Resentment: A Psychological Thriller - 4. Episode 4

Thomas

Two shots of whiskey and fifteen or so stitches later, I was right as rain. Or if not right, I wasn’t shaking so hard it felt like my bones would pop out of their skin.

Adermoor Cove doesn’t have a hospital. Not even a clinic. What it has is a doctor who makes at-home visits named Alfred Kohl, who shows up with a briefcase dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. He assured me as he examined the gash from where I’d bashed my head in the car, that he was perfectly qualified. He’d gotten his doctorate on the mainland. His breath smelled of Brach’s butterscotch candy. As he chattered, I could hear the piece of hard candy bouncing around inside his mouth, crashing against the enamel of his teeth. Agamemnon hovered at the edge of my vision, a reassuring presence, while Roxanne seemed to flit in and out of the room like a moth.

When I looked at her for the first time, I was…disappointed. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, the woman was stunning; her ability to act was secondary to her appeal. But the moment you meet a celebrity, the moment you shake their hand, look into their eyes, whatever, there’s a sense of betrayal because you instantly realize the person is not the cardboard cutout version of who you’d thought them to be. They become real, defined by flesh and bone and insecurities, not whatever preconceived notions you’ve framed in your mind. I’m sure many of my fans felt the same way about me; doors swing both ways after all.

Perhaps it was this shared experience that allowed me to see past her costume. She had shoulder-length curly blonde hair, held back with a brown headband, and the high cheekbones of an aristocrat. Her nose was placed perfectly in the center of her face; her skin was clear and sunkissed. Her eyes were the crystal blue of the river. It seemed God had made her perfect - it was no wonder she was a growing star. She wore a green dress with sleeves that ended at the elbows, and a belt around the waist, and silver bracelets around her wrists. Expensive earrings, shaped like golden wings, hung from her ears. She’d dolled herself up for my visit. Perhaps not to the extent of her red carpet walks, but enough I was flattered.

There was only one presence in the room who truly mattered. Who truly had any weight. Even when he was not in my view, I knew exactly where Agamemnon was. I could feel him watching me, his eyes like anchors that held me in place. Between the spirits and the need to appear manly in front of everyone, I barely noticed the sting of the needle as it punctured my flesh repeatedly to weave the torn flesh back together. When Dr. Kohl announced the job was finished. I was glad when he left, so I didn’t have to smell his sweet-candy breath anymore. I hate butterscotch.

Agamemnon stepped into view then, stooping so that he could look me over. “It suits you,” he said with a nod of approval.

“Does it?”

“It does.”

“Why don’t you join me for a cocktail in the parlor,” he said, “while Roxanne finishes things up.”

“I’ve had enough whiskey to drink as it is. If I have any more I don't think I'll be able to walk."

He smiled…mocking me or encouraging me. "Come on now, Thomas, what's one more drink?"

The thought of a drink did sound good. Something to settle the nerves. When Roxanne joined us, Agamemnon and I were sitting in the parlor with a drink. Agamemnon sat in the chair across from me with a cigar in his other hand and an ashtray on the table. He'd offered me one but I'd declined. I could never stand the dirty taste of tobacco in my mouth.

"A tow truck is on its way," Roxanne informed me. She turned to Agamemnon. "Did you make me one?"

"No. I figured you were perfectly capable of making one yourself."

She cocked an eyebrow. "What kind of husband, are you?" She turned, high heels clacking as she went back through the door in the dining room.

Agamemnon stared across the living room at me with an intensity that was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. "Your face is very red," he said finally.

I held up my glass in a sort of salute. "I'm very drunk...thanks to you and your wife."

Agamemnon sat back in his chair. "We like to relax when we get the chance. I grabbed one of your books off the shelf.”

"Oh?”

He nodded. "I plan on starting it as soon as I get the chance."

"Why would you want to read such a book? It's trash, I doubt it's your cup of tea."

"Why would you think that?"

I tried to clamp my mouth shut, but a hasty response escaped before I could stop it. "Forget it."

He scrutinized me as if trying to pick out the thoughts that whirled drunkenly around my head, but said nothing.

"Nonsense." Roxanne smiled, appraising me. "Thomas is a fantastic writer. Your characters are so relatable, even when they are in the most outlandish situations. I even relate with the women. It's not usual to come across a male writer who can write women so authentically. Makes me wonder how you pull it off. Do you have a wife tucked away somewhere back home?"

"I do not," I told her.

"You're a bachelor?"

"Something like that. Unlike some of the characters in my books, I'm not well-versed in the arts of romance." I said this with a laugh, but internally my insides crawled. I could feel myself begin to sweat. Is this a dinner or an interrogation? I wondered.

I was relieved when Roxanne did not pursue the subject. Instead she pulled out a bag made of blue sequins that sat perfectly in the palm of a graceful hand. When she pulled the bag open, I blinked at the strong smell of marijuana that filled the room. I watched her go through the process of making a joint: sprinkling the marajuana along the leaf paper, rolling it up tightly so the marajuana was secure. She lit it until smoke began to drift into the air, filling the room with the spicy smell of marajuana. She took a long drag and blew the smoke out through her nose slowly, making a show of it. She passed the joint in Agamemnon’s direction. He waved his hand.

Roxanne tilted her head conspiratorally at me as if her husband wasn’t sitting right next to her. “He thinks he’s too good to partake in this wonderful communion. Are you?”

I glanced at Agamemnon; he looked back at me, waiting to see what I’d do. When I couldn’t discern what he was thinking, I reached out, took the joint, puffed off it, and handed it back. It had been months since the last I’d smoked with maraijuana, back when Louis and I had been a couple.

Goddammit, I had been doing so well not thinking about him.

After we finished passing the joint around like high schoolers sneaking a fag on the bleachers, Roxanne stood up once more. "Let’s have dinner, shall we? I’m positively famished.”

We sat at the table and ate our meal of beef bergundy, tossed salad, and buttered bread. Agamemnon asked me if I wanted more wine but I declined, accepting water instead. I drank several glassfuls of water as I ate, hoping the liquid would help sober me up. The mixture of drink and pot helped to make me feel more comfortable in this strange setting.

Dinner seemed to be going well but I noticed something was off about Agamemnon and Roxanne. At first I couldn’t place a finger on it, but I could feel the revelation rubbing at the back of my mind, trying to come to light. I studied the way they bantered back and forth, seeming like the best of friends, but then, when I looked closer, I realized they showed each other no affection. They sat at opposite ends of the table and not once had I seen them kiss or brush hands, or glance at one another in that meaningful way.

They did not act like two people in love.

By the time everyone was finished and Roxanne had cleared away the dishes I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.

“We will set you up in the spare bedroom upstairs,” said Agamemnon.

“No, that’s okay,” I muttered, “I don’t want to intrude anymore than I have already.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Thomas. We are miles away from the central part of the village and it’s so dark out there right now you can barely see your hand in front of your face. You will stay here for the night.”

I relented, too drunk, too tired to argue further. “Thank you.”

“No, Thomas,” he said, “thank you.”

There was no denying how my heart fluttered when he said this. Ridiculous. He's straight for fuck's sake. Which only added to his appeal. It's human nature to covet the things we cannot have, to lust after them.

Roxanne led me up the staircase to the second floor. She waited patiently at the top as I clung to the banister clumsily, whispering curses beneath my breath. She walked into one of the bedrooms. The bed was already made. I watched from the doorway as she threw the curtains open so I could see the night sky. “The bathroom is just across the hallway and there are linens in the bathroom closet if you feel like taking a shower.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“My pleasure.” She closed the door, leaving me to myself.

That night I dreamed Louis was walking down the street with his new boyfriend as I slashed his tires. His eyes widened in anger and hurt as he came towards me. “Thomas, what are you doing?” he demanded.

And then I was awake, aware someone was standing over me in the dark. At first I thought it was Louis, but it wasn’t Louis. Louis wasn’t as tall and his shoulders weren’t as broad. I was about to scream when the dark outline put his hand to my mouth. “Shhh,” said Agamemnon’s voice. Even when whispering his voice was deep and impressive. “Roxanne is out cold. I want to go for a swim. Come with me.”

A swim? In the middle of the night? Still half asleep, I got out of bed just to see if he was serious. Still dressed in my clothes all I had to do was push my shoes on. He had already left the room and waiting for me at the top of the stairs. He lifted a finger towards the door and pointed with another at the door; he wanted me to go down the stairs quietly.

Feeling like a man in a dream, I followed him out into the night. We went to his car, a Corvette, and I said, “You’re serious? You really want to go swimming in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. You don’t have to come with.”

“I want to go with you.”

The moonlight reflected off the white enamel of his teeth. “Good. Let’s go then.”

“We don’t have towels.”

“We don’t need them.” He got in the car.

I took a deep breath, asked myself what I was doing, and climbed in after him.

Jude

"Sorry about this." I took the offered wet rag with a weak smile, careful not to touch our most gracious host with my bloody fingers. By now the bleeding had stopped, drying into a hard crust that made my skin prickle.

Dahlia waved a hand dismissively. "Happens to the best of us. Had a few gushers myself. Would you boys like some lemonade?"

We agreed to the lemonade without hesitation. While we were alone, I looked around the room, taking in the place. Measuring it's worth the way it had done me. The living room was spacious, with a high ceiling. There were several darkened spots, indicating black mold. Like the outside of the house, the walls, painted blue, had begun to crack and peel in places. A staircase led up to the second floor. I felt strangely comfortable in the house of this perfect stranger.

Safe, even.

Duane leaned towards me intently. "Maybe coming here like this, so soon, was a mistake. We should have waited a bit longer. I think this is putting too much pressure on you."

Too much pressure…

The words stung. In the back of my mind I knew they were meant to be compassionate, and yet my blood quickened and my hands grew clammy. Anger, anxiety, fear, guilt. It all flashed through me, suffocating inescapable, just like last night when he'd seen the scars on my wrists. I thought of a speeding elevator rocketing past the floors, from one to sixty. Don't let it reach the top; if you can't make it stop, at least slow it down.

I forced myself to take a deep breath. It's cliche, I know, but it really does help. Sometimes one or two breaths is all it takes to stop an impending disaster. I did the exact opposite of what I wanted to do, which was shrink away from the situation. I reminded myself that I needed things to work out between us; if life went back to the way it had been, I would not be able to survive it; if I you want to be technical, I hadn't the first time. I embellished the act by taking his hand. Skin on skin contact. Make it a statement of flesh and action, not just meaningless words. I reassured him I was fine. If I didn't want to be here I wouldn't be.

I said it convincingly enough even I believed it.

When she returned with the lemonade, I asked Dahlia if I could use the little boys' room. “Yes,” she said, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to use the one upstairs. The one down here has plumbing issues. I’ve been trying to repair this place as much as I can but it needs a lot of work I’m afraid. The bathroom is near the end of the hallway on your right. Also my aunt is in her bedroom, probably sleeping, so if you see her don’t be worried. She doesn’t bite.”

The stairs creaked beneath my feet.The more of the house I saw the more blemishes I noticed: a scuff here or there, small discolorations in the wall. I wondered how old the place was and how Dahlia could expect to sell it if it had this many issues. However, the house had a character to it that places acquire over the years.

Golden puddles of sunlight marked the wooden floorboards. A door was half open so I had the glimpse of a bedroom. The form of a woman laid in the bed, her back turned to me. Feeling like a voyeur, I tiptoed past the bedroom, passing another doorway before I reached the bathroom.

Once I was finished doing my business I went to the sink to wash my hands. The water was scalding hot; steam rose from the sink, fogging up the mirror. I began wiping it down. What were Duanea and Dahlia talking about in the living room?

Maybe coming here like this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe we should have waited...It’s putting a lot of stress on you…

He’s not going to leave me again, is he? I’m doing my best. I really am.

Back in the hallway I was almost past the bedroom again, when a shadow fell across the doorway. A woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a white silk nightgown. She stared at me intently with dark blue eyes. Once, in her youth, I imagined she had been beautiful with high cheekbones, a pronounced jaw, and full lips. Scrub away the wrinkles and the skin that had begun to sag and she could have been one of the great actresses from the ‘70s.

I stopped, took a step back from her. She had appeared so suddenly...I could feel my heart racing in my chest. This must be Dahlia’s aunt, the one she had said was harmless. But the look she was giving me was so direct, so intense.

“Hi,” I managed to say after a moment. “We’re just here to take a look at the house.”

“Thomas?” she said in an old, creaky voice. “You’ve come back, then, have you?”

“Uh, my name isn’t Thomas. It’s Jude.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “You look just like him...you could be his twin.”

I was too freaked out to know what to say, so I creeped past her. I could feel her eyes watching me the whole time.

My heart was still racing when I joined Duane back on the sofa.

“Duane was just telling me about your interests in the lighthouse,” Dahlia said, “that you would like a tour.”

I narrowed my eyes at my partner while he pleaded with me silently. "Did he? We wouldn't want to intrude."

"I don't mind. Especially since I’m in the midst of a celebrity.” Dahlia tipped a wink at the lighthouse where I could see hardback editions of all my books lined neatly together.

Duane sealed the deal with a pleading look in my direction.

“I know...the house itself needs a lot of repairs, like I said. And I can’t do it all by myself not can I afford to do any of it myself. My aunt, she’s lived in this place for many years. It’s been in the family since I was a little girl. She used to have quite a bit of money. But then after the tragic death of her husband many years ago her career took a nosedive. She has no money left.”

I thought of the old woman upstairs, the way she had looked at me as if she had known me. She had called me Thomas. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end in thought of the memory.

Dahlia continued to fill us in on the lighthouse’s history. “This lighthouse has been around Adermoor Cove for a long time,” said Dahlia. “Since the 1850’s I believe. In the 1950’s the Apaulos’ bought it.”

Now this was interesting - I’m a sucker for history. “I’m sorry, the who?”

“The Apaulos’; they were a prominent family who moved here from Greece when the Cove was nothing more than a tiny village. If you haven’t heard of the Apauloses, Aganemnon in particular, you will. He’s the one who turned this island from a poor fishing village to a bustling tourist town. My aunt, Roxanne Lockhart - you might’ve heard of her; used to be a big actress back in the 70’s and 80’s - was married to him. I didn’t know much about him, I guess he was never a kid person, but Roxanne and I were close.”

She cleared her throat. “The truth is she is too old to live in a place as big and old as this, so I am taking her with me to Florida where my daughter lives. She has a beautiful little guesthouse. Anyway, you both have listened to me prattle on enough as it is. So, how about I go ahead and show you around the place.”

We followed Dahlia up the staircase. Along the way she showed us into the bathroom and two of the bedrooms. “There's three bedrooms in all. I used one as my personal office and the other as a guest bedroom”

My relief we moved on to the end of the hallway where there was a door. As Dahlia touched the doorknob a cold chill went up my spine, making my skin break out in goosebumps.

Not again.

Fortunately there was no dizzy spell this time, or bloody nose.

Just the deja vu.

Didn't I have a dream once, where I stood in front of a door just like this?

(And the door leads up to steps and the steps leads up to the lights. And there was a door with white light bleeding under the crack, and voices singing, angelic voices…)

“And here we are,” Dahlia said, beginning to climb up the steps.

The light was in a large circular room, facing a large window which showed a beautiful view of the Atlantic; a door led out onto a deck with a railing. It was as beautiful as I always imagined it would be.

“In the old days they lit the lamp with oil and flame,” said Dahlia. “These days it's electric. Of course with it being the twenty-first century no one needs lighthouses anymore unless there's a major storm. They're just antiques.” She winked at me. “I used to come up here and read your books, Judas, and listen to the waves and seagulls. I'll tell you what, I will give you a moment to enjoy the view on your own. Just come back downstairs and you can see the rest of the property.”

Duane and I went out onto the deck. Below was the edge of the cliff and beyond it, even further below was the Atlantic.With the warmth of the sun and the wind on my face I felt at peace. I found myself not wanting to go back to Roc City.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Duane said, just as he had on the ferry.

“Breathtaking.” I meant it honestly. On short notice, my feelings of the island had changed completely. This place was beautiful. I grinned.

He reached over, ran his fingers through my hair, making my scalp tingle slightly. He turned my head so that I had no choice but to look at him; his grip was both gentle but firm. Then he leaned down and kissed me full on the lips, hugging me to him with his other arm.

This time there was no one to stop us.

Then he said, “We could buy it. We could live here.”

My grip tightened on the railing. I searched his eyes for the punchline, but his lips were set in a strong line of determination. He was being serious. I entertained the idea, flipping through the scenarios like pages in a book. Living here, with him. It could be great. Could be. Things were great with us before, in Roc City, too, I reminded myself, until they weren’t anymore.

“I don’t know, Duane. It’s a little soon, don’t you think?” My voice came out sharp and icy. From the way he looked away, I could only imagine how I must have looked then, the metal of the rail biting into my flesh, face chalky, posture rigid. Yet even as I stood on edge, ready to defend myself no matter the cost, Duane’s words had already begun to work their magic on me.

He held me then, so that I was facing the sea, my body supported by his. He rested his chin on my shoulder, so close I could smell his cologne. “If this was ours we could stand out here like how we are now every day.”

“We could have hot sex in the tower with the lantern on?” I offered.

His body vibrated with laughter. “That too.”

I touched his cheek, skimming my fingers against the raspy bush of stubble that had begun to grow along his jawline. The answer weighed heavy on my tongue. I already knew what I wanted. There was no escaping the thought that something had led us here. I swallowed the words with difficulty and said, “I’ll think about it…but no promises.”