The Moore House

by Tony Tremblay

  “I’m going up there.”

  “What? Why?”

  “To play.”

  “Are you crazy? He might hurt you for just interrupting, never mind his embarrassment at a nun breaking up the poker game. And if he lets you play, what do you think will happen after you leave? I’ll tell you what, he’ll take it out on Sandel and me!”

  Nora hadn’t been fazed by Sheri’s reaction.

  “You said they’re playing poker, right? If I can get you the money, will you and Sandel leave?”

  “What? You’re a nun! You gonna pray it from them?”

  Nora could not control her smile. “No. I’m going to play them for it.”

  “You? You know how to play poker? These guys do it all the time. There’s no way you can beat them. Do you even have a stake?”

  “Yes, I know how to play poker. I was brought up by a dad who not only taught me but let me play with his friends until he didn’t play anymore. As for a stake, I’ll ask them to front me.”

  “What will you use for collateral?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Nora, “But I’ll come up with something.”

  “Just because you played poker with your dad, what makes you think you can beat these guys?”

  Nora’s smile widened. “I have an edge.”

  Sheri got up from her chair, pacing the kitchen. “This is crazy! You’re going to get yourself killed, and probably me and Sandel, too!”

  Nora stood and began to approach the stairs. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

  Nora was shaken to her core. She was a puppet, without control of her actions and voice. It wasn’t real—it couldn’t be real. But she could smell the lingering odors of Sheri’s cooking, and could almost taste the remnants of flat beer in the bottles that were stuffed into an overflowing garbage can by the sink. The linoleum under her shoes squeaked when she neglected to pick up her feet.

  She’d made the worst decision of her life that night.

  Dealing with abused women had taken its toll on her. As the Church human services liaison for the police department, Nora had seen too many abused women, too many families torn apart by the violent actions of husbands and boyfriends. With a social system that was unequipped or unable to help them, she couldn’t count the instances of violence that had rendered women crippled, both physically and emotionally. This had been an opportunity to help at least one of them break free of the cycle.

  In hindsight, Nora knew that her own cockiness had much to do with her decision. She’d been so certain she would win that money. It took years to deal with the aftermath of that night’s decision.

  Nora climbed the stairs.

  When she reached the top, she heard voices to her right. She followed them into a large room.

  Five men sat at a round table, their cigarette and cigar smoke fogged the air. Cards flew from a man facing her. It was Barry. When he saw her, his hands froze, and his face reddened.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  The other four men turned to look at her.

  “Is that a nun?” one of them asked.

  Nora had been wearing street clothes, a long, plain black dress, but had donned her white cap and a crucifix hung from her neck. There was no mistaking her profession.

  Barry’s face reddened more. “Never mind her; she’s here to meet with Sheri.”

  The men turned their attention back to the card game.

  “Excuse me,” interrupted Nora. “I’d like to be dealt in.”

  Once again, Barry froze. All heads turned in her direction.

  “What? This is a man’s game, woman—no place for the likes of you.”

  Nora smiled. “Afraid you’ll be beat by a nun?”

  The men guffawed. One of them spoke. “Come on, Barry, let her in. Her money is as good as yours.”

  Barry stared at Nora. “You got enough money to ante?”

  “No, I’ll need you to spot me.”

  “You got anything to put up?”

  “I’m a nun—you see any deep pockets in this dress? Besides, I’ve taken a vow of poverty.”

  The men laughed again.

  Barry looked her up and down. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll spot you $500.00. You lose it, I own you until it’s paid back.”

  That comment alone should have been enough for her to rethink her decision. Nora had been so sure of herself, she hadn’t taken the time to consider what it would mean if she lost.

  She nodded agreement.

  Barry grinned. “Take a seat.”

  Dread swept through her as she saw and felt herself taking a seat at the table. The memory of chair pressed hard and unforgiving against her bottom, the tobacco smoke made breathing difficult, and the sounds of shuffling cards echoed in her ears. She knew none of it was real. That it was all an illusion—visions planted inside her mind. If its aim was to torment her, the damned demon was succeeding. Every word, every movement, every detail was as vivid as it had been that night. She’d relived it so many times, for so many years, there was no doubt of its accuracy. The demon was mining her brain.

  Wordlessly, Barry counted out twenty-five twenty-dollar bills and tossed them to her.

  “Hello, Sister, my name’s Bob,” a man to her right introduced himself. “The game is five-card stud. You can discard two, three with an ace, but of course, you have to show it. Ante is twenty dollars. Any questions?”

  Nora shook her head, and the game resumed.

  She lost the hand, and then the second one. It was on the third hand that she let her skill—not her Dad’s poker lessons but her other talent—kick in. It was down to Bob and her. She was sitting with three of a kind, sevens, and she was sure it would be enough to bump the pot another twenty dollars. Bob was amused, saw her, but then raised another fifty dollars.

  She studied him and picked up that he was uneasy. There was doubt in his mind. He was bluffing.

  She saw his raise.

  Bob threw the cards on the table, face down. “It’s yours,” he said, without emotion. There had been enough in the pot for her to recoup what she’d lost, and then some.

  The game went on through the evening hours. She continued to concentrate on the men whenever she had a hand she thought strong enough to win. She won many more pots but was wise enough to lose a few to divert suspicion. By midnight, the original six players had dwindled down to three—Barry, Bob, and herself. She and Bob had most of the winnings, but Barry had enough to stay in the game.

  Bob dealt the next hand. Her five cards consisted of three twos, an eight and a nine. She discarded the nine and Bob tossed a card her way. When she lifted it, her heart accelerated; another eight. She had a full house. She glanced up at her opponents.

  Barry stared at his cards. He discarded two. “I’m in.” He sighed, throwing twenty dollars on the table.

  Bob nodded. He threw in a twenty, then added four more. “I’m bumping it to one hundred.”

  Nora concentrated on the man. To her horror, she couldn’t read him. She tried again with the same result. She turned her ability on Barry. He was noticeably unsure of himself. He was no threat. She squirmed in her seat, and then faced Bob. She closed her eyes, focusing harder. Nothing. What the hell was happening? When she opened her eyes, he was smiling at her.

  “Are you in?” Bob asked.

  She thought for a moment. “Yes. I’ll see your hundred, and I raise you five hundred.”

  Barry studied his hand, then stared daggers at her. “I’m out.” He threw his cards on the table.

  The smile never left Bob’s face. “Look, it’s just you and me. What do you say, all in?”

  Nora wanted to cry, scream, get up from the chair and run. She couldn’t. She was trapped in this basement. Helpless.

  She mentally added up her winnings so far. There had to be over three thousand dollars sitting in front of her. It might be enough to get Sheri and Sandel to safety and give them a head start, but six thousand would be even better. She was sitting with a fu
ll house. The odds were with her. She pushed her winnings to the center of the table. Bob did the same.

  “What do you got?” he asked.

  She placed her cards down, face up. “Full house. Twos over eights.”

  Bob nodded. He sighed, throwing his cards down. Four tens.

  The years that had passed since that night did nothing to diminish her shock. The emptiness that filled her body now mirrored that original moment.

  Nora lowered her head and a short sob escaped. Bob scooped the money from the table. He arranged it neatly, then folded it. He placed it into a small leather bag he had pulled from the floor. He tipped an imaginary hat to Barry and walked over to her. He leaned down and put two fingers to her chin and pulled her face to his.

  “When I was very young, my mother could read my moods. It was almost as if she could see what was in my mind. When I got to around ten years old, I could actually feel her poking around in my head. Then, when I was around thirteen, a weird thing happened. I found I could block her out. It didn’t even take that much effort. Soon I didn’t even have to concentrate: it just happened automatically, and she never tried again.” He straightened. “It’s funny, I forgot what it was like to have her poking around up here.” He pointed an index finger to his head. “Until tonight, that is. Goodnight, Sister Nora.”

  He left the room with his bag over his shoulder.

  “Well, Sister, that’s twice you screwed up tonight.”

  She’d forgotten Barry was there. “Twice?”

  “Yeah. One time was betting it all on the last hand. The other time was not paying me back the five hundred dollars when you were flush.”

  The thought had never occurred to her.

  “You owe me, woman, which means I own you. Decent whores go for around a hundred dollars a night. Looks like I own you for five nights.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Please, no. My vows forbid me.”

  “You made a deal, and I aim to hold you to it. I’ll tell you right now, if you don’t, Sheri and her brat will suffer. They’ll disappear again, but this time nobody will be able to bring them back.”

  What had she done? There was no way she could live with herself if she was responsible for the death of Sheri and Sandel. She nodded in defeat.

  “There’s an empty bedroom, end of the hallway on the right. Go in there, strip. I want a look at what’s due me.”

  She’d done what was demanded—to which she had agreed. Barry hadn’t touched her, but his comments had been brutal, degrading.

  She almost lacked the strength to dress and leave the room. His parting words had only served to drag her further into the hell of her own making. He had instructed her to return the next evening at seven when they would really get down to business. Nora didn’t think it was possible to feel more worthless, but she was wrong. On the way out, the expression on Sheri’s face when Nora passed her in the kitchen would forever burn in her memory. The woman’s eyes were as large as a doe’s; empty, moist. Nora couldn’t decide if Sheri’s vacant gaze had more to do with what Barry had done to her upstairs, or what awaited Sheri and Sandel after she left.

  It was in that instant Nora had an epiphany. She’d committed many sins this evening, but this one was as egregious as Judas’s. Because of her foolish bravado, Sheri and her daughter might never escape the clutches of her husband.

  When Nora was home at the convent, she had prayed Sheri and her daughter would not suffer a fate similar to that of Jesus. After hours of asking God for guidance and pleading for forgiveness, the feelings of helplessness and guilt remained. Nora had come to a decision, one no less self-centered than the one she’d made earlier. The repercussions from this decision would last an eternity. She understood she was the one who got herself into this mess, and no one else, including God, was going to get her out of it. She made the necessary preparations, starting with a phone call to Sheri.

  The next evening, she knocked on the door of Barry’s house at the appointed time and waited. When he answered, she saw Sheri standing a few feet behind him. Sheri nodded.

  Barry had a glass in his hand, filled with a smoky colored liquor. He was unsteady, his eyes glassy.

  “You made it, bitch,” he said. “Good thing, too, because I meant what I said about Sheri and the brat.” His free hand reached out and squeezed her breast. “Come on in, let’s get this show on the road.” Leering, he added, “And just so you know, Sheri’s going to join us.”

  Nora shifted her gaze to Sheri. A quick sob escaped the woman’s mouth. Sheri nodded once again.

  “Where’s Sandel?” Nora asked.

  “At a friend’s house for the night,” Barry slurred. “Never mind her, let’s go.”

  He grabbed Nora by the hand and led her to the staircase. Sheri followed behind them. Barry stumbled on the first step and liquid spilled from his glass. Letting go of Nora, he grabbed onto the handrail. “Follow me,” he ordered and climbed the stairs, bumping into the handrail and the opposite wall as he made his way. When he reached to top, he stood and waited for her and Sheri to join him.

  Once they were side by side at the top of the stairs, Barry laughed. It was ugly, filled with phlegm and lust. Sheri maneuvered behind him. Nora watched without surprise or remorse when Sheri pushed Barry down the stairs. The man never said a word as he tumbled head over heels.

  When he landed on the floor, Sheri descended the stairs. She checked for signs of life and frowned. Nora watched her step from view, into the kitchen, and then return with a plastic bag. Sheri placed it over Barry’s head and secured it around his neck with her hands. For ten minutes neither Nora nor Sheri moved. Sheri checked once again to see if Barry was breathing. Confirming the man was dead, Sheri walked back to the kitchen, and then returned empty-handed.

  Nora stared at Barry’s lifeless body. She had imagined revulsion from guilt would overwhelm her when this moment arrived; instead, a hollowness overcame her.

  “Sister Nora, we have to finish this.”

  Nora walked down the stairs. “How did you drug him?” she asked

  “I went into his stash, took three of the Blue Devils, ground them up and put it into his bourbon.”

  “What are Blue Devils?”

  “A barbiturate. Amobarbital. He was already drunk so I’m guessing he didn’t notice anything. The drug slows you way down. I’m not sure he could have done anything to you if it got that far.”

  “Did you take his money?’

  “Yeah. I put it somewhere the police won’t find it if they go looking, I left some though.” Sheila put her hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Let’s finish this.”

  The police arrived three minutes after Sheila had placed the call. The ambulance a minute later. She had explained to them that Sister Nora was over for counseling and that they heard Barry fall down the stairs. Sheila had been careful not to give too many details, ones that could trip them up if there was any suspicion.

  Nora needn’t have worried. Barry was a renowned drug dealer, and though he bribed the police to stay in business, they had no love for the man. If they did check his blood and find the depressant, they would conclude he used some of his own wares. Satisfied with Sheri’s alibi—after all, she was with a nun at the time of the murder—the police left satisfied.

  Nora had seen Sheri a week later at Barry’s funeral. Other than a sincere hug and a few words of encouragement, they had no further contact. Nora had been interrogated once since the funeral, but nothing ever came of it, although she did learn that Sheri and Sandel had left the area without leaving a forwarding address.

  Erring on the side of caution, Nora waited two months to confess her role in the scheme to the convent’s Mother Superior. The day after her confession, she was asked to meet with the Reverend Mother again. At that meeting, Nora was directed to leave the Church for the good of all parties, and she’d agreed.

  Nora stared off into the darkness of the basement. She had struggled after leaving the Church. During the daylight hours, she was se
cure with her actions. She justified them with the certainty it was the only way. Sheri and Sandel were presumably in a safe location, and Barry would never harm another woman or child again. Those impressions comforted Nora and served as armor against doubt. It was only after sunset when the nightmares crept into her head that she thought otherwise.

  It was only in darkness when her certainty was supplanted with second-guessing, that guilt set in.

  It was only in the evening’s deepest shadows when horrific visions of damnation and eternal suffering plagued her, did she label her actions a sin.

  It was only in the blackness of night, as she lay in bed staring toward the unseen ceiling, that she considered her solution, which was—murder.

  She had hoped joining Father MacLeod’s team would mitigate any punishment God would deliver onto her. Redemption had been her only option to escape eternal damnation. Father MacLeod understood her need, and he had given her an opportunity to pursue it. But, as her unfocused eyes gazed into the basement, she wondered if it was enough.

  “Ha! Ah, Nora, you’ll never be able to make good on your sins in your god’s eyes.” The voice inside her head was jovial, falsely sympathetic, and cruel. “You gambled, broke your vows, and participated in a murder. You really fucked up. A spot in hell had been reserved for you the moment you sat down at that card game. I’m here to collect your soul. By the way, nuns hold a special place at our table.”

  Nora’s body shook and she flailed her arms, hoping to ward the demon off. The movement ignited spikes of pain in her leg and she cried out.

  “Aw, Nora, don’t act that way just yet; we’re not finished here.”

  Please God, I can’t take any more—let this be over with.

  Nora raised her head and froze. Captured in a circle of light falling from the holes in the ceiling, she saw a man standing in the basement. He was naked, facing away from her.

  No, no . . .

  The man turned to face her.