and do something as simple as that, then she was just going to suck it up and soldier through it. If he could stand it, so would she, until it at least got bad enough for one of them to fold.
He’s been living with the smell for a week before you got here. Do it yourself.
Karen shook her head in reply, the thought ludicrous. No more. She wasn’t going to go out of her way for him anymore. If John wanted something done, he would have to do it himself. She was done playing mommy.
She took a drag, hearing him moving around in the living room downstairs, not bothering to put out her cigarette. So what if he saw her smoke? He’d been smoking for years, hadn’t even quit when she was pregnant with Dylan, which was probably the reason why their son had to move around everywhere with an inhaler in his pocket.
He’s a selfish son of a bitch, that’s for sure.
She thought back to the years spent pampering and cooing, pushing him to write, always there when he needed her. She had been through it all, even before the bestseller that had finally given them some breathing space. She had watched him struggle to write another one, Derrick twisting his arm into sending in the other two manuscripts that were supposed to be their insurance policy. And she had smiled through it all.
You know, cupcake, there was probably a time when you actually liked being in charge.
“I was never in charge,” she whispered to herself.
Despite being the only one bringing in some constant income, she had maintained the husband and wife role she had been raised to believe in. John wore the pants in their household, and she had been more than happy with that. Now it seemed like he was taking her good nature for granted.
“He could call his own damn exterminator,” she mumbled.
I think it’s more than just that, cupcake. Don’t you think it’s a little funny he’s been acting up ever since you told him you wanted to stay here?
She hadn’t thought about that before, although the notion deserved some consideration. It was only after she had voiced her intentions did he suddenly shut down and change. Was he causing that smell? Was he doing it all on purpose to drive her away?
Oh no, he’s definitely an ass. But why show that much of it now?
Karen thought about it and could only come up with one conclusion; he wanted her gone. It was the only thing that made sense. He had started to write again only when alone, and yesterday had been the first time she had spent the entire day out since her arrival. She had seen what he had done, a bulk of his writing finished in only eight hours while she was with June.
He wants you gone.
The more she thought about it, the more it made complete sense. Suddenly, her frustration turned into anger, her mind finding it hard to believe that he would stoop so low to get rid of her, especially after she had told him she was going through problems. She couldn’t remember the last time he was this inconsiderate. What the hell was wrong with him?
I think the real question here, cupcake, is why he wants you gone.
Karen frowned and lit another cigarette. She inhaled deeply as a car pulled around a corner and sped by their house, cruising into the Greens’ driveway. She watched it with little interest, her eyes tiredly following the only moving object around her. The wind had started to pick up, and the skies had turned to a deep velvet haze that would slowly envelop the world in darkness.
She watched as the driver climbed out of the car, tall, his hair long and dancing in the wind. She assumed it was Papa Green. The man moved to the trunk of the car, opened it and froze when he looked up at her and saw her staring. They observed each other from across the twenty or so yards separating their houses, and Karen couldn’t stop herself from raising her hand in a small hello.
The man smiled and raised his own in reply, rummaged a bit in the trunk and closed it with an echoing bang. He looked over at Karen again before making his way up the porch stairs of his house, the front door opening as his daughter greeted him. He said something to her, and the blonde immediately turned in Karen’s direction.
She’s frowning again.
“She’s always frowning,” Karen whispered back. “Those are going to put some awful wrinkles on that pretty face.”
Papa Green seemed to notice the tension and said something to his daughter, the girl quickly turning to him and waving her arms about in a tantrum. The man grabbed her by the arm and roughly pushed her inside, the front door slamming behind them.
I wonder why she hates you so much.
Karen shrugged and went back to staring out in space, enjoying her cigarette in the light chill of the evening air. She had no idea what the girl’s problem was. She had never even spoken to her.
John knows.
“Why would John know?”
Well, he’s been awfully vague about the neighbors, a bit dodgy even. Maybe he’s already run into them.
Karen thought about that, but quickly dismissed it. Why would John not tell her about that?
Why does John do anything he does these days? It’s weird how uncomfortable she seems whenever she sees you.
“He would have told me,” Karen muttered as if trying to convince herself.
The girl is gorgeous, though, isn’t she?
“She is,” Karen agreed.
A real treat, wouldn’t you agree?
Karen suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.
So, cupcake, remind me again why we think John wants you gone.
Goosebumps broke out on her arms as her body gave a sudden shudder.
Karen looked over at the Greens and took a long drag from her cigarette, her features folding into a frown of her own.
Chapter 15
Karen was gone when John woke up the next morning, his entire body in pain, his muscles screaming. His temples throbbed, and his head felt like an entire demolition crew blowing parts of his brain to threads as they worked tirelessly at causing the greatest amount of pain conceivable.
In the darkness, he rolled out of bed and reached out to pull back the drapes, expecting a little bit of sunlight to brighten his mood. All he got were gray skies and the soft trickle of rain. He called out to Karen, and when she didn’t reply, he quietly thanked the Gods for it. He had wanted to be alone, especially after the mutual silent treatment they had given each other the entire day.
Look on the bright side, Johnny-boy. The book’s a
lmost done.
He felt like he had cheated the muses a bit, going back on his promise to push Karen away, his wife relentless in her quest to stay. She hadn’t even bothered with dinner, or anything else for that matter, letting the house sulk in despair as it went unattended.
What the hell was she doing out in this weather anyway?
He trudged downstairs, leaning hard against the walls as he tried his best not to buckle and fall the rest of the way down. His feet felt like lead, and it was hell getting himself to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. He glanced at the basement door as his nose wrinkled at the stench that had now become stronger, and he was half surprised when he found the towels tossed to one side as if someone had opened the door, and then forgotten to put them back in place.
She was down there. Probably trying to figure out what was wrong on her own.
It didn’t really matter anyway. All he could think about was the constant hammering inside his head, and he rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search of anything that might help him fight the pain. He was disappointed, though, suddenly frustrated as he slammed the drawers shut and kicked at the bar stool, stubbing his toe against the cold steel.
John wobbled his way to the living room, forgetting the coffee in favor of the need to attend to his toe. He felt like he had broken it, and as he slumped onto the couch, he wiggled it to make sure. It hurt, but it was definitely not broken.
He let himself drop onto his side, curling up in a fetal position as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
Okay, sissy, you need to get up and get to work. She might not be here now, but she’ll be coming home soon, and then you won’t get anything done.
“Just five more minutes,” John stammered, already feeling his body relax and his mind swim.
The knocking on his front door brought a groan out of him, and he sat up angrily.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, buddy.
“Karen has a key,” John argued with the empty room as he stood up and rubbed his temples. “That’s someone else.”