Marilyn (11 page)

THIRTY-ONE

Jack wandered through the lengthy hallway leading from the dining room to the bottom of the staircase. He scrunched up his toes inside his newly dried socks and smoothed them back and forth across the patchwork red carpet. He zigzagged along the corridor, dragging his fingers across both walls in turn, attempting to postpone the inevitable. It reminded him of being at home, it what was he used to do on his way upstairs to his bedroom.

The hallway was narrow, the walls just off-white and perfectly decorated by the lavish hands of someone who knew and loved their trade. Jack looked up at them as he timidly made his way through. The colours of the floor and walls complemented each other in a tremendous fashion, reminding him of Christmas. Evenly spaced spotlights shone down from the soaring ceiling, casting large shadows of his feet as he walked.

He stood at the foot of the stairs and glanced back at the closed dining room door, catching an uncomfortable shiver at the bottom of his spine that he could not shake off. O'Sullivan's warning boomed over and over like a bass drum deep down inside of him. 'Any trouble at all from you and I'll kill everyone inside, even the fucking dog if they've got one, you got that?'

The stairs were intimidating, step after gigantic step leading to a curvature and a landing shrouded in a mysterious pitch blackness. The banister looked hand-carved, a masterpiece in carpentry and workmanship, elegant and bold all at once, covered in complex and intricate small swirls and spirals. The carpeted stairs were in reverse from the hallway below, off-white floor with red walls.

Jack fumbled with his hand, palming his way across the wall, finally flicking two switches up, and illuminating his path.

He gripped the banister, feeling the grooves in the wood in his sticky palm, taking one steady step after another. He followed the staircase around until he got to the top of the landing. It led both ways, to the right and to the left. Closed doors marked the path to each end of the upstairs hallway. He took an immediate left to the first closed door, turned the knob and walked in. Pulling the light chord and shutting the door behind him.

**

Andrew passed his drinking glass back and forth between his hands before draining the last dribble of liquid that clung to the bottom of the glass like a dying leech. He brought the finished drink down on the table with a glassy thump.

Lizzy jumped, and shuffled in her seat, her daydream ruined, dispersing into the empty, not quite sure, corners of her mind. 

Julie coughed a throaty grumble.

'Well, it's probably about time I cleared this mess up,' she stressed, wiping at her mouth with a folded napkin. 'Hope everything was all right with the food.'

'Julie, it was splendid, thank you,' Walter answered, truthfully. 'We haven't eaten like that in a while. It was really wonderful. No wonder your husband loves you.' He laughed his infectious laugh. 'The key to a happy marriage is a full belly.'

    Julie smiled and looked at her husband. His stare was stern and penetrating, one that she knew well.

She began picking up the plates and piling them on top of each other, the expensive china rattling together like chattering teeth.

'Lizzy, be a darling and help your mother, will you?' Andrew asked softly.

'Sure thing, Dad.'

She got to her feet and pushed the chair under the table, using her whole body to lift and slide.

'Come here and give your old man a hug before you go and get too old and don't want to anymore.' Andrew smiled a loving smile and held his arms open.

Lizzy laughed and waltzed over. She threw her arms around Andrew's neck and squeezed tightly. He kissed her forehead, scuffled her hair and sent her on her way. She picked up the five empty glasses and balanced them between her fingers, using both hands, and trailed her mother out of the dining room, dragging her feet as she walked.

     Andrew Dunn rested his arms on the circular table and edged forward, bringing himself closer to the centre.

'What do you drink?' 

O'Sullivan leaned in

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' he continued his cross examination, 'are you a lager man or a beer man, or even a spirit man?'

O'Sullivan didn't, couldn't, stop the smile that climbed onto his face.

'Now you're talking,' he hissed, 'I could murder a cold beer, Andrew, if I'm honest.'

Andrew paused. He smiled, hiding his real feelings, tapped his huge hand on the table and pushed himself backwards, the chair creaking, almost bending under his incredible weight.

'Two beers coming up, I'll be right back.'

Andrew turned to walk out of the dining room, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

'Do you smoke?' he asked, not turning around to face O'Sullivan

'Smoke? Yeah, sure.'

'Great.' He coughed. 'I'll bring the cigars.'

THIRTY-TWO

Officer Glenn Bennett drove, hunched at the wheel. He was a slim man, but healthy looking. He still had a full head of tough black hair and was freshly shaven. The radio breathed the sound of the Pink Floyd classic
Another Brick in the Wall
and he tapped his fingers to the beat as he plodded along, remaining at a respectable speed. He was a stickler for the rules, safety, and incontestably, the law. No one broke the law in his town, not when he was on shift.

Glenn had cleaned and loaded his gun before he left, in case he encountered any trouble on his way, or at the Dunn residence. He was always prepared, an old school boy scout. It was on the passenger seat next to him, sitting in all its life-taking glory, craving some well-deserved action.

It wasn't far now, he was over halfway there. He made a left turn, flicking on the windscreen wipers as he passed a downed power line. The rain was falling, falling hard.

THIRTY-THREE

The doors behind Marilyn and Elwood closed at a painfully slow pace. The feeling drained back into their cramped legs, warming them up as it flowed rightfully through until it hit their toes. It was bright inside, the lights threw a jaundice tint through the air. They had to wait for their eyes to routinely adjust. A lucent indoors was very welcome. The whir of the generator was audible, it was the only noise they could hear. The selective silence stung their ears. The station was too quiet, there didn't seem to be a soul around. Their hesitant childlike footsteps echoed through the dead calmness that blanketed the building.

Marilyn took Elwood's arm, gripping it with her whole hand, digging a few of her nails through his coat, making him grimace.

'Where is everyone? I don't like this, Elwood. I don't like this at all,' she whispered, with her free hand cupped around her mouth.

Elwood smothered her hand with his and rubbed it, feeling the small prickly hairs that stood on end.

'There's got to be someone about, there’s a light on in that office over there,' he said, pointing. 'Wait here, I'll go and take a look.'

Marilyn didn't let go, or even loosen her grip. She walked with him, she felt safe with him. Elwood shot her a disconcerting glance, but continued moving forward.

'Hello? Is there anyone here? Hello!'

Elwood's panicked voice travelled all through the station, over unoccupied desks and under closed doors.

**

Rupert John Russell jumped from his skin, throwing his resting legs off his desk and onto the floor, drawing his gun like a young Clint Eastwood, he always fancied himself a cowboy.

'What the.. who the fuck was that?' he asked himself in nothing more than a shocked grunt. He steadied himself, readily, for his unanticipated one man, High Noon showdown.

The voice came back, chanting through the walls, louder. Recognisable.

He was gathering his marbles, one by one, until there were all in the sack.

'Elwood? Elwood and Marilyn. Shit, they're here.'

He lunged forward at the door, pulling it open in one swift movement without noticing that his pistol was still drawn.

**

There was a moment's silence. The old man and the woman stood together, arm in arm, alone in the barren station. There was the sound of movement and a figure burst through the door ahead of them, a drawn gun leading the way.

'Jesus, Elwood, you almost got your head blown off there,' the sheriff ranted.

Marilyn released her fingers one by one from Elwood's arm, her face a jumble of terror and relief.

'Sheriff, you scared the Hell into us then, Jesus. Do you mind, can you lower your gun, please?' Elwood gently pleaded, his arm raised in front of them both, like a warrior's shield.

R.J. bought his weapon down and holstered it, fastening it with its button lock. Elwood Bailey eased his guard, the tension releasing from his old bones and tense, aged muscles.

'I'm sorry, guys, you kinda took me by surprise there.' He bowed his head towards Marilyn. 'I'm sorry, Ma'am. You must be Marilyn?'

The sheriff walked across to Marilyn, his eyes sorrowful and sincere. He extended his hand graciously.

'I just want you to know that we are doing everything in our power to get Jack back safely,' he voiced, with the tiniest smile of hope upon his face. 'I've got deputies setting up a roadblock at the edge of town as we speak. I've got someone working on the power so we can get our systems up and running to find out who this O'Sullivan fellow is. And there is a deputy heading to the farmhouse just on the outskirts of town, just in case he went off road. We're going to catch him, Marilyn. I promise.'

'Thank you, thank you both, so much,' she said, standing tall, her hands at her sides. She turned to Elwood. 'I don't know what I would have done without your help. I don't think I could...'

Marilyn fell apart, streams of tears slipped down her face, falling like golden stars from the night sky, uncatchable droplets of emotion and want. 

Elwood Bailey steadied her with both of his arms, bringing her in close to his chest, hushing her cries with pursed lips.

'Follow me you, two, let’s go into my office,' R.J. offered, sympathetically.

He walked softly across the slime green tiles, keeping a few paces in front of Marilyn and Elwood.

THIRTY-FOUR

Jack leant against the bathroom door, hitting it with a small bang. He slid down onto the back of his knees, feeling the cold from the floor tiles through his socks. He hugged his knees close to his chest and tucked his head into the gap between them, resting it on his folded forearms. He could feel his tears pushing forward, rushing to the service. He commanded them to stay where they were, they were not required.

Jack raised his head, taking in the bathroom for the first time. He didn't have long. He got to his feet with such speed that his head spun like a fairground ride, he was lacking energy and strength and the big meal he had just eaten was making him sleepy.

He rubbed his eyes firmly with his fingertips, seeing bright dots and specks all around the tiny room. It must have been the guest bathroom. It was very minimal. Just a toilet, a sink, a bin and a mirrored wall cabinet. It was presentable, clean and neat. The aphotic wall tiles gleamed under the dim light of the bulb. There was a lock on the back of the door, but it would prove ineffective if used.

He walked over to the wall cabinet, he couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, which was probably a blessing. He stood on his toes, gripping the sink with one hand as he slid the mirrored doors to the side, revealing the useless contents. There were three shelves, one empty, one filled with two unopened toothbrushes and toothpaste, probably for guests, and the third housed a nail file, and clippers. He toyed with the idea of taking the nail file, but couldn't come up with a use for it. He closed the doors, feeling empty and unsatisfied.

He twisted the cold water tap and let the water run for a second. He stuck his head under and slurped at the flowing water, his mouth was still dry and sticky, like he had been walking in the heat for hours on end. It felt fantastic, revitalising.

Jack splashed the water over his face, instantly stirring himself, sending chills down his neck and back until he shuddered. He turned the tap off, squeezing it securely, making sure there were no drips, prolonging the inescapable, finding small excuses to keep himself locked up inside the snug and secure bathroom.

He patted his face dry with his hands and flushed the chain. The water exploded from the tank, making him jump, disturbing the dead air in which he had found temporary alleviation. He stood on the spot for a spell, before he had the courage to leave and head back downstairs.

**

Andrew Dunn walked past the bottom of the stairs, hearing the toilet flush. He moved back to the dining room as quick as his weight would allow. He shoved the door open, snapping Walter O'Sullivan back to reality, seeing the confused look on his face that faded into an eerie, forced smile. 

'Oh, you're back?' O'Sullivan announced, dryly.

'Sure am, got you an ice cold beer. Hope Coors is fine?' Andrew questioned, holding the chilled bottle out in front him.

'That's great, thank you.' O'Sullivan saluted, remaining polite.

Andrew handed Walter the bottle of Coors, shaking the drips of condensation off his chubby fingers.

'I think I had better go and check on David,' O'Sullivan suggested. 'He's been gone for some time now.'

Andrew raised his hand in friendly protest, smiling all the while.

'There's no need, I just heard the toilet flush. Poor boy was probably busting.' He laughed, lowering himself to his seat. 'Shit, I forgot the cigars. Are you OK for a minute while I nip and get them?'

Andrew studied Walter like he would a suspect. Watching his eyes and mannerisms.

'They're big ones, they'll take at least an hour to smoke, but they're damn fine cigars. Got them from Cuba on holiday the year before. Julie doesn't like me smoking them, but hey, what the hell, right? You only live once,' he told, in his best story telling voice.

O'Sullivan inched himself back into his chair, begrudgingly, using both arms to lower himself down. 'Sure thing,' he announced without a smile.

Andrew yanked an old school bottle opener from his pocket and placed it on the table, not taking his eyes from Walter's.

'Won't be a minute, you can start without me,' Andrew chuckled, hoping to spread the contagion.

It worked. Walter seemed to drop his guard.

O'Sullivan laughed at Andrew, but there was still no smile, only a vacant glare.