The Dark House (33 page)

“That what you did with Tina?” Marj asked.

Rollins reached out a hand toward her. “Marj, please.”

“You hurt her, didn't you?” Marj demanded.

Schecter glowered at her for a moment. “I do things my way, you got that?”

When Marj went quiet, Schecter asked where Rollins had left his car. Rollins told him about the municipal lot, which was only one street over.

“We're going to get you out of here,” Schecter said. “Both of you.”

Rollins let Schecter lead him and Marj along the high wall, keeping their heads low, and down the side alley to the street. There, Schecter had them wait by some thick bushes while he checked to make sure the coast was clear. He crept out to the sidewalk, then signaled to them to come. “Go through that little deli there,” Schecter said, pointing to a glass-fronted shop across the street. “It backs up on the lot. It's less visible that way.”

“What about you?” Rollins asked.

“I'm going back to have a little chat with Jerry.”

“Look, you sure that's safe?”

“The guy's all bluff. Besides, you're the one who sets him off.”

Marj tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Rolo. Let's get out of here.”

“Okay,” Rollins nodded. He tried to shake Schecter's hand. He wanted to apologize for Marj, to offer his gratitude, to explain. “Look, Al—” he began.

“You better get going,” the detective replied.

“Thanks,” Rollins said. Then he and Marj dashed across the street.

 

Rollins and Marj made it back to the Nissan and returned to the Ritz by a circuitous route, all the while checking to make sure they weren't being followed. Finally they were safely back in their suite with the door bolted behind them. Rollins dropped down on the bed while Marj opened up the mini bar. “We need a drink,” she told Rollins.

“Not just yet.” He reached into his pants pocket and removed the envelope. It had gotten a little crumpled.

Marj was crouched by the mini bar, but she turned back toward him. “You're sure you're ready for that, Rolo?”

Rollins nodded.

“It could be bad, you know.”

“I know.” Rollins smoothed out the envelope on his thigh, then slid a finger in under the flap. There was only a thin strip of paper inside, with several lines of what looked like poetry written in black ink. It had to be Cornelia's handwriting; it was more upright and assertive than Lizzie's. The lines were a fragment of poetry. Rollins held the paper
under the light of the window, while Marj came over to read it over his shoulder.

“Oh, Jesus,” Rollins said. He let his hand drop.

“What?” Marj took the paper from his fingers, and she read the rest out loud.

Marj turned the paper over, checking to see if the poem continued on the back, which it didn't. “I don't get it,” she said. “Who's Henry?”

It took Rollins a little while to speak, his mind was in such turmoil. To steady himself, he gazed out the window, his eyes fixed on the branch of a distant tree.

“My father.”

R
ollins turned away from Marj to face the wall, where it was calmer.

They were on the couch in the sitting room. The shades were pulled on the Newbury Street side. Rollins had thought he'd be able to rest here for a while, to recover. He could hear the cars on the street below, but they seemed distant, forgettable. Mostly, he was conscious of the stillness and the quiet of the room. He might have stepped into a painting by Vermeer, where everything is silence and light. But he was aware of a great heaviness within him.

Beside him, Rollins could hear Marj get up off the couch. She came around to kneel down in front of him, her head against the side of his leg. “You know what I'm thinking, don't you?” she asked finally.

Rollins could hardly track his own thoughts. He was a child again—innocent, shockable.

“Remember how I asked you where Neely was when you were supposed to be watching Stephanie?”

Rollins tensed. He could feel what was coming.

“And you told me that your mother was on the phone, and your brother was watching TV?”

He nodded.

“Rolo, I think you know where Neely was.”

Rollins pushed his palms over his ears so hard that he heard sea sounds, and his fingertips dug into his scalp. He saw it again, that image from the Overnighter. But the image was not from the Overnighter. It was from inside him, where it had been buried long ago. It was just a flash, like so many memories when they first stirred.

 

Her bare shoulders, and his hands on her.

 

Rollins could feel Marj's hands tugging on his. “You need to hear this,” he heard her say. She must have been shouting, to get through.

Within him, the light brightened, and spread.

 

On that worn carpet in the billiard room by the couch. Just the tops of their heads at first. Then her bare shoulders, red in places, and breathing, and everything happening so fast.

 

Rollins clamped his hands down over his ears all the harder—so hard his pulse thundered in his palms—and he squeezed his eyes shut.

The Garbo rule. He had to be alone. Just him, deep inside his head where he was safe.

Still, Marj's voice came through, as if from another world. “You know it, Rolo. You've always known it. She was with your dad.”

 

Father and Neely. As if lit up by lightning.

 

Marj crouched down before him: “Speak to me, Rolo. When did Stephanie die that Saturday? Tell me when.”

A crushing weight on his chest. Still, he had to speak. “Late.”

“How late?”

He could hardly draw breath. “I don't remember. It was dark.”

 

Dark outside in the bushes, when he looked in the windows.

 

“When they were doing it,” Marj said quietly.

He dropped his hands, watched her. She seemed so tender, so forgiving.

“And you knew, Rolo, didn't you?”

Rollins slid off the couch and down onto the floor. He pulled his knees up, propped his chin on his hands.

No repeats. See something only once, and you don't get involved. That was the whole idea.

 

Heads together. Her shoulders bare. The thrashing.

 

“What did you see, Rolo?”

“Nothing. I didn't see
anything
.”

“Tell me. You saw something. What was it?”

Rollins was a child again, a little boy in red high-tops, wandering the dark halls of the too-big house. But Marj was with him now; he could feel her by his side. “I was by the billiard room. No one went there. The pool table was really old. No one played. It was way off in the back of the house. Dusty. Never used. I was in the hall when I heard a noise from there. From inside. A kind of groan. I went closer—to look. The door was open, just a little. I saw—”

 

The writhing.

 

“What?”

“I didn't
know.
I
don't
know. It was too fast. It all happened too fast. Just—just a flash. But maybe it was—God! I didn't
know
. I
don't
know. I was only six! I just ran. I put it out of my mind. I put it out. Out!”

 

Their heads so close.

 

“Easy, Rolo. Relax.” Marj's hands were on him, gently loosening his hands from his ears so she could speak to him. “Easy. Come on, just breathe. Easy, now.” Her voice was a lullaby, soothing him.

He spoke more quietly, his voice almost all air. “I ran back to my room. I—just sat on the floor. I played with my cars. I loved those little cars. Then my mother called up to me to watch Stephanie in the bath. But I couldn't.”

“You said it was because your mother had yelled at you for seeing Neely the other time.”

“That's right. That's what I thought. That's all I thought. Of seeing Neely. That registered. I wasn't supposed to see Neely. And I had. I'd seen her.” He could feel the tears trickling down his face.

“And you'd seen her again,” Marj said.

 

Neely's bare back. Father's hands on her.

 

Rollins felt an icy coldness drip down the inside of his body, and he hugged himself for warmth.

 

The look on Mother's face when she shouted at him.

“Edward! Edward!”

 

His nose was clogged, his cheeks were wet, and his face felt puffy around his mouth.

“She knew, Rolo. Your mother knew. Why else would she slap her?”

“It was because Neely was so upset! It was to
calm
her!” He could hardly force the words out, he had so little belief in them.

“Right, to calm her. As if that's going to calm her.” Marj took Rollins' hands in her own. “Then tell me this, all right? How long did Neely stay on after Stephanie died?”

Rollins' head throbbed. He'd surely get a migraine now. “Three days,” he said finally. “She left the day I went back to school. I remem
ber, she gave me a big hug when I went off that morning. She was crying. But she'd been crying a lot those days. She was gone when I came back.” He turned to Marj. “But it was only because we didn't need her anymore. That's what my mother told me.”

“But you were still there, Rolo. Your brother wasn't even in kindergarten. What did your mother do about him?”

“She hired somebody else. An old cow named Mrs. Callahan.”

“There. You see?”

His father and Neely—and Stephanie floating facedown. And he didn't go in. And his mother knew. She knew! And
still
she screamed “Edward.” Rollins was afraid that he might burst. He lurched forward and grabbed on to Marj, and he clung to her while his entire body quaked—frightening convulsions that pulsed from his belly up to his shoulders—and the tears poured down his cheeks and an awful howl rose up from the deepest part of his chest.

“It's okay, Rolo,” she whispered. “It's okay, honey.”

He closed his eyes and he felt a wind on him from somewhere, and he was moving through empty space, a place without light or love or warmth or anything to touch or see or do. It was nothing, just as he was nothing, had always been nothing.

 

“Edward!”

 

But somehow he could still feel Marj cuddling his head in her arms. “It wasn't you, Rolo,” she was saying. He felt her warm hands on his hair. “You weren't the reason the family broke apart. It wasn't because you weren't watching. You weren't
supposed
to be watching. Neely was. No wonder Lizzie said she was sad. All those years, Rolo, she felt guilty.” She paused. “Stephanie would never have died if it weren't for Neely and your father. And your fucking mother knew, Rolo. It wasn't you. It wasn't you. It was
them
.” She stroked his head, sweeping her fingers through his hair. “Oh, honey.” The strokes stopped and Rollins could feel Marj moving around to face him. She was crouched down before him, the sides of his head cupped in her hands. Her palms pressed
against his ears; her fingers dug into his scalp. She had him, just as he wanted her to have him. “You don't have to
watch
anymore,” she said, with new emphasis, shaking his head a little. “You don't have to follow any more
cars
. You don't have to look in any more
windows
. You can relax, Rolo. You can relax. You can live your
own
life.”

Her voice guided him back. Rollins nodded his head to show her that he'd heard, although he could not speak. Gradually, as he followed the voice, the blackness everywhere turned to purple and then to red and finally to pink. And then he opened his eyes and saw her, just inches away. Her lips were there, and he kissed them, also her eyes and the sides of her face. When he finally pulled away, her cheeks were stained with his tears. Smiling, she wiped them dry with the end of his shirtsleeve. Then she helped him off the floor and guided him toward the bed. He felt like a child as she eased him down on top of the covers, and then pulled off his shoes and socks. “Just a sec,” she told him. She went into the bathroom and came back with a cool washcloth and bathed his face. When she was done, he reached for her and kissed her again. And she said: “Actually, I was thinking a bath might help. But then I thought, noooo, maybe not.” She brought her finger down on the tip of his nose just the way Neely had, and then down over his lips. “How about a shower, though? Might make you feel better.”

He still had trouble walking, so she helped him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet seat and she helped him remove his clothes, then she opened the shower door and got the water going. She steered him into the stall. He closed the door behind him and he leaned against the tiled wall and he let the water beat down on his back and his shoulders.

Then there was a rush of cool air as the shower door opened, and Marj was naked beside him. “Hey, scootch over,” she said.

Rollins made room, and Marj reached for the little shampoo bottle on the small shelf by the shower nozzle. “We just need to clean you up a little.” She shampooed his hair, her soft belly pressing against his rump, then turned him around to soap him all over, slowly. Her hands on him, everywhere, made him feel better, more himself, more the self he'd always wanted to be.

“Marj,” he said. “Oh, Marj.” He pushed his hand down her belly
and between her legs. She met his eyes as he stroked her fur, which was wet and scraggly. He felt adventurous, as though he was exploring a secret part of her, as he rode his hand up and down through the tangles. Running his hand along, he could feel the cleft of her vagina loosen under his touch. She tipped her head against his shoulder as the shower water beat down upon him. He could hear her breathing deepen. “Inside,” she whispered, lifting her pelvis toward his hand.

He slipped his middle finger inside, feeling the beginnings of the slithery wetness within. She leaned against his chest as if they were slow-dancing. “Deeper,” she whispered.

He pushed his finger in, and the slipperiness opened, inviting him.

She clung to him, pressing her breasts hard against his chest, and he could feel her lean her pelvis toward his hand.

He slipped another finger inside. It thrilled him to sense that he wasn't just touching her, but actually
reaching
her somehow. He was leaving his past, leaving himself. And he was getting inside to where the true Marj was.

She tensed for a moment, held him still, as he continued to slide his fingers into her. He'd never felt so connected to anyone. He slid his hand in harder, rougher. “Oh,” she cried from deep in her throat. Then her breath caught, and she tightened her grip on him, and shuddered. Finally, she relaxed with a sigh and kissed the side of his neck.

His erection brushed against her side. It was so hard it ached, and she reached for it and leaned back against the shower stall. “I still want you inside me,” she whispered as she raised herself up. Her mouth open as if she were stepping into cool water, she guided him to her.

His arms about her shoulders, he slid himself up inside her and held himself there without moving for some time. He wanted to live in this moment forever. “This is where you belong,” she told him as she hugged him to her chest. “This is us.” Her eyes on his, she brought herself up and down on him. Meeting her gaze, he pushed and pulled against her. A kind of dance. Soon they were both moaning, and then gasping, and then shouting, and then Marj was screaming in his ear until, with one last frantic thrust, he burst up inside her.

 

The phone rang when they were drying off. Marj answered it and passed the receiver to Rollins. “It's Al. He's on his cell phone.”

The detective had a cigar going. “Sounds like you made it back okay.”

“Yeah, we're here.”

Schecter's voice was cool, with little of its usual cocky ebullience. “You better watch yourself. You're playing with fire here. I tried to cool Jerry Sloane down for you. I told him to put Jeffries back in his cage, and I said if he didn't lay off I was going to tip the feds about the illegal sale of Cornelia's house. Jerry didn't bite. He told me to get lost. Then he pulled a gun on me—right there in the hospice. I don't know what you did, Rollins, but he's definitely aggravated.” Schecter took another puff from his cigar. “Say, you all right? You sound like you're only half there.”

Rollins told him about his father's affair with Cornelia. “That's why Elizabeth was trying to get in touch with me. She thought I should know.”

“God, you just keep getting in deeper and deeper, don't you?”

“I guess.” Rollins wasn't paying much attention to what Schecter was saying.

“Look, I'm still by the hospice. I'll keep track of the two of them for you.”