by J. L. Drake
Darkness had fallen, and I headed toward the rental property on Saints Road. I knew exactly where I was going. I also couldn’t help thinking how strange it was—the name of the road—after spending so much time in a foster home with the same name. Somehow, I got the sense that destiny was calling.
When I was halfway there, I used the prepaid cell phone to call the number in the paper that was listed as ‘Ruth,’ who I assumed was the property’s landlord. A soft spoken woman answered the call. “Hello!” I called out, awkwardly. “Ummm…my name is Elsie McClain. I just moved to Flocksdale, and I’m in desperate need of a place to rent. I have the first month’s rent and deposit I can give you immediately,” I said hurriedly. I had just enough money, leaving only a few dollars more in my wallet.
“That sounds great. Would you like to set up a time to meet tomorrow, or some other day this week?” Ruth asked politely. I hesitated. I didn’t want to sound pushy, but I also didn’t want to sleep outside tonight. Flocksdale didn’t have a homeless shelter; at least they didn’t when I was growing up here.
“I know this probably sounds way out of line, but is there any possible way I could pay you and get the keys tonight?” I asked softly. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for her response. A car suddenly whizzed by me, and I turned away from it, tucking my ball cap down low to hide my face. I was still paranoid about being seen, and if I had to sleep outside tonight, I was sure to draw attention to myself.
Ruth said, “It wouldn’t be a problem, but it’s just…I still haven’t cleaned up much since the last renters, and I’d need a few days to get it straightened up and move-in ready.” I let out a deep sigh. This wasn’t going well at all.
“I don’t mind a mess, honestly. I’ll be more than happy to do the necessary clean-up on your behalf,” I offered, grasping at straws. The woman was silent on the line for several seconds. “Okay. If you do that, I’ll cut the security deposit in half,” she replied graciously.
I tried not to jump with delight.
“Can you meet me there in thirty minutes?” Ruth asked. I smiled broadly. I was already standing in front of the house.
“Sure. I’ll see you soon,” I squealed happily.
Chapter 30
The house on Saints Road was a small, one and a half story dwelling located at the end of a cul-de-sac. The inside was dated, with cheesy brown carpet and wood paneled walls, but I loved it instantly. The bottom floor consisted of a kitchen and living room, and that was it. The second floor had a large, open bedroom and tiny bathroom with a standup shower. There was an old-timey linen closet in the bathroom, built-in shelves, drawers throughout, and a neat walk-in pantry in the kitchen. It also had one of those cool, old-fashioned metal radiators next to the bathroom. I loved its small size; somehow it felt safer than living in a big, grand house, like its walls were hugging me, pulling me close.
Although Ruth had warned me that it wasn’t move-in ready, besides a good polish and vacuum, it was clean. I couldn’t wait to buy some cleaning supplies and a vacuum cleaner just to do a little sprucing up. For a moment, I actually felt like it was mine. But then I remembered my plans, and I tried to refrain from smiling so much.
For now, all I had was my backpack, which consisted of four outfits—two of which were work uniforms—a toothbrush, a small amount of makeup, a hairbrush, one pair of socks and underwear, my cell phone, my hat, and the finger print baggie with the tape and CD in it. Oh, and the case of knives, of course.
I’d left the knives at home when I went to rehab, and been lucky enough to find the apartment in Albuquerque empty before taking off for the bus. The knives had been in the bottom of my sock drawer, just as I’d left them. Mick was nowhere to be found and I hadn’t heard from him since going to rehab. I didn’t mind. In fact, I’d barely even thought about him since I skipped town.
Mick and I had had a love/hate relationship; we loved each other when we were high and we hated each other when we were coming down. Simple as that. If truth be told, I’d never felt any sort of real connection with any man. Just as fast as I’d hooked up with Mick, I was just as quick to leave him. I suspected that he too, wouldn’t mourn long over our separation.
All in all, I was happy with the new place. Luckily, there were appliances and some furniture in the house. There was a beat up, beige-colored couch and a tiny TV set and a flimsy two-seater table with metal fold-up chairs. Upstairs, there was a full size bed with a lime green comforter and a small night table beside it.
It all seemed fine to me, and I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my landlord, Ruth, as she handed me the keys. “Oh, one more thing to show you,” she said abruptly. She walked over to a skinny door in the living room which I’d assumed was another linen closet. The open space revealed a narrow, wooden staircase that led down to a cold, concrete cellar.
“There isn’t much down here and it leaks sometimes, but there’s a washer and dryer for you down there,” she said, smiling at me fondly. She knew I was homeless, that much I could tell. She talked to me like she felt sorry for me, which I was okay with right now. I needed to stay on her good side, and if that meant letting her pity me a little bit, then so be it.
I paid her the first month’s rent and partial security deposit. The fact that she had given me a great deal with the deposit, was a relief. Now, at least, I could buy some food and needed essentials before I got my first paycheck. The thought of buying groceries and eating them in my new place was exhilarating. My belly rumbled just thinking about it.
After Ruth left, the house seemed quiet and was filled with shadows. I thought about my first apartment, and how it felt to be alone. Here I was, doing it all over again—only this time I couldn’t afford to screw it up again. This time I also had a reason to be fearful. I was back in Flocksdale. Not only that, but I was close to the house of horrors where I was held captive so many years ago. I didn’t know its exact location, but I knew it wasn’t far.
The windows of the house were small, and combined with the dark paneling, it gave the home a cavernous, secluded feel. I peered down into the cellar below. I shuddered, closing the door tightly. It looked creepy down there, like a dungeon. It was nice having a washer and dryer, but besides when I needed to do laundry, I didn’t plan on going down there often.
I walked through the house with its sparse furnishings, wringing my hands nervously. I looked inside the refrigerator; besides a plastic container of baking soda, it was empty. Tomorrow would be a new day, and I would have to get some food after work. There was nothing to do now but sleep.
I double checked that the front door was locked. I turned the lights out and stretched out on the living room sofa. I closed my eyes, making a mental list of all the food I would buy tomorrow.
I tried to sleep, but I felt wide awake. It wasn’t fear that kept me going; after everything I’d been through, there wasn’t much else to fear—at least that was the conclusion I’d reached over the last few years. I was older now, and braver…I was also free from the drugs, and I had a clear mindset. You’re safe here, I told myself over and over again. I repeated that word: Safe. Had I ever truly felt safe? Yes, I realized. Before that time at the house of horrors, before I’d known how bad people could be, I’d felt safe and comfortable, living my normal, carefree, teenage life.
I got up from the couch and started pacing again, unsure what to do with all of this nervous energy. I could dye my hair tonight, I considered. I thought about it, and then finally decided to do it in the morning before work. I stood up from the couch and crept over to the window. It was dark inside and out, but a lonely street lamp provided a sliver of light that cast a hazy, eerie glow on the blacktopped road in front of the house.
Looking down the street, I was able to pinpoint the exact location of where I was picked up that dreadful day in the limo. This was the street. That skinny, gravel road where I was blindfolded was only a few minutes’ walk away from here too.
I thought about that initial ride in the limo, and how I
wasn’t fearful at that point. I might have been uneasy, but I certainly couldn’t have anticipated the horror that awaited me in that horrible house with Jeanna and her minions.
If I’d only known what was about to happen to me…I knew the house of horrors was close. I could sense it. I wanted to start searching for it tonight, but I decided I’d had a long enough day, and I needed a good night’s rest. I would just have to force myself to hold my eyes closed until I eventually slept. Tomorrow, my real work would begin.
Chapter 31
I woke up at five in the morning, feeling energetic and of a clear mind. I set to work, applying the blonde hair dye. I’d never dyed my hair before, but how difficult could it really be?
I sat on the edge of the sink, with one of four tattered, holey towels that I’d luckily found in the linen closet, lathering my hair with the smelly substance, using thin, plastic gloves. My feet were resting in the sink and my knees were curled up awkwardly toward my middle. The smell of the hair dye was overpowering and it was hard to see parts of my own head, but I finally got it all covered.
I had to let it sit on my hair for twenty minutes, so I sat outside on the concrete-padded porch, watching the sun rise up hazily over the trees. I would kill for a cup of coffee right now. Or something stronger, I thought miserably. I instantly regretted that thought, and reminded myself of the seesaw.
I could see the next street over from where I was sitting; so many of the houses looked the same. Substandard houses lined the streets; some were cared for better than others, but mostly they looked alike.
I racked my brain, trying to think about everything I knew about the outside structure and general layout of the house I had been held captive in. I was unconscious in the Blazer when they took me to it, and I was blindfolded when they dropped me off. I didn’t know much, I realized sullenly.
I also thought about the house with the steep stairs on the front porch, the one they originally claimed was Jeanna’s house, but then she later boasted that it wasn’t. It was only a street or two away from here as well. I could remember going there pretty clearly; it was the first place the man named Jed took me and Claire. It was the last time I saw Joey and Zeke, and it was the first time I laid eyes on Jeanna.
It suddenly occurred to me that whoever drove me to the drop off point blindfolded that day easily could have driven in circles to throw me off on the distance we traveled. I’d been terrified and blindfolded, and there was no way to know with any real certainty which direction I’d come from. There may be no way to trace back my steps to that dreadful place, I realized unhappily.
Those thoughts made me gloomy, and I tried to push them away. I would have plenty of time to figure out my game plan tonight. But for now, I had to get this damn hair dye off my head and get dressed for work.
***
My hair looked more pumpkin orange than blonde as I took off on foot for work. I was still a little anxious about someone I knew from my previous life recognizing me, so I had my cap tucked down low over my still wet, carrot top head.
It took me nearly thirty minutes to get to work. I slid my time card through the reader, and checked in with my new boss. I was scheduled to work the back line today, for which I was grateful. Hiding in the back was my favorite thing to do at work, and it would especially be my position of choice now that I was back in Flocksdale.
I got busy setting up my station for the breakfast rush, but my mind was on the streets of Flocksdale, particularly the streets surrounding my new rental house. Could I find the house of horrors? If I could, did I even want to? Yes, I decided, without a doubt. Because it was not the house that I really wanted to find, it was the evil people inside. What would I do if and when I found them? Sure, I’d entertained the idea of using the knives to hurt them. But I wasn’t really sure I had it in me to go through with it.
Chapter 32
I was on the verge of starving by the time my shift was over. I walked to an old fashioned local food mart only a couple of blocks from my house. On my way there, I passed by the skating rink. It was the first time I’d really laid eyes on it since returning home to Flocksdale.
I expected it to either look the same or be demolished, but it looked like a brand new establishment. A fresh coat of paint and a new name had done wonders for the place. ‘Mac’s Super Skateland’ read the sign in bulky, bold letters on the front of the building. There were smiling children standing with their parents out front, waiting to get through the doors. I looked at them yearningly, craving their happiness and innocence.
Sometimes I wondered how my life would have turned out if I’d never stepped foot in that place. Maybe they would have found a way to get to me anyway, or maybe another traumatic event would have turned up to take its place. There’s just no way of knowing, I realized. The truth is, bad things happen to everyone at different points in their lives. My life contained some pretty bad ones, but at the same time, I had to pull myself up and live a real life like everyone else at some point. My growling tummy interrupted my thoughts.
I headed over to the food mart, focusing on the grumbling sounds in my tummy. The temperature in the store was icy and crisp, and it felt good compared to the outside heat. There was no point in grabbing a cart. I could only get what I could carry home, which would probably amount to just a few bags. Plus, I couldn’t afford much, anyway. Not until I collected more paychecks.
Fresh vegetables and meats looked delicious, but I didn’t have pots or pans yet, so I opted to stick to frozen foods I could warm up in the microwave. I strolled up and down the aisles, grabbing what few things I could afford. I selected several Banquet meals, a two-liter of soda, a box of cereal, and a small package of cheap wafer cookies. I couldn’t wait to get home and eat every last bit of the food.
The aisles weren’t crowded, but there were a few people lined up at the two checkout counters up front. I juggled my items in both hands and under my armpits, struggling not to drop anything as I made my way to the line. I was surprised to see my landlord, Ruth, standing at the end of one line, shoulder to shoulder with a muscular, silver-haired gentleman. He was her husband, I presumed.
For a moment, I stood there awkwardly, unsure if I should approach her or simply pretend not to see her. She saved me the trouble. As soon as she saw me, she stepped out of line, leaving her husband with the groceries at the checkout counter.
“How’s everything going at the house, Elsie?” she asked cheerily as she approached. She helped me load my armful of items onto the conveyer belt.
“Everything is going great,” I gushed. “I truly love the house, Ruth. Thanks again for letting me move in so spur of the moment like that. I really do appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure. I’m happy to have a new renter,” she said, smiling.
She stared down at my food items, noticing them for the first time as the cashier slid them across the scanner. “Will you have dinner with us tonight?” she asked. Of all the things I was expecting her to say, a dinner invitation wasn’t one of them. I think I groaned internally.
“No, I wouldn’t want to impose,” I answered quickly, thinking about my plans to scour the neighborhood this evening.
“Yes, please come. I insist,” she said, patting me on the shoulder.
“I don’t have a car yet,” I added, still trying to get out of this obligation.
“Well, that’s okay, honey. We live just a couple blocks over, on Merribeth Avenue. House number 403. Won’t you please come?” Ruth pleaded.
“Okay,” I gave in, nodding tiredly. “What time?” I asked, handing a twenty dollar bill to the bored looking cashier behind the checkout counter.
“How about seven?”
“Seven it is,” I said, grinning at my landlord through clenched teeth.
I gathered up my few meager bags and made my way out of the food mart, irritated by my freshly made dinner plans. This meant I was going to have to get started late on my little adventure. Or perhaps, I considered, forming a new thought…p
erhaps, this was a perfect excuse to be out walking around the neighborhood, I realized cheerily. I could use this dinner with Ruth as an excuse to walk around the streets surrounding my rental house, all the while checking out its occupants.
Chapter 33
Ruth’s bungalow was rather small, but well-kept, and surrounded by skeletal trees despite the warm season. There was a narrow, pebbled pathway that led up to a porch covered in sun-bleached wooden planks, where Ruth and her husband were sitting in paint-chipped, Adirondack rocking chairs.
I waved to them, wishing I’d brought something, like wine or flowers, to make me seem polite. One thing my mother taught me was how to be polite. She was always whispering, “Mind your manners,” anytime we went out in public or had guests over for dinner.
For this dinner, I didn’t have many clothes to choose from, so I’d slipped on a clean pair of work pants and topped it off with a clean, white blouse. However, now I wish I’d just worn jeans, because I could still smell the unmistakable traces of grease on my pants. As I’d quickly learned since starting my job at McDonald’s, no amount of laundry soap or softener could erase its fatty, oily smell from my clothes.
“Welcome, honey!” Ruth greeted me kindly. “This is Charlie, my husband.” She gestured toward the man in the chair. It was the same man from the grocery store. He smiled and nodded at me cordially. “Come on in.” She opened a creaky screen door.
The front door opened into a large, homey kitchen. There was a neat, sleek island in its middle that didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the country-styled room. “It smells good in here,” I said softly. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, so I tucked them into my pockets slowly and leaned against the counter awkwardly. Charlie stayed behind on the porch, so it was just me and Ruth.