The Method of Transgression: Part Three

The Method of Transgression: Part Three

Helen stood by the window, a bed sheet wrapped around her like a Grecian tunic. She inhaled deeply from the cigarette between her fingers, felt it burn her throat, exhaled and watched as the smoke broke against dark glass, hazing her reflection for a moment. "This place gives me the creeps," she muttered before she could catch herself.

"What?" She watched the reflection of the now familiar languid form stretch with a yawn.

"I said, this place gives me the creeps. I feel like I'm being watched."

Frank laughed, folding his arms behind his head. "Well, you are. And I think you should come back here before I have to leave."

She couldn't help grinning. She turned from the window, striding back to the bed to perch on the edge. "Not by you, idiot." The jibe was softened with a breath of laughter. She took another drag off of the cigarette before deserting it to the ashtray.

"Maybe you're being haunted."

Helen felt a chill slither through her veins, and her shoulders stiffened. "Why on earth would I be haunted?" Allan...

"You're right, no good reason and I don't believe in ghosts. Which means you're just nuts. Great. I'm having an affair with a lunatic. You're not related to Glenn Close are you?" His chest shook with laughter, but her eyes narrowed.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Huh?" Abruptly his laughter ceased. "Hey, babe, it was a joke. Lighten up."

"Yeah, very funny. I'm serious about this place. I'm thinking about moving."

Frank sat up, and reached past her for the cigarette she'd discarded. "You should really consider smoking real cigarettes." He scowled at the Virginia Slim.

"You're not supposed to be smoking anyway, right?"

"Fuck it. I'm at the bar. So I smell like smoke." He shrugged. "She'll get over it. In any case, you just moved into this place, what? A month ago? Where would you move to?"

"Not far, just into town." She knew that she was probably just fantasizing. She was beginning to miss people. Her guard had become more lax recently. Brighton, New Hampshire really did seem a million miles away from Los Angeles.

"That would make it nearly impossible for me to see you." He pulled on the cigarette, watching her carefully.

She felt a stab of jealousy. "It's not like you haven't carried on affairs with women in town before," she said, unable to stifle the bite in her tone.

"Yeah, and those turned out to be really beneficial to my marriage."

"Then why don't you go home to her?"

"Because I'd rather be here. I've explained this to you before, Helen. I may not be in love with her, I may not even want her, but I owe her and the kids something. I have to do what's best for me, and what's best for me is keeping my girls. Everyone in town talks too much." With an irritated flick of his wrist he whipped the blanket from his legs and slid past her out of the bed. "I don't know what your issue is tonight, but maybe you're right, and I should get home. It's about that time anyway."

She watched as he pulled on his Levi's, admiring the lock of hair that fell boyishly in front of his eyes. She felt the dread begin to tip-toe up her spine, as it always did when he left her alone with the Watcher.

In desperation she shoved down her annoyance and stood, clutching the sheet to her breast. "Frank, please don't go yet. I know you have responsibilities, and I don't have any intention or even want to take you from them. It's just this place." Her eyes darted around the room and she shuddered. "I'm telling you, it's just weird. Can't you feel it?" She could. She could feel its stare even now, weighing her, taunting her.

Frank sat on the bed with a sigh, reaching for his shoes. With them in hand he paused, rested his arms on his knees, and examined her. She could see the agitation in the set of his mouth, but concern in the lines around his eyes.

"Helen, you gotta do what's best for you. Maybe you weren't made out for country life. Of course, Brighton isn't exactly city life," he smiled sadly, "but it's more lively than the woods. Lord knows no one else has been able to handle this place for very long."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there was that whole scandal with Adele, and everyone thought that if anyone would take to seclusion, it'd be her. She was an odd one."

"Frank, who's Adele?"

"Hell, I don't want to make you any more paranoid than you already are."

Helen shoved down her annoyance. Paranoid? It somehow seemed more insulting coming from him than it did herself. "You'll make me more paranoid by keeping me in suspense."

Frank sighed, and dropped her gaze. He began pulling on his boots. "Adele was the old man's daughter."

That's why the name sounds familiar. "Go on."

Reluctant, he continued. "She left right after high school, everyone knows she was real anxious to get out of here, Brighton, her parents' house. I actually went to school with her, she was a year ahead of me. A real wild child. Well, she got out alright. Right after graduation she jumped in that shrapnel Pinto we all gave her so much shit for, and took off. No one heard anything about her for two years. Her mom started getting real religious. It was kinda funny since everyone knew the old man thought it was a bunch of bullshit. Toby, the bartender at the bar, says she was suffering from regret. He's got this thing with trying to play wise advisor sometimes, like the Coach out of 'Cheers', remember?" She nodded, a feeling of foreboding beginning to rest upon her naked shoulders.

He grinned, pulling the laces on his second boot tight. "So yeah, Mrs. Falven started getting crazy religious, went around preaching about how we all had sins to atone for, yada yada yada. Then she heard news that Adele was in rehab. That she'd be coming home. So 'Dele came back." His expression darkened. "I don't know who knows what happened, who she would've confided in. She'd gotten really quiet, didn't want to associate with anyone. So they converted this place into a house for her," he said, gesticulating to take in the room. "Mrs. Falven got even more intolerable. You'd be standing in line at the grocery store, and she'd start telling you how you should pray for forgiveness for even your most secret sins, because God heard, because He had heard her, and brought 'Dele home."

"So no one knows what happened with Adele when she disappeared for that time?"

"Rumor has it she got bad into drugs, that whole lifestyle. But they say she came back after losing a kid." A pained expression entered his eyes, his voice lowered. "I can't imagine what hell that must've been. No one was able to say for sure, no one I know anyway, whether it was an abortion, or a miscarriage from the drug use. But she wasn't the same. And after a while we hardly ever saw her. She just shut herself up in here to write, so they say."

"So what happened?"

"She died." He swallowed. "She committed suicide. I don't know how, but it was supposed to have been pretty gruesome. They say she just went fucking nuts."

With this he stood. "It's not the prettiest story. And it's why no one else but an outsider would rent this place, no matter how quaint the Doc's got it fixed up."

Helen looked around the room, feeling her heart pound. She raised a hand to her temple, trying to mentally shake away a momentary flash of dizziness. "She killed herself in here?" Her mouth felt parched.

Frank looked down at her, sympathetic. "Look, I probably shouldn't have told you, considering how you're already feeling about the place." He tipped her chin up, dropping a kiss on her dry lips. "But that was ages ago, Helen. I think you probably just need to get out more. It seems like you've enjoyed being the mysterious stranger on the outskirts of town until now. But everyone needs human contact now and then. Otherwise you don’t have anyone to talk to but yourself and your married lover," he quirked a grin. "Anyone's imagination would start to run away with them. I'd hate to see you move to town, I'm kind of liking the love nest," she knew he was trying to pull a smile to her lips, "but maybe you could make some friends with the women in town or something. They're not an entirely bad lot."

She waved away his suggestion, and stood to embrace him. His arms felt good as they wrapped around her, strong and safe. She inhaled the scent of his Cool Wave aftershave. As was inevitable, he pulled away and moved to the door.

"Frank, what happened to Adele's mother?"

His feet shifted, and he gave an uncomfortable look past her. "She passed away too," he said simply, avoiding her eyes.

"Frank," she insisted sternly, and his gaze swung to meet hers. "How did she die?"

He sighed, and opened the front door. Helen shivered at the gust of cool air that swept into the room, and pulled the sheet tighter around her. "Helen, you've gotta understand, she was more than a little nuts herself, and she was really torn with grief over her daughter." Her stare demanded an answer. "She killed herself, too," he said in a rush. Then with a lilt of frustration, "and yeah, before you ask, it was in here." He shook his head at her disbelieving expression. "Like I said," he answered her silence, "it's not a pretty story, I shouldn't have told you, but there it is. But Christ Helen, there's no such thing as ghosts, it was a long time ago, and you shouldn't dwell on it." He blew her a kiss. "Now get into bed where it's warm. I'll call you soon."


Adele, It thought. Sounded familiar. Like It should know the name, like It did know that name, but from some time, some place so long ago now It could not place it. It was changing, and when the changing began, It lost what little semblance of memories It had possessed.

Changing...changing...changing...memories...

It was gaining new memories, She was gaining new memories. Some place far from here, another prison... where it was dark, and cold, like when the drapes were drawn but different... She saw flickering images of small rooms with mildewing hallways... Heard distant echoes of children's laughter... She heard a pattering of feet, bare feet, dirty feet on slender, pale legs...past the moldy halls, into the dim red light... a new room, with shabby furniture, a stained white sheet wrapped around tangled limbs... the red light came from a scarf tossed over a lamp shade... a large portrait of Jesus who is Jesus? She wondered... on the shadowed wall, a gruesome heart puncture by thorns... groans from the bed, then voices: "What's she doing in here? I didn't pay to give a kiddie show...want to bring her in?" pain inside..hurt...shuffling dirty feet..."Momma?" then REAL pain... something hurtling out from the bed, something that hits a sullied and frail arm...it HURTS... pattering feet, running away running away running away.... breathless, "Never gonna live like this...grown up...never gonna live like this..."

The door shutting. She watches the woman crawl into the bed. She doesn't turn off the light. She never turns off the light anymore. She's glad. She doesn't like the dark. She likes the light. Likes to watch the woman. Wishes the woman did not seem so afraid all the time. She knew fear. Fear was like being in the dark. Alone. She was so glad. So glad She wasn't alone anymore.

***

"Yeah, go ahead."

Helen paused before continuing. The phone in her hand was slick with sweat.

"Hello? Speak!"

Helen, you've gotta know. "I'm s-sorry, I've got the wrong number," she exhaled, moving to hang the phone in its cradle.

"Sis? 'Lena is that you?"

Her breath caught, and she brought the phone back to her ear. "Rob?"

"Who else?"

"Hey Rob, just wondering, um... well, I'm not sure why I called."

"It's startin' to die down."

She felt a hot relief pour through her. "It is?"

"It's been a couple of months, and by this point the pigs are starting to try and keep things tight, ya know?" She heard him drag off a cigarette and cough.

"You should quit that shit."

"Yeah, whatever." She could envision the lopsided grin on his lean face. "So you doin' alright kid? Mom's worried."

"Right. Mom's wondering when she's gonna get her next check." She tried unsuccessfully to swallow the bitter bite to her words. They tasted like pepper.

Rob laughed, and she smiled to herself, missing him. "Yeah, probably. That old bitch can soak up more dope than anyone I ever seen."

"She's got a lot of experience. I'm assuming you haven't told her anything then?"

"Nah. Give me more credit will ya? That dumb bitch wouldn't know howda keep her mouth shut if Al Capone himself threatened to sew her yap for her. No, she don't know shit, can't do any talking. I'm watchin' your back, girl. You have problems with those papers?"

"So far so good. I trust your...abilities."

"Cool, cool. So how's the life?"

"It's life. You can tell Mom I can try and get you guys some cash. If she needs it." She nearly gagged on her repulsion. "I just gotta be careful, you know? Don't want anything traced."

"Well, ya know Mom, course she's gonna think she needs it. I'll just keep that offer under my hat." He laughed again, followed by another dry cough. "Sis, you done enough for us, ya know? For that old cunt anyway. She's got the Social Security now anyhow. I'm a big boy, Jimmy's- say! You don't know!?"

"Know what?"

"Jimmy's gettin' married! This sweet little thing, Jenny. Go figure, eh? Jimmy and Jenny?"

Helen felt a hot sting behind her eyes. She closed them and shook away the image of Jimmy barefoot in his diaper, tugging on her skirt while she made him a peanut butter and honey sandwich. What seemed a life time ago. It was a life time ago, she reminded herself.

"Give him my congratulations."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's sorry you won't be able to make it."

"Uh-huh. Jimmy hasn't seen me more than what? Three or four times in the last ten years? I doubt he'll miss me too much."

"Hey, he understands. We all do. Hey, you got outta here, ya know? We're all just kinda grateful you keep in touch."

"You mean that I keep sending money." She knew that wasn't entirely true. Rob was her other half. Jimmy she knew was bitter, he thought she'd deserted them for her high society lifestyle. Her mother hated her for all the same vague reasons it seemed she'd always hated her. But she didn't have any qualms about taking her money for heroin. But Rob, Rob couldn't care less what she did, who she became. He knew what she'd done, that she'd become who she had become for them. Never gonna live like this...

Rob took it in stride. "Nah. Send something for the wedding if ya want. I ain't doin' so bad for the moment. Shit got pretty hot there for awhile, but it's cooled down, business is back to normal."

"Have... have they been asking for me?"

In a rare somber tone he answered. "Yeah. Yeah, they been by here. Been and gone. They saw what a slum it is, and bought my story 'bout you not bein' around for ages hook, line and sinker. No worries, alright? I gotta few contacts in the know, and they're looking for you, but they ain't got any leads. So sleep easy."

"Okay. I gotta go. I'll send something for the wedding, okay?"

"Sure kid. Take care of yourself, alright? Remember, no worries."

"Thanks Rob. 'Bye."


"The Method of Transgression: Part Four"