House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  I glance at the screen, but quickly stand up and walk to the window. I open it and take a gulp of cool night air. It’s rich with the scent of pine and thick with the promise of rain.

  I know I should just log out of her email and continue on with my mission, but I can’t shake the obviousness of my situation. I could gain some certainty one way or another of my wife’s faithfulness. It’s something I’ve been wondering about more and more lately. On some level, I assume she is being unfaithful in some way. Not that I blame her.

  I turn around and lean against the window, staring at the screen. I’m too far away to discern any details, but my stomach twists into a knot. I could know. Right now, I could know. This is assuming Joy uses email to converse with her torrid lover, and lax enough to leave evidence of it in her inbox.

  I laugh. It’s madness. My paranoia, the idea Joy would blatantly leave evidence of an affair, or even the notion that she is having an affair in the first place… All of it, lunacy.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I say to the empty room.

  Weariness drags the paranoia from my mind and I stumble back into the office chair. It’s already past midnight and I’m running on fumes. I hadn’t realized I’d been at the hospital so long. Joy was right—they won’t be home until morning.

  I stop, finger hovering over the mouse button, ready to close Joy’s email. I glance at the open door, then at the window. Suddenly, the wind feels far colder than before. I shiver, rub my eyes, and look back at the screen.

  It’s not Joy’s work email account that’s signed in. It’s an account I don’t recognize. BodaciousBabe6996. The username reads like it was created by a sixteen-year-old trying to be funny. For a moment, I think it’s something Aza came up with, being far older than her eight years and possessing a wicked sense of humor. But I know it’s my wife’s. Aza isn’t allowed on the computer and Joy was the last to use it, having stopped abruptly when Aza fell in the backyard. The sudden commotion stopped Joy from logging out. My lack of parental supervision has placed me in this position and I can’t shake the sinister feeling it fosters.

  There are a number of emails in the inbox, all from one sender. I groan. HandsomeGent69696. It’s so painfully juvenile.

  I click open the most recent email.

  Can’t wait to see you this weekend. I’ve reserved room 13 at the Regency Motel because I know it’s your favorite number. Mine, too. Had to buy out some old broad that was staying there, but it’s going to be totally worth it. I’ve got champagne and chocolate (both for eating and wearing). You just need to bring that fine ass of yours and plenty of energy.

  I can never be destroyed for I am eternal, pervasive, and enduring.

  I read it several more times, thinking it a trick of some sort. I rub my eyes, stare at the ceiling, and read it again. Nothing has changed. The same crudely brief message of infidelity. Is this what Joy is missing in me? A adolescent sense of sexual adventure? There’s no way this was written by an adult. And no way my wife could be engaged with someone so…cliché. Meeting at a sleazy motel is just the cherry on top of this nightmare I’ve unraveled.

  There are dozens more emails, but I’ve seen enough. I have my answer. Or at least part of it. I rip the power cord to the computer from the wall and charge out of the office. In the kitchen, I head straight for our large wall calendar. I zero in on the upcoming weekend and stab at it with my finger. Joy has marked off Friday and Saturday for a work-related conference out of town. I only vaguely remember her mentioning it to me. And Aza is scheduled for a sleepover at her friend’s house the entire weekend, leaving me to sit at home alone, while my family plays.

  “Lying bitch.”

  I grab my phone and am about to call Joy when I stop. I want to shout that I know what she’s doing. I want to demand to know his name. But I don’t shout and I don’t call. Instead, I slide my phone back into my pocket and slowly walk outside.

  Standing in the front yard, I stare up at our house, looming sentinel among the surrounding evergreens, beneath a nearly full moon. It’s stoic and calm, only a chill breeze disturbing the trees. The air is clean and sweet, the ground soft under my feet. The crickets are in the middle of their nightly orchestra, and try as I might, I can’t summon the rage I know I should feel. My greatest fear has been realized, and I can’t force myself beyond the brief burst of anger I first felt.

  For the first time since I lost my job and found my life slipping away from me, I feel entirely at peace. I am abandoned by faith and battered by fate, but I am beginning to see my place in all of it. It’s nothing I can solidify into words or even into a coherent thought, but I feel centered.

  But the longer I stare at our home, and the longer the chill of the night seeps into my bones, the more I know I need answers. It’s a perverse curiosity that has taken hold of me, but one that I intend to nurture and feed.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  How are you?

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I don’t think I can do this,” Aza says.

  I lean forward to look at the cookie cutter house Aza is staring at. She’s cradling her casted arm in her lap, shoulders hunched forward. I unhook my seatbelt and wrap an arm around her, forcing her to look at me.

  “Why not? I thought Gemini was your best friend.”

  “She is,” Aza says. “I just feel funny. About this.” She holds up her cast.

  “Really? Oh, come on, Aza, there’s nothing cooler than having a cast. It means you’re tough and aren’t afraid to scrap. And everyone will want to sign it and ask what happened. And that’s your chance to come up with a really impressive story.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” she says in a voice I don’t recognize.

  I stare at Aza in disbelief. She’s turned from me and I can’t see her expression to tell if she’s being serious or making a cruel joke.

  “Aza?”

  “I wanted to see what it felt like,” she says.

  “Holy shit, Aza,” I say.

  She turns and looks at me. “And you wonder where I get it from.”

  “Well, excuse me, but you just said you hurt yourself on purpose.”

  Aza wrinkles up her face. “What? No, I didn’t. Dad, you are losing it. I screwed up my landing on a swing jump. Tried a double spin, but didn’t make it. I feel like an idiot.”

  Tick.

  I look into Aza’s eyes and try to decide if I imagined the whole thing. She pouts and turns her attention to her cast. I can read most anyone at a glance, but Aza always stymies me, and no more than now. Have the sounds that run on loop in my mind morphed into words?

  A headache is building, but the longer I watch Aza fret over her situation, the more selfish I feel for dwelling on my own delusions. I need to be present for her. She deserves that much.

  I run my fingers through Aza’s hair. The doctor had ordered her to stay home from school for the rest of the week following her accident, but hadn’t dissuaded any weekend activities. Aside from a mild concussion, the only damage done is to her arm.

  I’m thankful she was home. It gave me something to focus on, and an excuse to avoid Joy. She doesn’t know I’ve learned her secret, but my stomach churns every time I see her now. And I know my constant doting on Aza drives Joy nuts. Especially considering she blames me for the accident. It’s been win-win for me so far. Aza is the one thing I feel like I’m doing right. I can’t let the darkness ruin this, too.

  “What are you going to do this weekend without me and Mom around?” Aza asks.

  I start, having temporarily forgotten where I am. Be present, asshole, I remind myself. “Oh, I don’t have anything planned. Maybe go to the driving range, see what Ty is up to. Nothing special.”

  “Maybe I should just stay home and keep you company.”

  “No!” I shout reflexively.

  Aza pulls away from me and her eyes well up with tears.

  “Sorry,” I quickly say. “That came out louder than I wanted. Why would you want to hang out with your borin
g old dad when you can spend an entire weekend doing whatever it is eight-year-old girls do at slumber parties?”

  “You’re not boring,” Aza says.

  “Even so, you’ll have way more fun with Gemini than with me. Besides, I’ll probably just end up spending a lot of time preparing for my new job.”

  Aza’s eyes light up. “You got the job?”

  “Uh huh,” I say proudly.

  I hadn’t intended on even going to the interview on Wednesday, not after uncovering Joy’s secret. But that would have meant letting her win. And I can’t have that. I’m still not sure what the job entails, or even what sort of business Dahlia runs. The past couple days have been a bit of a blur.

  “Got the call this morning,” I continue.

  Aza grins. “About time.”

  “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Mom said that if you didn’t get a job soon that we would lose the house. But now we don’t have to move!”

  “Your mom said that?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I look out my window, not wanting Aza to see my face as I fight back a snarl. I wonder if I made the right decision taking a job from Joy’s friend. Is there anyone Joy doesn’t talk to about me?

  “It’s okay, Dad, Mom’s a bitch.”

  I whirl on Aza. “Don’t you say that about your mother. I don’t care what she said or did, she is still your mother and my wife.”

  Aza, to her credit, holds firm. “She calls you way worse names. Want me to punch her like I did Daphne?”

  I take a deep breath. It’s embarrassing how easily an eight-year-old can put me on the back foot. It happens far more often than I’d care to admit.

  “She doesn’t mean it,” I say.

  “Fine, whatever,” Aza says, turning back to look out her window.

  We sit in silence. I wonder what Gemini and her parents must be thinking. I don’t want Aza to be the kid with the weird father and the bitch mother, but it may already be too late for that. My only comfort is that Aza gives as good as she gets. She’s the strongest of our broken trio.

  “What’s a good story?” Aza holds up her cast without turning back.

  I smile, grateful for a problem I can solve. “Just leave that to me.”

  Aza nods and gets out of the car.

  “Just follow my lead,” I whisper as I knock on the front door.

  Gemini and her mother open the door and smile in greeting. “Aza!” Gemini shouts, moving for a hug.

  Aza holds up her cast, warding off the embrace. “Careful,” she says.

  “Oh, my goodness, your mom said you had a bit of an accident. What happened, Aza?” Gemini’s mother asks, bending forward in the annoying way adults do when they converse with children.

  “Aza here is a little hero,” I say proudly. “Our neighbor’s kid—he can’t be more than two or three—got himself in the middle of the road, chasing his favorite ball. Some maniac comes barreling down the road like a bat out of hell. I swear they were going to crush him, but Aza got there first.”

  Both Gemini and her mother stare at Aza with wide eyes. “You got hit by a car?” Gemini asks in awe.

  “I—uh…”

  “No, no,” I quickly say. “No one got hit, thanks to Aza. The guy swerved at the last minute, but Aza took a bit of a spill tackling little Devon out of the way. I should have gotten there sooner. Maybe then no one would have gotten hurt at all.” I give Aza an apologetic shrug, both as part of my story and as an apology for it.

  “Wow, are you okay?” Gemini asks, running her fingers over Aza’s cast.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” Aza says. “I didn’t even know I was doing it. Just sorta happened. And it’s not my dad’s fault. I’m just way faster than he is.” She flashes me a toothy grin.

  “You really are a hero,” Gemini’s mother says.

  “I hurt my head, too, saving that boy…uh…Devon. But it’s no big deal. Just had to have some fancy scan at the hospital to make sure my brain wasn’t scrambled. I’m pretty sure it gave me superpowers.”

  “She’s a tough nut to crack,” I say, knocking on Aza’s head.

  She scowls at me and lets Gemini lead her into the house.

  “That really is something,” Gemini’s mother says as the two girls vanish, Aza further embellishing the tale. “You got yourself some daughter.”

  “You have no idea. Anyway, Joy said you’d see that Aza got to school on Monday and we’d just pick her up from there, yeah?”

  “Absolutely. It’s not often those two rapscallions can get together, so we like to make a whole weekend of it.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  Before she can answer, Aza forces her way back outside and hugs my waist tightly. “Bye, Dad.”

  “Bye, sweet thing,” I say.

  I extricate myself and motion for her to return to her friend. Aza smiles, mouths thank you, and runs off.

  I get back into my car and exhale. I grip the steering wheel until I no longer feel my fingers. As much as I loved helping Aza out of her social jam, I can’t shake what she said beforehand. She’s right, Joy is a bitch. Cheating on me is one thing, but to attempt to turn my own daughter against me…

  I check the time. Five o’clock. Joy will be leaving for her “conference” about now, destined not for career-advancement techniques, but to further destroy what has already been irrevocably damaged.

  My phone rings, snapping me from a violent reverie.

  “Hey, wanna catch a quick drink?” Ty asks.

  “You know what? Yeah, I do. Perfect timing.”

  “As always. I’m already at Mick’s. See ya in a bit?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have a ton a time. Got big plans tonight.”

  “Oh,” Ty says mischievously. “The wife is away and the husband will play?”

  “Something like that.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The motel lobby smells like an ashtray. I gag as I walk through the broken front door, but I can’t say if it’s due to the smell or the pit in my stomach. It’s nearly midnight, far later than I intended on arriving. I was out of Mick’s by seven-thirty and the drive to the Regency Motel should have only taken three hours at most. I can’t remember any part of the journey. My mind is spinning. Putting one foot in front of the other without falling takes everything I have.

  “You want something or you just like staring?” a gravelly voice asks from behind the small counter at the center of the lobby.

  A wrinkled relic of a woman eyes me up and down as I stumble toward her. “Uh, yeah. A room.”

  She leans back and removes her glasses. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “What? Just a room, please. I’m just passing through. Need a place for the night is all.”

  “Don’t care. ID and major credit card, please.” She holds out a hand like a tree root.

  I hand the requested items over and start tapping on the counter. The woman scowls at me until I stop.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  My mind picks up where my fingers left off.

  “Jumpy one, ain’t ya?” she asks, eyeing me over rose-tinted glasses.

  “Long drive,” I say.

  The woman returns to typing at her keyboard. There’s a large clock on the wall behind her. Every tick of the second hand is louder than the last.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  I turn around, unable to face it. It’s taunting me. You’re running out of time, the clock is saying. You’re finished, it warns. Maybe this is a mistake.

  “Here’s your room key,” the woman says.

  I turn back to her and take it, along with my ID and credit card. A large 27 is painted on the key card. “No,” I say, handing the card back to her.

  “No?”

  “Oh, uh, I mean I can’t stay there. In room twenty-seven. How about twelve, or even fourteen, maybe.”

  The woman raises an eyebrow.

  “My lucky numbers,” I say, fighting to regain my composure. The clock has quieted, but still I hear i
t whispers to me. It knows something I don’t.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  The woman roots around under her desk and pulls out another keycard. She hands it to me. “Here’s room twelve, weirdo, but no funny business.”

  “Thank you.” I take the keycard and race out of the lobby.

  It’s raining just enough to let me know it exists. Clouds hide the moon. The only light in the sparsely populated parking lot comes from the neon sign towering above all else. I parked my car three streets over and didn’t bring any luggage with me. I’m not here to be comfortable. I’m here to hunt.

  Hugging the side of the building, I make my way toward room twelve. At thirteen, I pause. The shades are drawn, but I can’t make myself walk past it. I force my back against the wall and hold my breath. Joy’s car is parked right in front of the door, staring at me. The rain picks up. It dances on the hood and windshield. I shut my eyes to keep the world from spinning.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  With a surge, I pass room thirteen and fumble to get my keycard into the next door. It beeps and unlatches. Beep. Click.

  I slam the door behind me and collapse. It’s pitch-black. I feel like I’ve fallen into a tomb.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  The clock lets me know I’m still alive. And makes me wish I wasn’t.

  I crawl to the window and peek out into the rain. The wind has picked up, sending the rain into the side of the motel. Tap tap tap tap tap. Like machinegun fire, it’s coming from everywhere now.

  I close the blinds and move into the furthest corner of the room. With my knees pulled to my chest, I take a few deep breaths, fighting to ignore the ticking clock and tapping rain. How are you today?

  “I’m fucking fine!” I shout into my lap, and just like that, the noises are gone.

  The rain still taps out a disjointed tune, but it sounds peaceful now. And to think I ever heard the clock at such a distance is lunacy. I drank too much and drove too far. And now I’m sober once more. It’s a poor state to be in.