Cul-de-Sac (2 page)

The shower went cold, Growler cursing and stepping back out of the water stream. He’d hoped that a long hot shower in the Raineys’ basement would refresh him but it wasn’t having that effect, just as ending their lives hadn’t particularly satisfied him. He’d been obsessing on vengeance for seven years but tonight’s installment was turning out to be like the cocaine and pills and booze he’d been indulging since getting out of prison a week ago: momentary relief followed by an even larger hunger.

When the water turned warm again, Growler stepped back into the stream. The maddening irritant of not knowing why he’d been betrayed was even worse than before … who told Lawrence and Judy to perjure themselves at the trial, what happened to Hope’s pictures? The police said no photographs were ever found, had Uncle Penny hidden them to ensure Growler’s conviction?

The hot water ran out a second time, Growler stepping back again, cursing again, taking it personally that the shower was doing this to him. Nothing ever worked out, the whole world conspired against him, son-of-a-bitch anyway, that little beetle gnawing its way into his brain asking why, why?

The hot water returned, Growler dipping his head into the comforting
stream as if to receive a blessing. Getting out of prison and discovering the elephant was gone had been the final betrayal that put Growler where he was tonight, that made him the murderer he was accused of being seven years ago.

“Decapitations are this man’s signature,” the prosecutor had told the jury.

“Decapitating animals,” Growler murmured as he brought his hands up in a prayerful pose under his chin and folded his shoulders inward to take fuller advantage of the hot water washing away his sins. He used to cut the heads off dead animals he found, he never killed them himself, certainly didn’t murder Hope … he loved her.

He was tired. He needed sleep or needed more pharmaceuticals to continue postponing sleep … so incredibly tired.

This time when the water went cold it took Growler’s breath away and he leapt from the stall looking around for something to use on the shower head, to bust it apart, to punish it for mocking him. Then he heard the washing machine running and realized it had been robbing the shower of hot water … he’d put his clothes in to clean them of all the blood. Growler stepped back to the stall and sheepishly turned off the shower.

When the washing machine stopped spinning he transferred his clothes to the dryer. It was cold and damp down here in the basement, Growler hopping up on the dryer and hugging himself for warmth. He tried halfheartedly to jack off but nothing came of it, too frigging tired, then went back to scratching at that unreachable itch.

Uncle Penny must’ve convinced the Raineys to lie at the trial, Judith and Lawrence worked twenty years for Growler’s uncle and would’ve done anything for him. But if they’d taken the elephant they wouldn’t still be living in this little house, this crappy bungalow with shit-colored shingle siding. No, Kenny Norton, Growler’s former best friend, was the most likely suspect in the theft of the elephant because Norton was the only other person who knew about the scam, he must’ve gone looking for the elephant after
Growler was sent to prison. And now Growler was looking for him … but Kenny had moved a lot in the past seven years and had left a cold trail.

When he closed his eyes they stung, Growler had been over these possibilities a thousand times, ten thousand times. And although his innocence in the death of Hope Penner no longer mattered, because as of tonight he
was
a murderer, what still mattered hugely was the goddamn elephant. His share of three million dollars would finance a way out of the country.
Who took it?

Paul?

The dryer clicked off. Growler hopped down and took out his clothes, they felt comfortingly warm as he slipped them on. Having stashed the Raineys’ bodies in a closet upstairs he’d brought their heads with him down here to the basement … not sure why though. They were on the concrete floor, Growler lifting both lids to put Judith Rainey’s head in the dryer, Lawrence’s in the washer. He set the machines to their longest cycles but before closing the lids Growler stepped back to the shower stall and retrieved a container of shampoo, the contents of which he squeezed into the washer. The name of the shampoo amused him, Head & Shoulders. Or in this case just Head. It wasn’t that difficult being a homicidal maniac.

Growler closed the lids and turned the machines on, the washer sounding okay but the dryer making a terrible racket. He rubbed his weary face and felt along his teeth with an index finger which he then sniffed … time to go home to Cul-De-Sac.

Annie saw a light in one corner of the hallway-balcony that ran around the second level of the atrium. Up on that second floor now, still carrying suitcases, purse, and flashlight, she kept a wary eye on the closed doors to her left and stayed well back from the railing on her right. The light in the corner was coming from under a door, which was fitted with a heavy metal hasp and padlock though of course the padlock wasn’t closed because Paul was inside. She knocked tentatively. “Paul?” Why had he run from her?

He didn’t know it was me.
Of course!
Annie had shined the flashlight on him but Paul didn’t see who
she
was … he hadn’t been expecting his wife.

She knocked harder. “Paul! I’m sorry for scaring you, it’s me,
Annie.
” She tried the handle, it wouldn’t turn.

A soft voice from the other side. “What’re you doing here?”

Not the response she expected. “I came to surprise you. Stupid, I know. I’m sorry.” Why isn’t he opening the door? “Paul?”

“How’d you get here?”

“The Corwoods were coming up to D.C. and—”

“Are
they
here?”

“No, they dropped me off.”

“You have to go back.”

“Paul, open this door.”

“You can’t stay here.”

“Open the goddamn door!” Annie could picture her husband’s pinched expression, he disapproved of her cursing.

A lock clicked, the door opening slowly. Annie intended to throw her arms around him and give Paul a big kiss but, shocked by his appearance, she just stood there in the doorway and stared.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“What’s happened to you?”

He raised a hand to his face.

“You look like you’ve been beat up.” When she reached for him Paul leaned away. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

The usual impression of Paul Milton might be that of a handsome young college professor on whom students, male and female alike, had crushes … five-ten but appearing taller because he was slender and long-legged, flat-stomached and smooth-skinned, blond hair and blue eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, a face that promised to remain forever boyish.

But that promise had been broken in the month since Annie last saw her husband, his face now haggard and hollow-eyed, his expression nervous and frightened. Bruises discolored his left cheek and temple, his left eye was blackened, his normally thin lips were swollen fat.

Usually fastidious about his appearance Paul was filthy, his hair so greasy it stuck together in clumps and didn’t look blond, his jeans actually stiff having been worn so long without a wash. Paul’s once-white shirt had big underarm stains, the outer rings dark brown, the inner ones urine-yellow. When Annie finally stepped close to hug him she could smell his rank body odor, his bad breath.

Paul endured the hug as if it were a medical procedure he’d been warned would hurt a little.

She asked again what had happened to him, he didn’t answer and wouldn’t look her in the eye.

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror?”

He mumbled something about putting in a lot of hours, not getting any sleep.

No, Annie thought, it’s worse than that. She looked over his shoulder … the room, Paul’s workshop, was large and tall-ceilinged, had obviously once been a library with hardwood paneled walls and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that were now filled with power tools, some of them brand-new still in their boxes. This was an interior room, no windows. Most of the far wall was taken up by a massive fireplace of red brick, in the middle of the room was a big camel-backed couch covered in black leather cracked and split, horsehair stuffing sticking out in several places. Paul had apparently been using the couch as his bed, a blanket draped on one end, food wrappers and milk cartons on the floor.

He cleared his throat.

Annie waited but Paul said nothing. The old-fashioned cast-iron radiators around the walls must’ve been operating at full tilt because the room was stifling hot.

Bringing her things in she avoided looking at Paul, his condition made them both self-conscious. “Why is it so warm in here?” She took off the denim jacket hoping that Paul’s Favorite Dress would earn a comment.

It didn’t. He mumbled something about being cold all the time, Annie didn’t catch every word. As if to illustrate the point, he tucked both hands deep into his filthy armpits and hugged himself.

“You bought new tools?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light and unaccusing.

“You can’t stay here.”

Annie went over and stood right in front of him. “Why not?”

“It’s … not safe.”

“You mean the building, the structure, isn’t safe?”

Paul didn’t answer.

“I’m not leaving until I find out what’s wrong.”

“Wrong,” he said, repeating the word in a monotone.

“You look … like you’ve been through something terrible.” He looked like a mental patient who’d been turned out on the streets without medication or hope.

“Cul-De-Sac,” he whispered as if the name was a secret or terrible profanity.

“It’s too much isn’t it … too big to renovate by yourself.”

“You have to leave.”

She tried hugging him again but he went stiff in her arms. Annie drew back and smiled. “You’re going to be okay, I’m here now and you’re going to be okay. You said on the phone that you’d fixed up a bedroom and bathroom, why don’t you show me where they are … I’ve been in that car—”

“Annie …”

“I’m here, I’m not leaving you.” When she put an arm softly around him Paul began crying, Annie staying close, comforting him as you would a child. “Show me that bedroom and bathroom, I’d like to take a shower.”

“Down the hall.”

“Good.” Annie picked up one suitcase, leaving the other for Paul, but when she got to the door he wasn’t behind her … he’d gone to the other end of the room, to the fireplace.

Paul had his hand on the brick chimney. “Remember this chimney,” he said … a request, not a question.

“Remember it?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Remember this chimney.”

“Paul, I don’t—”

“Just remember it.”

“All right.” When she turned to the door again Paul spoke her name. He was still touching the brickwork.

“Remember this chimney.”

“Okay I’ll remember it.”

“Good.” He seemed satisfied, coming over to Annie, picking up the suitcase on his way, even stretching his swollen lips in what
might’ve passed for a smile. Annie smiled back but as soon as he went in front of her she lost that smile.

After they were out in the hallway Paul shut the workshop door, closed the hasp, and squeezed the padlock into place. Annie asked him why he was locking it but Paul didn’t answer. He went to an electrical panel box and flipped switches, bringing on some lights, then led Annie halfway down one side of the hallway-balcony. Paul stopped and brought out a key ring, unlocking a door.

Although not as large as the workshop-library this room also had twelve-foot ceilings, one wall dominated by four huge floor-to-ceiling windows. The only furnishings were a chair, a table with a lamp, and on the floor a mattress that was covered with a sheet.

Annie walked to the windows thinking how dramatic they could be if they weren’t covered with old shades and rotting curtains. “Which way do these windows face?”

“East. The bathroom’s through there,” Paul said, indicating a connecting door. He went back and locked the door to the hallway.

“Honey why are you keeping everything locked?”

He started to reply but changed his mind.

“Have you had break-ins?”

He shook his head and asked her if she wanted to take a shower or a bath.

“Shower I guess.”

“I’ll turn it on, takes a while for the hot water to get up here.”

“Thanks.”

Annie told herself everything was going to be fine, they’d each take a shower and then make love, afterwards Paul would explain what’d happened to him. She was in the middle of her cycle, the right time to get pregnant … which was part of Annie’s motivation for plotting this surprise visit.

While Paul was in the bathroom Annie tried to make one of the window shades roll up but it was rusted tight. When she yanked really hard, the dirty shade broke out of its brackets and clattered to the floor putting up dust and half a dozen fat black flies that
buzzed so persistently around Annie’s face she was forced to wave them off with both hands.

Paul came running out of the bathroom looking first at his wife then at the uncovered window. “
What have you done!
”

“I thought it would be nice to get the morning sun but—”

“Oh Sweet Jesus,” he muttered grabbing the old linen shade and holding it to the window as if it might stick there of its own accord.

When Annie put a hand on his shoulder he jumped like she’d struck him. “Paul, it’s all right … leave the shade off.”

But he kept struggling to rehang it, the linen tearing in his hands, several of the flies having landed in his greasy hair.

“Paul stop it.”

He looked at her and finally conceded the futility of what he was attempting.

Standing at the window Annie couldn’t see anything out there in the dark except a distant glow from a shopping center. “It’ll be nice in the morning, to be awakened by the sun.”

After moving her away from the window he went over and turned out the overhead light … the room now illuminated only by the light from the bathroom.