Mind Games (37 page)

“Bob, there’s some important stuff we didn’t get around to dealing with last time. I have an interesting theory about your tensions, your headaches, I figured out how to cure them.”

“I’m not interested in your theories.”

That was untruthful. Grundy is too absorbed with himself.

“What do you say I wander up there, Bob? Because it’s not something we want to talk about in public.”
I sense a terror lurking within him
. He had stilled Dr. Wiseman’s tongue, and I had to be prepared to face a similar risk.

A minute passed before he made a response, so likely he’d been conferring with Lyall.

“Hey, Dr. Dare!”

“Yes, Bob.”

“This is the picture. I got a sweet little sixteen name of – what’s your name again, honey? – name of Ginger, sitting right in front of me. I don’t want to harm this girl – really, I like her, the whole family – and all goes well, nobody gets hurt.”

“I want to help you out of this, Bob. I’m worried that we’re going to have the press here soon. I’d like to talk to you first, before they start asking about you.”

Another long period of silence. Then he called, “Okay, but take off your clothes.”

There were further shouted instructions: he wanted the police to train a light on me until I reached the house. I urged, without effect, that I be allowed to wear my briefs.

“You got something to hide, Doc? Hey, Lyall, maybe he’s ashamed of it. Don’t worry, Ginger’s seen it before, haven’t you, honey?”

A sharper, uglier edge to his voice. I felt a touch of nausea at his obscene insinuations. I realized I could botch this, I wasn’t confident I could talk them down or predict their reactions.

Churko was looking at me with amazement. He gripped my hand, wished me luck.

I stripped naked, then braved a chilly slog up a poorly beaten path. The climb was steep, and by the time I reached the deck perspiration had frozen on my skin. The door was locked, and I rapped on it. No immediate response. I’d been played the fool, this was an exercise in humiliation.

I moved nearer the broken porch window, felt heat from within. The curtain moved.

Lyall’s voice: “Yeah, he’s alone.”

“Okay, Churko, now I want that light off!” Grundy called.

When all was plunged into darkness, the door opened. I half-expected to be attacked, thrown to the floor, but I was neither helped nor hindered. “Take three steps and stop,” said Grundy, in front of me, not far away. The door clicked shut – Lyall was close behind, I could smell his anxious heat.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, human shadows formed, the dim outlines of furniture, dying embers behind the fireglass pane of an air-tight stove. Nearby were the stairways, wide steps descending, narrow slats up to the loft. From its landing came a soft glow – a night light, battery-powered.

“Gladys Moore – can you speak to me?” I said.

“I’m up here,” came a soft, frightened voice.

“Your girls?”

“Colette is with me. Ginger is with them.”

“Ginger, speak to me.”

“I’m here. I’m scared, but I’m okay.” Strained, trying to be brave.

“Okay, no more talking,” Grundy said. “Stay still where I can see you.”

As my eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light, I could make out Grundy leaning back in a reclining chair. Ginger was
only a few feet away, upright on a sofa. I could hear Lyall shuffling about behind me.

I might have asked for a towel, to dry and cover myself, but I sensed they’d deny me that, they wanted me vulnerable. The room was warm enough, the air-tight still generating heat, though it had been unattended for a long while. There was also an unlit fireplace opposite, stacks of wood and kindling.

“Lyall, check around his ass to see if he’s wired.”

“You do it.”

A hint of rebellion. Lyall was in far deeper than he’d intended. He’d gone along with the murders, as long as only gay men were targeted. Women were different, girls especially. He’d been fond of his sisters, he wasn’t as disordered as Grundy, just enough to put him under his sway. At the nub of his pathology was anger, hatred of his father, even of himself.

Grundy made no motion to rise. “Maybe Ginger would like to do it. How about it, honey?”

“You’re sick,” said Ginger. She was a brave girl. I’d seen her photograph, pretty, in the bloom of youth.

“Cut it, Bob,” Lyall said. “I mean it.”

This friction must have been going on for some time, the monster’s two heads disjoining. Lyall was no longer behind me, but in dim view, arms folded, defiant.

“As long as you know there’s a loaded revolver in my hand, Doc. Okay, Lyall, maybe you can be helpful by stoking up the fire. Dr. Dare is cold. You can see him shivering. Not because he’s scared. You’re not scared, are you, Doc?”

“Yeah, but I’m more concerned about the women. Let them go, Bob. I’m your insurance. I’ll do what I can to help you get away. You can take me with you on the plane.”

“I prefer the company of women. I don’t think you’re going to make the flight, Doc.”

“Let’s think about it, Bob,” said Lyall. He was at the open door of the air-tight, refuelling it with kindling and wood.

“The way I’m thinking is if we make an example of the good doctor, his friends down below will know we’re very, very serious. Rid the world of another faggot. You’re inclined that way, aren’t you, Doc? Use the back door once in a while?”

There was enough strain in Grundy’s voice to suggest this was surface swagger. He wanted to spin out this chance to humiliate me.

“Let’s talk about you, Bob.”

“Yeah, right, you have some theory about me. Don’t tell me – you discovered I’ve an antisocial personality disorder.”

“More interesting than that, Bob.”

“Well, I don’t want to hear about it.”

“I do,” said Lyall.

The fire had caught but did little to warm my clammy skin. I couldn’t believe I was hearing my voice speak with tones so calm and detached. This was a very risky game, but they had to be driven further apart.

“I got a better idea, Lyall. Let’s have the doc analyze
you
. Let’s figure out why you’ve turned into a wimp.”

“I’d like to know what happened,” Lyall said softly. “I’d like to know how everything got screwed up like this.”

I could see the log walls now, the beams of unmilled cedar, the loft, Gladys and Colette looking over the railing. All the windows were draped but the tall ones facing the back. Churko must have his sharpshooters out there by now, and I was worried they might not notice Ginger on the couch, her back to them.

“You swore by your blood,” Grundy said softly, with menace. “Soldiers of God, together forever.” He was in clearer outline now, holding the revolver with two hands, pointing it somewhere between Ginger’s head and my navel. Tension rose from him, like heat.

Lyall was still by the stove, his face sober and drawn in the flickering light. “We were just going to make a statement. You
said we’d stop. After one. Then after three. The last one wasn’t even a fag.”

“They want us to think that.”

The killing of the student had clearly disturbed Lyall. This bickering was likely the aftermath of a quarrel, maybe several over the last couple of days. Lyall wanted no more killing, but he didn’t have the gun.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s talk about you, Lyall.”

“Yeah, let’s hear about the wuss. Take the couch, snuggle up with Ginger.”

Lyall didn’t move. The two men seemed tired, close to exhaustion. They’d have agreed to take turns napping, but both may have stayed awake last night, in mutual distrust.

“You have a sister almost exactly Ginger’s age, Lyall. Two other sisters. It’s never easy being the only boy in such a family, too much is expected of you. Especially from a hard-driving father. He’s a manly guy, isn’t he, Lyall?”

“He’s a tough dude.”

“Likes to drink beer and watch the Canucks. Cracks the occasional joke about queers over the dinner table. Dislikes liberals, called them pansies. But, hell, so what? – millions hold those views. He gave you tough love, but he was proud of you, determined to make you a man. You told him you wanted to be a cop, you knew that would please him. That’s the gist of it, right?”

“So far.”

“The only son … That’s hard enough, but in your case it was a burden.”

No interruptions from Grundy. He sat forward, interested, this was in his field of study, there’d been truth in his claim to want to understand the warped mind – even if only to disguise his better. I hadn’t moved but was keeping spring in my knees in case I had to.

“So much expected of you. So much you couldn’t deliver.”

Lyall had gone to the side of the tall window, was taking a
careful peek outside. He’d begun to fidget, shifting his shoulders, smoothing his hair, a narcissistic compulsiveness. “What’s that mean?”

“I want to help you through this, Lyall. I want to make you feel better about yourself. You liked your sisters, but otherwise you didn’t care much for the company of girls. They didn’t attract you sexually, and you couldn’t understand that, you’re athletic, a virile guy, not like the others, the limp wrists you were taught to disdain.”

A silence set in, broken only by Lyall clearing his throat, until there came another threat from Grundy, in a raspy voice. “Want me to plug him, Lyall? He’s calling you a closet queen.” A derisory laugh, he was scornful of my analysis, contemptuous at the game I was playing: a crafty scheme to unnerve his partner.

“Lots of famous athletes are gay, Lyall. Artists, entrepreneurs, scientists. Leonardo da Vinci was gay. In the real world, it’s no big deal.”

I couldn’t make out Lyall’s eyes, but I sensed he was looking at me intently, rigid musculature, a man poised, on the edge of the unknown. My first clue had come at The Tides, the kiss he blew to Jossie and Grundy from the window. Not to Jossie, just Grundy. It wasn’t a woman he desired as they made the beast with three backs.

“We are what nature makes us, Lyall. Or God, if you prefer. There’s no shame in that. These are more enlightened times than those your father knew.”

He slumped – it was if the air was hissing out of him. Had catharsis come, was this deflation the manifestation of it? No, something else was going on, because, incredibly, he giggled. “Do go on.” A different voice, lilting. “He’s such a bitch.” I was stunned. This wasn’t Lyall performing some sexist mimicry. This sounded like a dissociated personality.

Grundy wasn’t getting it, was chuckling, relieved now – good old Lyall was giving me the gears.

“It’s good to be free of him, isn’t it?” I said.

“I mean, he’s a
bore –
if you only knew. He doesn’t let me come out very often, so thank
you
.”

“Nice pickle he’s got you in.”

“I would just like to forget the whole thing – everything’s so
intense
. Bob, darling, do put down that gun.”

I couldn’t guess what Ginger and her mother and sister were making of this, but Grundy was laughing. “I’ve seen him do his fruit fly act a hundred times, and I still bust a gut.”

Lyall moved toward me with a tight gait, as if in high heels. “You are such a skinny wretch. Let’s find something to cover you. Bob, we simply have to come up with another plan. I am not going to live off the land like some
Indian.”
He sighed, went to a bedroom nearby, returned with a wool blanket.

“Put that down,” Grundy said. “He’s fine the way he is.”

“Oh, are you enjoying the view? Do you have a hard-on for him, darling? You’ve been ogling him.” He threw the blanket; I caught it but didn’t wrap myself in it, merely held it in front of me. Though Lyall was acting the jealous mistress, I was unsure if they’d had sex together – in the absence of a woman to make it seem vaguely acceptable. Grundy was too deep in denial. Lyall, too, had blocked his attraction for other men, buried it deep within, but it had found an aquifer to the surface, was bubbling out as a second personality.

“How do you feel about Bob right now, Lyall – do I call you Lyall?”

“Oh, I’ve tried other names – they never work. And I don’t care what you call Bob, he’s my sweetie.”

“You like him a lot.”

“My pet bunny.”

“Okay, cut it out now.” Grundy had begun to show confusion. He cradled the revolver in his right hand, wiped his forehead with the other.

“Tell Bob how you much you care for him, Lyall. It’ll feel good to get it out.”

Lyall found his way to the back of Grundy’s recliner, where he ruffled his hair. “I do love you, you big goof.”

Grundy jerked away, lowering the gun. “Enough of this shit. It stopped being funny.” He struggled from his chair, batted Lyall’s wrist with his free hand. “I’m getting one of my tensions.”

“Touchy.” Lyall moved away with a sham gesture of shock. “But you can see why I adore him.” A long, despairing sigh. “I know, I’m a fool. He treats me like a stable boy. Don’t you, stallion?”

“Stop it! What’s happening, you gone fruity on me?”

“Problem is, does he love me? Or does he just have the hots for me?”

Lyall may have understood that love isn’t in Grundy’s emotional vocabulary. He may also have guessed, as I know now with sureness, the secret that Dr. Barbara Loews Wiseman took to her death, the diagnosis that Grundy couldn’t bear to hear.

“Bob, we’re at the end of the road, let’s
relate
, okay?” Lyall made a move toward Grundy, who stepped back, averting his eyes. “Tell me it’s not just a physical thing. Look at me, Bob.” His voice was husky.

“Get away.”

“Can’t we stop playing the forgetting game? Seven years ago, Bob. After the frat party. Oh, yes, you were too hammered to remember, weren’t you? But that’s kind of funny, because I drank the same amount, and
I
remember. I was sore for a month, stallion, but that’s not what really hurt.” He continued to advance.

“Get away from me!”

“You don’t have to love me, I don’t ask that, but you’re such a slut, with all your stupid little whores. Look at me, damn it!”

“No! I got a headache!”

As this macabre dance continued, Lyall advancing, Grundy retreating to the wall, I slipped toward the sofa, grabbed Ginger by the wrist, and pushed her to the floor, toward the landing.
“Down the stairs,” I whispered, and she began descending. I hoped she could find a room with a lock.