The Hungry House (26 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

One morning, after bringing Frank his 11:00 a.m. tray, Margaret turned and glanced back for one final look at Morgan, a small, wiry man in his late thirties, with prematurely white hair down to his shoulders, who often reeked of pot and tobacco. He had already finished his croissant, gulping it down like a wolf, the way he consumed all his food. Now, each morning Margaret had to bring up enough coffee and pastry for him as well as Frank. An associate of Frank's from New York, he had simply appeared on the doorstep one day a week ago and had stayed.

For some time after his conversation with Scully, Frank had fallen into a petulant depression
. After a week of sulking in his room, drinking so much that he suffered through many horrendous 24-hour hangovers, Margaret had finally gotten him to explain what was wrong. She was not at all surprised by the news but offered her sympathies to Frank as well as she could. Morgan's arrival had provided a timely distraction for Frank. In fact, he had welcomed Morgan into his home like a long lost son and seemed to feel, at least for the moment, that Morgan was the answer to all his problems.

After returning to the kitchen, Margaret
poured herself a cup of coffee. As she sat at the table sipping from her cup, she puzzled over the situation. With Morgan in the picture, Frank drank much more heavily than before. At Morgan's prompting, they began each day with shots of Frank's expensive whiskey in their coffees. Both men were chain smokers, and Margaret found herself continually opening windows throughout the house.

At first, Margaret had been charmed by the man
. He was talkative and superficially cheerful, constantly regaling Frank with his stories. Once, he had fallen in love with a German tourist. After their affair, he had followed her back to the fatherland to beg for her hand in marriage, only to discover that she was already married and lived with her husband and four children. He had spent a summer working on a sheep farm in Australia.

A computer programmer by trade, for reasons that remained unclear, h
e was at present unemployed. He quickly fell back into Frank's good graces by deferring to him in everything. He lit Frank's cigarettes, brought him snacks from the kitchen, answered the door, and chauffeured Frank everywhere. In return, Frank provided Morgan with a cell phone, food, spending money, and a room in the house--the room formerly occupied by John and then Vicky.

###

Once Margaret had picked up Alex from his mother's house that Friday, she strived to think of a way to explain Morgan, who had arrived during the previous week.

"Alex
, I need to talk to you about something."

Alex
was immediately on the alert and looked at her expectantly.

"There's a man named Morgan staying at the house with your father."

"Is he a film director, like John?" Alex looked excited and happy.

"No
. He's nothing like John. Please don't tell Frank that I said this, but I'm a little worried about Morgan. So, if you have any problems with him, anything at all, you tell me right away, okay?"

"Okay.
" Alex's face looked drawn as he stared out the car window.

Margaret pulled over and parked the car at the side of the road
. She placed her hand on his shoulder. "Not to worry. I'll be right there with you the whole time."

Alex
continued to gaze out the passenger window, obscuring his face from Margaret's view.

When he turned to face her, she
saw tears in his eyes. "I'm taking you right back home to your mother." Margaret moved to start the car.

"No.
" Alex answered with a start, his hand on her arm. "Let's just go to my dad's."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't want to worry my mom. It'll be okay." Then, Alex smiled, a big appealing smile in his open face that looked so like his mother's.

Margaret started the ignition and pulled back into the road
. "All right, but if anything goes wrong--and I mean
anything
--you tell me."

At first, the evening went smoothly
. As soon as Alex arrived, he and Frank set out on their usual stroll, leaving behind a visibly disappointed Morgan, whom Frank had dissuaded from accompanying them. Upon their return, Margaret served dinner. It was one of Alex's favorite meals, lasagna and a salad, with fruit salad for dessert. She smiled each time she went into the dining room to serve; it was a pleasure to watch a young person like Alex eat with such natural gusto.

Later, Morgan and Alex
were left on their own in the library for a few moments while Frank used the restroom.

Alex, smiling,
brought one of his books over to Morgan. "Will you read this to me?"

"Hey
--I don't have the time to babysit your snot-nosed little ass." Alex was stung by the totally unexpected rebuff and use of the word "ass." He placed his book back on the shelf and walked across the room to retrieve the world atlas. Pouring over the pages of the new edition was one of his favorite pastimes. As Alex passed by, Morgan stuck out his foot, causing Paul to trip. He fell onto the hardwood floor bordering the Persian carpet landing flat on his face. Sitting up with care, Paul then wiped the blood from his split lip using the back of his hand. His neck throbbed, and a large purple knob was forming on his forehead.

Morgan smirked
. "You ought a' watch where you're goin' kid." He chuckled at his witticism.

Alex
stared incredulously at Morgan. Slowly, it registered that this man, this adult, had
meant
to hurt him. He walked to a nearby chair, sat, and remained very still. Where was his father?  And, where was Margaret?  What was keeping them?  He thought about Margaret's misgivings. He decided he must remain calm and try to get home as fast as he could.

Frank entered the library
and looked at Alex, his eyes widening in alarm. "What
happened
to
you
?"

Alex
glanced at Morgan, who almost imperceptibly shook his head. "I--I--I tripped. Where's Margaret?" He noticed his father seemed unsteady on his feet and slurred his words. Everything was off-kilter tonight.

"Well, little guy, Margaret's over at the neighbors.
" Frank grinned, even though Alex saw nothing amusing about the situation.

Alex
felt his lower lip begin to quiver and lowered his head so Morgan would not see.

"Don't worry
. I'll have her come see you as soon as she gets back." Frank offered Alex his hand. "Come on, son. You look all done in."

Quickly
, Frank stumbled out of his son's bedroom, leaving Alex reclining on top of the bedding, fully clothed and without having brushed his teeth, taken his nightly bath, or had his story read to him. Alex stared up at the ceiling and thought about his situation. The ornate mural painted on the ceiling of his bedroom was one of the things he loved about his father's house. Shepherd boys stood watch over a flock of sheep, and just beyond rolling hills stood a large estate house. The image had often lulled him to sleep. Sometimes, he had an odd sensation that his father's house cradled and supported him in some way; tonight he felt the direct opposite.

H
e listened carefully for sounds of approaching footsteps and watched the face of the clock on his nightstand consumed by fear. The room crackled with the frightful shapes that seemed to lurk in the shadows, just beyond his peripheral vision. He had to get out of here. Morgan's very presence in the house meant he could not safely fall asleep. The longer he lay on his bed, the more terrified he became.

Then, he had an inspiration
. He would just go to his father--there was no need to wait for Margaret. He could just have his father take him home. He raised up and swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat, trying to summon all of his courage in spite of his pain and fear. To speak to his father meant facing Morgan. His mother had taught him that he had a guardian angel at his side from whom he could receive help in times of need. He closed his eyes and silently asked his guardian angel to help him. Then, kneeling at the side of his bed, he recited the Our Father his mother had taught him and tried to calm his breathing. He felt a little more confident, but his heart continued to beat loudly in his ears.

He
crept to his door, opened it, and stepped out into the hallway. Perspiration broke out on his forehead and ran down into his eyes as sweat from his armpits ran down his sides. He stood perfectly still, listening. As he started back down the hallway, a sound caused him to jump and almost cry out. Then, he realized it was simply a tree blowing against a window.

With the back of his hand
s, Alex wiped away the tears that ran down his cheeks as he walked. His head and neck still throbbed with pain from his fall. Once downstairs, he found that the library door was closed, which was very unusual. He tried the knob and quietly opened the door, then tiptoed into the room. Frank and Morgan were sitting on one of the leather sofas at the other end of the room watching the television that was usually concealed in the mahogany armoire.

Alex
froze when he saw the program they were watching. Something was terribly wrong. The girl on the screen was naked and tied to a bed. She screamed in agony, as a man savagely whipped her. Frank and Morgan seemed mesmerized. Carefully, Alex turned and left the library, softly closing the door behind him before he could be discovered.

Next, he peaked into Margaret's
downstairs bedroom but saw no sign of her. He went into the kitchen. Looking around, he found a plate piled with cookies on the kitchen table. A note was tucked under the dish. He picked it up and saw that it was signed by Margaret and had a telephone number at the bottom. He hoped it was a number where Margaret could be reached. Vicky had taught him his numbers and carefully trained him how to dial the phone in case of an emergency.

He picked up the kitchen phone receiver and dialed the number
.

An elderly woman answered
in a loud voice. "Hello!"

"Is Margaret there?"

"What?  You're going to have to speak up." He heard muffled voices and then, "I can't hear what they're saying; maybe you can."

"May I help you?
" It was Margaret. Relief flooded through Alex's body like a healing balm.

A sob constricted his
throat. "Can you please come and take me home?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Just come--now."

"You hold tight
. I'm right next door. Be there in a jiffy."

I answered the doorbell to Margaret and looked down at Paul. It was all I could do not to burst into hysterics at what I saw. Paul was wild-eyed with fear and shock, and his lip was split open. A huge, angry, purple knob swelled on his forehead. I knelt there in the doorway and wrapped my arms around him and then scooped him up into my arms and carried him inside, we I sat cradling him in my lap. His eyes were red and his face blotchy from crying but still he again burst into tears as soon as he found himself safely in my arms.

Margaret
had shut the door behind her and followed closely behind them.

I
found myself in shock, unable to think. "Could you please hand me my phone?  And then, take a seat?" Margaret handed me the telephone and sat beside us.

I
had John on speed dial. He answered after a few rings. "I know it's late --" I began.

"-- No, no you're fine
. What's up?"

"Alex--" a sob caught in my
throat, and I had to swallow hard to continue. "Alex was hurt while visiting at Frank's. I need your help. Can you come?"

"
I'm on my way."

"What happened to you honey?
" Tenderly, she looked down into Paul's ravaged face.

"That man at dad's
made me fall down--and their TV scared me. It was a girl getting hurt."

"A girl getting hurt on the television, you mean?"

"Yes." Frank!  Had he been watching pornography with her son in the house?

"Where were you when all this happened?
" She looked accusingly at Margaret.

"I was next door helping Mrs. Pratt with her plants
. You know she has arthritis and is in her eighties--oh!--I never should have left the house!"

"Well, what's done is done
. And, I do know she often needs help. Anyway. What man is he talking about?"

Margaret sat with her hands clasped in front of her as if she wanted to wring them in her anxiety
. "Oh, he means Morgan. He's a friend of Frank's from New York who just turned up last week and seems to be here to stay. I should have told you about him, but I wasn't sure what could be done or if there was really anything to be concerned about. I see now that I was wrong."