Twelfth Grade, unfortunately, didn’t teach. It pontificated like a Baptist Minister, thumping a bible from his pulpit with threats of eternal damnation and acid Hell. A disturbing conversation and one of the most horrible things I’ve ever seen burrowed into my head like a cranial drill without the benefit of anesthesia.
Like a pack of wild dogs, what I saw tore me apart, savage rip by savage rip. They closed in on me and tore my flesh when Jack turned seventeen. Of course, they had the help of white glove service, food catered by one of the finest restaurants in Detroit, and a live band.
But it wasn’t ‘just’ a live band. They hired KISS, for God’s sake.
It was in ‘95. You know, long after the makeup came off. I have no idea what it cost his family to hire KISS, but I’m sure they weren’t inclined to play at birthday parties for seventeen year old boys. Nor did they need the money.
No doubt his family used connections, and they had many. Jack strutted around the place like he was the King of Pussyland, and loved that every girl at the party was ready to throw their panties at him. Not wanting to leave them out, Jack also loved that every guy was envious as Hell and wished he would just stick to his girlfriend and give the mortals a chance.
I too was envious, but for different reasons. While he was the happy victim of a hapless mob of beautiful girls hoping for a chance to become his next conquest, the Goddess he incarcerated was just within his careless grasp. She stuck close and bore it with dignity, but I have no idea why.
His father didn’t make an appearance but Jack didn’t care. He was too busy telling his ‘friends’ how difficult it was to get KISS. They decided to do it as a “personal favor to him.” ‘Him’ meaning Jack, not his father. Whatever. I’m sure all the girls were creaming in their tight little jeans, especially when Jack asked them if they wanted to meet Gene.
“He’s a close personal friend, you know.” Yeah. The prick.
He was flirting with other girls while she was enslaved in his twisted spell. Standing there and smiling, as if she was certain that his flirting was just the ministration of a good host. I wanted to wretch.
I couldn’t take the gratuitous grandstanding anymore. Wandering away from the pool, the party and the band, I walked into the house through the kitchen entrance. A throng of servants prepared the next go-round of fine food for a bunch of teenage kids, but I was more interested in the group of people conversing in a nearby sitting room. They appeared to be members of Jack’s direct family. Aunts and uncles sat sipping and talking.
Curious.
I nearly upset a tray of canapés when I bumped into a waiter who rushed them to hungry adolescents. He served me a nasty look and kept going as I approached the entrance to the room and crept behind the door. I didn’t know the people in the room, but something compelled me to eavesdrop.
“…He doesn’t appear to have one. I spoke to the psychiatrist the other day and he told me that it’s some kind of Dissociative Disorder. Apparently, complicated by a form of Psychopathy.”
“What did he say about his behavior? Is there a risk that he might become more violent?”
“I don’t know. He couldn’t get into much detail because of Doctor-Patient Privilege, but he did say that it was serious.”
“Does he think that it can be treated?”
“Aren’t there new drugs out there to treat this type of thing?”
“Sure, there are drugs to calm him down. Antidepressants, anti-anxiety drugs, mood-stabilizers. But he wasn’t very optimistic about their effectiveness. The only real treatment is psychotherapy, and he has to want it.”
There was a long pause. I tried to process this information amidst the nearby pandemonium of the kitchen staff and the thumping of KISS outside. Dissociative Disorder? I had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. Who were they talking about?
“Perhaps it’s time to have him committed.”
“Could be. I don’t know. If he would just accept treatment, then we could help him. But I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“No. I’ve tried, but he avoids the topic. He knows what’s going on but he won’t admit it. It’s not a secret.”
“How could it be, the way he’s been acting?”
“We can’t afford this right now.”
“Afford’s got nothing to do with it. Where’s his father? It’s his birthday!”
“Flo. Give him some credit, okay? He’s got a lot on his mind.”
“Credit? He abuses alcohol and God-knows what else on a daily basis. Look at what happened last month.”
“He’s not well.”
“Yeah, and the two of them are cut from the same piece of cloth. It’s not a healthy environment for either of them.”
“He tried to kill him! We need to do something.”
“Agreed, but what?”
“It’s easier said than done. We can’t afford the publicity right now. Don’t give me that look! You Goddamn-well know it! The GM announcement’s not until December. You know the stock’s going to double.”
“If this ever got out…”
“Right. It would destroy us all.”
“It can’t get out. Simple as that.”
It was then that my espionage was interrupted, as one of Jack’s uncles stormed out. He glared at me and I scurried away, as if lost. I had to take a leak anyway.
I pondered as I wandered in search of a bathroom – you’d think it’d be easy in a house with nine of them. But it was only my second time there. Finally, I wandered upstairs in search of bladder relief.
I was troubled and confused. What environment had Jack been living in to incite such a disturbing family meeting? He’s not well. Words that contained some answers, but more questions.
A strange and incomprehensible unease walked with me. A lavishly-decorated place with fine artwork, tapestries and friezes, the house was creepy to say the least. I couldn’t imagine two people living alone there. Granted, there were servants, but they resided in the Servant’s Quarters.
Psychopathy? He tried to kill him! What the Hell was going on? What had Jack been hiding from me? A confused fugue played in my mind when I finally found a bathroom and opened the door.
And saw them.
Jack and Elizabeth were pressed against the shower stall. The first things that I saw were the back of his head, his pants around his feet, and his hairy ass.
He forced her up against the stall. Seconds became a lifetime while I watched him humping her frantically and repeatedly. Her moans overshadowed the storm-clouds that were his groans, and resounded through my soul like searing bolts of lighting. They cut into the deepest recesses of my being.
But my heart ceased to beat when I saw her face.
The glorious angel of my dreams, with whom I had come to develop a deep and soulful love, grimaced in incomprehensible ways. In the moment it took me to process the visual, she stopped being the angel I’d fallen for. Her beautiful face scowled while she moaned and I knew that I was in love with a demon.
Thankfully, I couldn’t see much of her beyond bare white legs. Everything else was blocked by Jack’s ass and testicles. Her hands clutched that ass while she pulled him against her, again and again.
And again.
I stood there, dismayed and shocked, for what seemed like minutes. But it was only a moment or two before Elizabeth opened her eyes and saw me. In a moment of realization, she screamed and shoved Jack away from her.
Then, in embarrassment and shame, I did see her. But it wasn’t good for me.
A blood-red Elizabeth hurriedly covered herself as she struggled to pull her pants up over her hips. She turned away from me and stared at the shower stall. Me, I couldn’t help but stare at her naked ass. I used to imagine it in the darkness as I lay in bed, wondering what it looked like. Suddenly, I wished I never knew it existed.
The back of her head shivered. She didn’t want me to look at her. Or she didn’t want to look at me. Or
more likely, both. Either way, I was screwed.
Jack casually zipped his pants and smiled.
“Hey dude. Want in on the action?” He laughed and walked to the mirror.
Even though her back was to me, she held her hands to her face. I wished I could gouge my eyes out, but it wouldn’t have helped. It was all indelibly imprinted on my mind. I was jolted from my trance as I stared with a face embroidered with confusion, pain and remorse.
Like I’d just lost my best friends.
I bolted out of the room and the hallways laughed at me as I ran. Outside, I jumped into one of the taxis that waited there and somehow managed to tell the driver where to go. I trembled uncontrollably, and the pain in my gut and chest felt like I was having a heart attack. Indeed I was, but it wasn’t the type you fix with a defibrillator.
I couldn’t think. I could just see: her face, her hands grabbing his ass, her well-trimmed pubic hair. My ears were headphones playing relentless moans.
I don’t even want to talk about the scents that linger with me still.
When I got home I raced upstairs and into my bedroom. If the music could have gone any louder, the windows would have shattered. A torn rag-doll, I flopped onto my bed and sobbed uncontrollably.
Chapter 5
Weeks passed and I couldn’t look at either of them. Jack winked and brought it up every time we talked, but I avoided him like he was a Jehovah’s Witness with a copy of the Watchtower.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to avoid her. The unequivocal response to my pain, rage and heartache was her nervousness, embarrassment and shame. Jack made light of it and tried to bring the three of us together. As if nothing happened.
But senior graduation neared and the nightmare began to fade. While neither of us would ever forget, we learned to bury it under clumps of dirt tossed on a grave.
Besides, grad was about to take care of that with several shovelfuls.
There was a party every night for two straight weeks and we met-up while Jack was off somewhere, no doubt hitting on someone. After a few drinks I approached her and we commenced an uncomfortable conversation. The weather never sounded so good. There was no way I was about to acknowledge what happened, but her embarrassment ran deep, too. So we managed to pick up where we left off – sort of.
I still did my best to avoid being together with the two of them. We both knew that he would just love to shovel dirt. When her name came up, I changed the subject like I was holding a terrible secret. I wouldn’t remind him of his delight at our embarrassment, for he was a capitalist in every sense of the word.
But eventually Jack lost interest in talking about it, for he had new opportunities to flirt, boast and indulge. On those rare nights when he shook Elizabeth, the two of us bounced from party to party looking for opportunities – or ‘target-rich environments,’ as he liked to put it. I was exhausted and Jack didn’t make it any easier, because he ditched her whenever he could. But I was her friend, and that was an added stress for me.
If anything was wrong between them, she usually reached out to me. And there was something wrong between them, because he wanted to meet new people – girls – and she hampered that desire. So while Jack scoped new targets, I usually stood somewhere with a drink in my hand feeling uncomfortable. He may have enjoyed himself more when she wasn’t there, but I enjoyed myself less. I would’ve taken him down if I wasn’t so happy – and crushed – that they were separating.
You see, a source of deep and unfettered anguish for me, Elizabeth was admitted to the Arts program at Boston College. She would suggest coming home every other weekend, or Jack visiting Boston on occasion. But he’d shrug it off and mumble something about ‘priorities.’ She kept trying, as if she thought that they were going to remain an item. But I knew better, and so did Jack.
They were finished the minute she was on that plane. She’d be devastated. I was elated by the prospect, but it was bittersweet elation. I was about to lose her and schmuck that I was, I felt guilty for enjoying her impending heartbreak.
But it was odd, the way she carried herself. If she sensed a breakup, she didn’t show it. And that was weird, because except for me, she knew Jack better than anyone. Maybe she had taken a seat next to me on the denial train. But if he was telling her everything she wanted to hear just so he could taste her until the last minute, he wasn’t hiding anything in public.
The agony of seeing them having sex dominated my soul since I saw it, so I didn’t give much thought to the strange conversation that I overheard that day. But once the fog cleared, I thought about it a great deal. What was I missing?
Jack seemed ‘normal’ enough (as normal as Jack could be). But there was a terribly dark secret behind the goings-on inside his house. He tried to kill him! He’s not well. I understood why Jack didn’t like his home, but that was all I understood. It’s some kind of Dissociative Disorder. Apparently, it’s complicated by a form of Psychopathy.
I looked up ‘Dissociative Disorder.’ I needed to know, so one evening I went to the public library. After scouring several Psychology texts, I found a book on Psychological Disorders. When I flipped to the chapter on Dissociative Disorders, a spreading frost formed on my soul.
‘Dissociative Disorders are the breakdown of one’s perception of his/her surroundings, memory, identity, or consciousness. There are four main kinds of Dissociative Disorders: Dissociative Amnesia, Dissociative Fugue, Dissociative Identity Disorder (previously called multiple personality disorder), and Depersonalization Disorder...’
I read well into the evening. Even though it didn’t help me understand what was happening to Jack, phrases like ‘psychotic,’ ‘night terrors,’ ‘out-of-body experiences,’ ‘alcohol and drug abuse,’ and ‘violent behavior’ screamed at me from the pages.
I started.
Not from anything that I heard, but from what I didn’t hear. I looked up from the book and realized that I must have been reading for two hours. Night fell through ornate windows which sat atop a ledge of dark finished oak.
I was alone. My watch said 10:49. God. I’d been there since eight. The library’s ventilation system gave off the only discernable sound of a cautionary hum. As I watched, a single droplet of sweat, until now dangling from my brow, dropped like a stone on the page. A long gasp escaped from my mouth, as if I’d been holding my breath for an hour. Freaked-out and anxious to leave, I closed the book and reached for my backpack.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”
I jumped out of my seat. The sound deafened my mind in the dark sullen emptiness of the enormous, empty building. It echoed and reverberated, and I was too startled to answer the security guard who watched me suspiciously.
“I asked you a question! The library closed an hour ago!” Nodding dumbly, I slung my backpack over my shoulder.
“I uh, I didn’t realize. I’ve been reading.” He recognized my nervousness, and his palm, which was caressing the butt of his .38 Special, relaxed. He’d been crouched in a caution position, but when he realized that I was just a dumb kid who probably soiled his shorts, he stood upright, shook his head and took his hat off.
“Fucking librarians! I keep telling them they have to go around this place and empty it out before we lock up!” It sounded like he was trying to place the blame elsewhere, but I wasn’t about to argue with a man with a gun. He sighed and gestured with his hand, in an irritated ‘c’mon’ kind of way.
“Alright. I’ll let you out. But just remember, the library closes at ten.” I nodded and followed him to the front doors. As he locked the door behind me, I crept out into the empty night and called a taxi.
The cool night air caressed my face while I thought about what I’d read. Something wasn’t right. In fact, something was terribly wrong. If Jack was living with a Psychopath and his family knew it, why was he still there? Why wasn’t Jack’s father in a cozy rubber room with a white suit jacket? Something wasn’t right. My spine was assaulted with ice cubes.
“Hey.”
For the second time that night, my skin stood two feet away from the rest of me. It was an instantaneous shock as Jack’s voice registered in my brain. I must have looked like a chimpanzee in a cage when I jumped and spun around to face him.
“HOLY SHIT! Don’t EVER fucking do that again!”
He stood and watched me with a face oddly shrouded by the night sky. The glimmer from streetlights and a slivered moon were the lone sources of a strange incandescence in his dark eyes. After these two jolts, my shorts should have been soiled, but they weren’t. I wiped my forehead while my anger and surprise dissipated.
“What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”
Jack looked at me with a blank expression. Something on his lips needed to escape, but didn’t know the way out. As if responding to his plight, concern on my face stared at him through iron bars.
“Jack? Are you alright? How did you know I was here?”
Vacancy. Spiraling across his face in dull blue neon.
“Jesus! You’re shivering. How long have you been here?”
He peered at me as if my concern held the secret to an escape route.
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 6
I was worried.
I’d seen him in a variety of states, but the implications of his family’s conversation were worsened by the night at the library. He came out of the trance and didn’t even acknowledge that he’d been in one. I questioned him repeatedly about it. ‘How did you get here?’ ‘Did you follow me?’ ‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ He’d shrug it off and change the subject.
I watched him carefully, but the pending fall semester muffled my concerns. There was too much to think about. Too much that was just about to happen. We’d both been accepted to Wayne State University, and while Jack was excited about parties and chicks, I was thinking about College women.
Okay, I was scared shitless about College women. Being a virgin throughout High School is like being told you have AIDS. You can’t imagine having sex. Ever. But I was going to be a College man. Maybe I’d experience success. I tried to be optimistic about my chances, but trepidation tracked me like I was a wounded animal, for Jack was about to be single again and Elizabeth was leaving.
The House that Jack Built Page 4