Marilyn (5 page)

FOURTEEN

Elwood Bailey led the way back through the seemingly endless corridor-filled maze of the motel, and to the outdoors, Marilyn right behind, biting at his heels. The weather wasn't nearly as bad as it had been. In fact, now, it could be mistaken for your slightly worse than average rainy day. It didn't even feel that cold yet, but it was steadily dropping, still, it was not pleasant, and things could change with the flip of a coin.

They jogged briskly over the decking, under the shelter and to the room.

Elwood took the keys from his pocket and brought them to the keyhole when he saw that the lock had been forcefully broken. The door was splintered and the frame was cracked perfectly. 'That bastard must have kicked the door in,' Elwood snapped, sharply. 'There's a knack to opening these old, warped doors. Practice makes perfect. Doesn't anyone have any god-damn patience these days?' He gripped the handle and pushed it open with two fingers. There it was. The moment of truth. The door unlocked, open, the room waiting to be viewed.

Elwood glanced across to Marilyn, bracing himself before stepping in and carefully rubbing his feet on the mat, leaving her outside as they had agreed. He brought his hand up to his chest, held a lengthy blink and blew out a relieved gust of air. He was speechless. Marilyn followed behind, quavering all the way to her toes.

They stood beside one another, taking in the abated picture that filled their eyes. The bed was ruffled and slept in, unmade. The cover haphazardly strewn across the mattress. No sign of blood. No sign of a struggle. Nothing broken, smashed or out of place. The sofa was clean and tidy, but looked recently used, the cushions squashed and out of alignment. They skimmed around the room observing, not touching a thing.

      'There doesn't seem to be anything left behind, or missing,' Elwood confirmed. 'It's pretty much as it was before I rented him the room. Just a little messier.' He scratched at his stubbly cheek with his bitten down nails. 'Certainly looks like he left in a hurry.'

     'Sure does. What's in there?'

She was pointing to the closed door.

'That… that's the bathroom. Hey, wait!'

     Before Elwood could complete his sentence, Marilyn was off across the room, heading toward unexplored territory, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. She snatched open the door without giving it a second thought, the breeze blowing her hair across her face. Elwood turned his head, he couldn't watch, but he didn't cover his eyes. He heard exactly what
he
wanted to hear. Nothing. Nothing was good news. Nothing was great news. The room was empty, unused.

'There's nothing here, either, doesn't look like anyone even went in here,’ she said, closing the door, disappointed. Relieved.

'That's good, that's good,' Elwood blew out, appeased. 'Means nothing happened here. Jack's still safe.'

Marilyn didn't answer him, instead she rushed to the phone that was attached to the wall and picked up the receiver, holding it to her ear with both hands. She bowed her head as the hope fizzled from her face.

'There's no tone. The lines are still down. Shit.' She slammed the receiver back against the wall.

'I thought they would be,' Elwood admitted. 'They'll be down for a good few days, I expect. Nothing ever gets done around these parts.'

Elwood paced across the room and placed his hand on her shoulder.

'I don't think there's anything to be found here,' he uttered. I'm sorry, Marilyn.

     'Shit. There has to be something, anything that we can do from here.' She put both hands on the top of her head in a thinking pose and circled the room, checking and rechecking.

      'I can't believe I hadn't thought of it,' she blurted, excitedly. 'Elwood, do you have a cell, a cell phone?'

'I don't.' His doleful tone filled the room. 'I'm afraid I don't exactly keep up with technology, there's no need for me. I can't use those damned things.'

Marilyn's arms fell to her sides, slapping against her hips. She made fists with her hands and patted them on her thighs.

'Shit. Shit.'

     'Jesus, but what I do have.' Elwood remembered with his biggest smile of the night, 'I have an old CB radio back at the motel. It's a little dusty and could probably use a repair, but I think I could get it working. It may take a little while. I can't believe I forgot about that. I could try and reach the sheriff over in the next town. Let him know what's happened, tell him to keep an eye out for a man travelling with a young boy.' He paused. 'The sheriff, he's new, not long been appointed, but he's a good man, from the city. Takes his job very seriously, not like the last guy.'

Marilyn leaped at Elwood, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing his forehead

'Oh, thank you. Thank you. I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you for any of this.' She squeezed tighter, not giving in. 'You don't know how much all this means to me, honestly.'

'Hey, hey, don't be silly.' He blushed. 'You don't have to thank me. Let's just concentrate on finding Jack, you can thank me when we get him back safe, OK?'

Marilyn released Elwood from her thankful grip and smiled her beautiful smile.

'OK.'

'Good. Right. Let’s get to that radio. You can help me pack some things, too. It will save us some time.' Thunder roared, cutting him off. 'Then we go and get that bastard and string him up.'

FIFTEEN

Marilyn and Elwood marched across the property, ignoring the shelter this time. They cut straight through and over the path, the ground squelching under their feet, mud and gravel sticking to the bottoms and sides of their shoes. Elwood cleared the mist from his glasses with the cuff of his shirt before opening the main door and stepping back inside.

The motel was deceptively small looking from the outside, looking as if it only contained a small number of rooms and a reception area. Before his wife died, Elwood had had the building renovated and two extra rooms added at the back. The builders kept the same old fashioned style, making it almost impossible to tell that any changes had been made. They meandered through the narrow hallways, past obscure paintings that decorated the walls, past the room where they spoke and drunk coffee, walking to the music of their footsteps. They stopped at the back of the motel, opposite a curtain-less window. Marilyn looked confused.

'Where are we going? Why have we stopped here?'

'The attic.'

Elwood, looked up and pointed with his long, bony finger and smiled.

'See?' Above them, a trap door, about three to four feet wide with gold hinges and a pint-sized handle hid amongst the artexed ceiling.

     Marilyn nodded, a smile also crossing her face. She modelled her spotless teeth, white, straight, perfect.

      'Let me just get the stick.'

Elwood toddled across to the window and pulled off a homemade hooked timber pole from the frame. He stretched, standing on the tips of his arthritic toes.

'I swear I'm shrinking in my old age,' he joked.

Elwood held his breath, concentrating, trying to finally master the art of attic opening. The hook caught the handle, making a clinking noise.

'Watch out, Marilyn. Can you move to the side, please? These stairs drop like a lead weight in the sea.'

She obliged.

He gave one almighty tug and the door opened. The stairs fell from the heavens, clanking and sliding all the way to the floor, landing with a deafening crash on the laminated floor. The stairs marked an unsteady and splintery path into darkness.

'OK, these stairs are not the safest, or steadiest, for that matter,' he half-heartedly chuckled, almost forcing it out. 'So I'll hold them first while you climb up. There'll be a cord to your left as you reach the top, it’s for the lights. Pull it when you feel it. It's pretty long, so it should dangle on your shoulders.'

Elwood ushered her to the stairs with an outstretched arm and secure smile. She took the sides with both hands, treading onto the bottom step lightly, testing the waters. She pulled herself up, moving her hands to the middle of the stairs above her as she climbed. Elwood moved in, gripping and stabilising the shaky stairwell, standing by, ready for her to reach the top. She pulled the cord.

Marilyn pulled herself up into the safe, newly found light, her eyes adjusting soundly. Bailey, the seasoned pro, raced up the steps. It was impressive, considering his age and growing lack of mobility. Marilyn offered a helping hand, he took it. He struggled and shuffled around before finally entering the attic.

SIXTEEN

The attic was a graveyard of the past, where life's great memories went to die, forgotten but lost. Valuable heirlooms, portraits, and unwanted reminders, all buried under nothing but common sheets, unmarked headstones. Marilyn pointed to the back, where the light barely travelled, as if held off by an invisible wall.

'Is that it, the CB radio?'

'Sure is. Let's just pray, for everyone's sake, that it works,' he said, scratching at his head. 'I can't even remember the last time I used it.'

It was a relic, uncovered and dusty. It had its own fold-out table, which was equally as ancient. There were about fifty buttons and knobs and switches. LED lights dotted everywhere, like pin points on a roadmap.

'It's a sturdy damn thing, I'll give it that, and the bastard could withstand a bomb blast.'

Marilyn stood about quietly, she thought about Jack and the man that had taken him, David O'Sullivan. Her restless mind absently scrolling through a list of torturous, score settling ways to hurt that bastard. Nothing was good enough for what he deserved. Why Jack? Why him? He didn't deserve this. She tried to picture the man at the restaurant, his face, what he looked like. He wouldn't show himself, hiding in the shadows of repressed memories.

'How much longer?' she asked, impatiently.

'It's hard to tell,' he said, taking a step back to take everything in. 'To be truthful, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Master electrician, I am not. Hopefully not long. The power's on, I know that much.'

Marilyn didn't respond, it wasn't the answer she was hoping for. Instead, she traipsed around the attic, dragging her muddy shoes across the creaky wooden flooring, looking at the junk. The attic was jammed full of antiques, and expensive memories, covered with dust sheets and old tablecloths. Marilyn ran a finger through the dust, across the shape of a child's bike, leaving a shiny fingerprint trail. The gloomy beams of light acting like the fading halo of a shamed angel bordered what looked to be a cot and boxes of toys.

'How long has all this stuff been here?'

Elwood looked up, sliding his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, he clapped his hands together, freeing the dust and fluff from his fingers and palms.

'Some of it was here when the motel was first built, things of family and people I have never met, I've just kept it here thinking maybe it'll be worth some money in years to come, you never know.' He smiled, but it didn't last. 'The rest of the stuff was...' He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. 'It was June's, my wife, and my son, Robert. Baby stuff, things I should have thrown away, but couldn't bring myself to. It's stupid really.'

'It's not stupid at all, Elwood. It's natural,' she said sweetly, turning to face him. 'I have every toy, every book, every drawing, everything that Jack has ever owned since he was born, down to his baby throws, and even his hospital tag. Believe me, it's not stupid.'

Marilyn began to drag the sheet from the top of the boxes of toys, but stopped halfway through, pulling it back across as she spoke.

     'Where is Robert now?'

Elwood didn't answer instantly. He fiddled with knobs, buttons, and dials on the radio. He didn't turn to face her when he spoke.

'Robert died, twelve years ago.'

'Oh, God. Elwood, I'm so sorry. I…'

'It's OK, how were you supposed to know?' he reassured.

He continued talking with his back toward her. She listened intently.

'He was twenty-nine. The police believe it to be an accident. Robert…'

He paused. Marilyn could hear how painful it was for him to say his name.

'Robert was holidaying with friends in Spain. He had just been accepted into the air force and it was supposed to be his getaway vacation, before starting his new life. I didn't want him to go, June was sick and….' He twisted another dial and blew trapped grime from his top lip, 'and I argued and begged him, and.. Well. I was having a hard time keeping this place running alone. I tried, but who was I to stop him? I guess it was kinda selfish of me, really. To try and keep him here, maybe I was trying to force my life onto him and it just pushed him further away. I..' He stopped what he was doing. 'According to Robert's friends and the local police, he went for a late night swim because he was having trouble sleeping.' He slowed down. 'They say he felt bad for leaving me here alone, it was playing on his mind, you know. The tide must have carried him away, they never…'

He swallowed.

'They never found the body. They've closed the case now, it’s been twelve years, but said they would notify me if he ever washed up. That was their words. I'll never forget that. Washed up. Tact of the fucking police, huh?'

Marilyn lowered her head, seeing her intrusive muddy footprints for the first time.

     'I'm sorry, Elwood. That's horrible,' she muttered sympathetically. 'You must miss him a lot.’

'I do. I do. I think about him every day.' He coughed away the floating dust. 'I told myself I wouldn't grieve until they found his body. Well, that was ten years ago now and I've done my grieving. It's better to accept and learn how to get over it, than never know and always sit clinging to a minuscule shred of hope. Maybe that's just me, my way of dealing with things, I don't know. I just couldn't live like that. It was killing me. Do you wanna know something?' he finished, still facing the radio.

'This is the first time I've admitted out loud that Robert is dead. I must have cried over his death a thousand times, but I promised myself. No more.'

Elwood swivelled around on his heels to face Marilyn for the first time since entering the attic. Dimples dented his cheeks. Half a smile.

'We're a right pair, you and me.' 

'That we are, Elwood.' She half smiled back. 'That we are. How's it going? Any luck?'

Elwood looked mildly enthusiastic about his success.

'Well, this light is on now, and it's green. It wasn't there before. I'm guessing there's a loose wire somewhere. Let's just hope that it's not a fried circuit board.'

'Well, in my experience a green light is a good thing, so you must be doing something right, right?' she explained, trying to sound encouraging, but her words fell flat.

'I guess. But, God dammit, this thing is from the dark ages. Come on, you worthless piece of junk.'

Elwood slammed a clenched fist onto the table, the radio jumped, dust floated through the air, scattering a micronova of particles from a bygone time. He spun on his heels again and got back to work, cursing almost silently.

     'Marilyn, to the left of the door, there should be a shelf on the wall with a brown box on it. It’s got a small set of screwdrivers in there, can you bring it over for me, please?' he asked, almost victoriously

'Sure.'

She saw the shelf, took the box off and shuffled her hands around inside, found what she needed and took it to Elwood.

'Thanks.'

He bent over, stretching, leaning, his slicked hair falling under the lenses of his glasses and into his eyes.

'With busy hands comes success. That's what my father always told me. This... should… just... about… do it.'

He stepped back and bent down, playing 'guess what frequency' with the dials. And there it was. Static. Glorious static. The flickering sound of promise and belief

'Elwood Bailey, you are a genius.' She clapped.

'I wouldn't be too sure about that, anyone could have done it.'

He modestly shoved his glasses back up his nose, and proudly brushed the hair from his eyes.

'So what next, Elwood. Do you know the frequency for the police?'

With a foot in the door Elwood got busy. His finger movements, agile and precise, had the dials on a string. Whether he knew what he was doing or not, he looked capable.

'Right, let’s see if this thing actually works.'

He took the receiver and sat cross-legged on the wintry floor, the cold moistening his trousers. Marilyn sat next to him, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Elwood pushed the button, the static vanished. He took a breath and looked at Marilyn. Premature apology radiated from his eyes.

'This is Elwood Bailey at the Bailey Motel, this is an emergency, can anyone hear me? I repeat. This is Elwood Bailey at the Bailey Motel, this is an emergency. Does anyone copy? I repeat, this is an emergency. Over.'

Static. Long uninterrupted static. A distressing, tedious blur of white noise. They held a fearful, despondent glance, but neither uttered a syllable. The static seemed to gradually get louder. A deafening noise of failure infiltrated their ears. With a single click, the defeat disappeared, bringing forth an ardent silence.

'This is Elwood Bailey at the Bailey Motel, this is a distress call, can anyone hear me? I repeat. This is Elwood Bailey, this is an emergency. Please, somebody, anybody, pick up. I repeat once again, this is an emergency. Over.'

They lowered their heads. Marilyn rubbed her arms around her knees, suddenly feeling the cold. Each breath icy and heavy.

'Are you sure you've got the right station or frequency, whatever it is. Can we try a different one?'

'I don't know, I wouldn't know where to start,' he admitted. 'I'm pretty sure this is the right one. I mean, with the storm and everything, who can really tell if this hunk of junk is actually working? I can give it a go, but we could be here all night.'

'Hey, have you got a better idea?' she asked with an enquiring, stern look etched into her face.

'No. I. I guess not.'

The static broke, fuzz. Cloudy fuzz. A haze of apprehension filled the room, swallowing up the fuzz. Static. Fuzz. Static. Voice.

Marilyn heard it first.

'Holy shit, did you hear that, please say you did?'

'I think I heard something, I couldn't tell.' He leaned in, closer to the speaker.

'It was a voice, it was faint, but definitely a man. Listen, we might hear it again.'

There they were, again. Broken words sailing inconspicuously through miles of unreliable airwaves. A saviour from another dimension. Elwood spotted it this time.

'There… There. I heard it. There it was, did you hear it?’

'Yeah. I heard that.'

She couldn't stop herself, she clapped a single clap, not being over-enthusiastic, but it was warranted. She could hear the rivers of rain, rolling down the sides of the roof, and the new ones taking their place. She could almost feel it. 'Jack,' she closed her eyes, whispering for only her knees to hear. 'Try turning the knobs, maybe we're slightly out.'

Elwood did just that, rushing forward, itchy trigger fingers at the ready, turning the dial left, right, then left again. His movements were small and particular, moving the dial millimetres each way. Right then, left again.

'Repeat, please state your emergency. Over.'

It was as clear as day. The saviour had a voice. He was real.