Red House Blues (18 page)

“I appreciate your time,” she said. “And
your honesty. I’ll think about what you said. If you remember
anything else that might help, I work up at the Apple Market. Stop
by. Maybe we can have coffee after all.”

Her mind screamed no, no don’t let him off
the hook - he won’t let you have another chance but she let the
exit line stand.

He didn’t bother to get off the couch as she
walked to the foyer, determined to leave out the front door this
time with a scrap of dignity intact, not slink out through that
awful gaseous kitchen like a shamed puppy.

The foyer looked more like a furniture
graveyard or the back room of a junk shop. This was obviously the
last resting place for the missing dining room chairs and who knew
what else - a massive tumulus under an outsized spiral staircase.
Three old bicycles leaned against the chairs as if to keep the
whole pile from falling into the cramped path to the door. Suzan
carefully squeezed around the pile on the way to the entry, hoping
nothing fell on her.

Just as she reached the door she felt
someone watching her. Maybe he had followed her after all. She
wasn’t about to turn and give him the satisfaction of seeing her
hesitate. Suzan grappled with the stubborn old-fashioned door latch
until it finally burst open, releasing her onto the wooden
porch.

It wasn’t raining anymore.
The walk back to Linda’s was relatively dry except for cars
splashing past her up the street. As she walked she rehashed the
strange encounter in her mind. Maybe she should have waited until
someone else came home. It had been a disaster. She hadn’t even
asked his name. On the plus side, he didn’t know her name either.
She had been careful not to offer it and he hadn’t asked.
Why hadn’t he asked? Could he have already known
who I was? How?

Chapter 16

Nick lied about it but Ferlin knew he’d let
the woman into the house. The one in the green jacket with the
camera. The one who’d been watching the house. She’d come back and
Nick had let her in. It was too late now to stop it. Ferlin would
have to tell Alexis. Then whatever happened, happened.

Stupid kids, thought Ferlin. Alexis should
boot the whole bunch of them out of here. Haven’t the sense of
strangled chickens, most of them.

Get rid of them, he’d told her one day when
he’d had enough of their noise and bullshit. Why have them here
anyway? We don’t need them. He and Alexis got along just fine but
why did they have to have the others here? Always coming and
going.

He knew what they really thought of him too.
Burned out acidhead. Crazy old hippie. Belongs in a home. But who
do they run to as soon as something breaks or they need a loan?
Like that little punk Stephan. Money down a rat hole on that
one.

And Alexis saying, “Ferlin, man, this is too
big a house. It needs more than just you and me. A house like this
one needs lots of people.” Wait ‘til she finds out Nick let that
nosey bitch into the house.

Nick isn’t the worst of the lot but he
doesn’t know a lot of things. He doesn’t know what can happen when
people start digging around where they shouldn’t be. Alexis will
have to talk to him. Find out how bad it is. Then we’ll have to
minimize the damage.

Ferlin made sure the front and back doors
were locked and the porch lights were on before he went to his room
off the kitchen. The others - all except the guitar player who had
a late gig - had gone up to bed. The Red House settled itself, like
a sleeper trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position, its
dry timbers shifting imperceptibly as the air within it cooled.

Ferlin listened to the familiar night noises
of the house - wheezing refrigerator, ticking hall clock - and
something else he hadn’t heard in a while. Something unpleasant
like from a dream he only half remembered, like how an acid image
comes back on you for a second, then snuffs itself out before it
registers in you mind.

He made one more circuit of the downstairs
rooms, checking for smoldering cigarettes or who knows what else.
When he was fairly satisfied nothing was wrong he went off to bed.
But there had been something, he was almost sure.

* * *

Where am I?
Suzan struggles to focus her eyes. Then she
realizes where she is. She has returned to the red house for some
reason. Has she left her coat? As she climbs the steps to the porch
she is surprised the house is no longer dark. It is all lit up as
if it was Christmas but the holidays are long since over. Strings
of red and gold lights rope every window and the front door is wide
open. It must be a party. Maybe that was why the tarp man was in
such a hurry to be rid of her. Now she will meet the housemates.
She will find the tarp man again. There are so many things she
wanted to ask him. Such a fool she was just leaving like that. The
house is pulsing with music. Yes, a party. Guitar music so much
like Sean’s. It couldn’t be Sean’s could it? But it could be. Maybe
it’s his band. Where are the people? The foyer is empty, completely
empty like a cave. Where are the chairs and bicycles she saw
earlier? She wishes she could remember the name of the music that’s
playing – she is sure she has heard it before. Could it be by
Santana? Sean played him such a lot but she never remembered the
names of the songs. The music threads through the air, rising like
smoke up the stairs. There is smoke in the air. Incense. Patchouli,
thick as syrup flowing around her, pulling her toward the
staircase. There are voices at the top, somewhere above the upper
landing. That’s were the party is. She’ll find the tarp man up
there. Incense lifts her up the turning stairs. The hall is empty,
stretching out into darkness, the only light coming from a candle
sconce midway. Could she have imagined the voices? No, they’re
coming from the end of the hall where light streams out into the
hall from an open door. It must be the man’s room, Sean’s old
bedroom. Can’t get the image of needles and blood out of her mind.
The notebooks would be there too. The tarp man must have found them
when he moved in. Why hadn’t she asked? It’s what she came for but
she walked away and didn’t ask. She will make him tell her now. The
hall goes for miles and she is so tired. Why is it so cold all of a
sudden? Curls of incense freeze in the air, peeling away from the
walls. Her breath is blue in the candlelight as she walks
barefooted toward the door. She has left her shoes somewhere. Did
she take them off in the foyer? She can’t remember. The voices
again. Angry, but she can’t make out the words.
Shouldn’t intrude. Need to go before they know I’m here. But
I’m at the door now, my hand on the jam. Where are they? I’m alone.
The room is filled with ice, like a walk-in freezer, icicle daggers
hanging from the low ceiling and I’m frozen to the floor as the air
solidifies around me.

Chapter 17

E-mail to [email protected]:

Hey girl, why haven’t you answered my last
couple of e-mails?? Don’t tell me you’ve got such a hot social life
all of a sudden you don’t have time to drop me a line. I’m willing
to blame it on this crash-matic computer. If you get this maybe you
should leave me a message on your voice mail back at the apartment
and I’ll pick it up when I water your ficus. I really want to talk
to you. By the way, your dad left a message. Everything’s okay but
you probably should call him. Have you told him you’re in Seattle?
Didn’t sound like he knew. If I don’t hear from you soon I’ll phone
the house where you’re staying (I kept the ad you sent. Sneaky,
right?). So come on, surface or else! Love - Claire

E-mail to [email protected]:

Hi Sneaky - I’m going to try this one more
time. Can’t imagine what happened to my replies to your e-mails. I
did reply, really I did. Just as well they disappeared into the
ozone though. As I remember the messages were on the hysterical
side. Things were not going as well as I had hoped right then.

To sum up: by accident I met the guy who
rents Sean’s old room. Not that it did me any good. I completely
blew the opportunity, even after he invited me into the house and
offered me coffee (though if you had seen the inside if that
monstrosity of a house you would have refused too). I didn’t even
ask his name! Can you believe that? Yeah, you probably would.

And if that weren’t dumb enough, I somehow
can’t get the guy out of my head. He’s not my “type” (if such an
animal exists), so get that look off your face! We only talked for
a few minutes and he didn’t say much even then. Plus what he did
say was pretty snotty. Maybe that’s what caught my attention, the
way he left me sitting flat on my butt in the rain and didn’t even
look back. Wouldn’t that get your attention? He did ask me in after
I followed him all the way to the house. Aren’t you sorry you
missed that scene?

Marla e-mailed me yesterday - she’s going to
be in town this weekend for a birthday party. It’s being held at
the Comet Tavern - where Kiki Zell was the night she died. Not as
macabre as it sounds - the birthday boy played with Zell’s band.
Marla invited me and I’m tempted to go. Maybe what I need right now
is to get Sean and Mister No-name out of my mind for a night - get
drunk and disorderly like a normal person! Tell you more later.
Attached are a few views of the house. Creepy or what? Love -
Suze

E-mail from [email protected]:

Fast response! You must have been sitting on
the computer when I sent my message. Glad to know you still
remember me after all this time. Seems like you’ve been gone for
months. Hope you can finish up and come home soon. I really miss
you, Suze. Don’t you dare fall in love with that mysterious
nameless stranger and forget all about us up here!! I think you
should go to the birthday party but I know you’ll probably chicken
out and stay in your room with a cup of cocoa and a dull book. (I’d
love to be proved wrong.) I’ll be at your place this weekend so
call and we’ll talk. And yes, from what I see in the pictures you
sent, I’d say that house needs serious demolition! Love -
Claire

Claire deleted Suzan’s message and logged
off.

Suzan is sure to wonder why I’m at her
apartment this weekend. Good. She’ll be curious and call. Maybe I
should call her? No, she’d think something is wrong. Well,
something is wrong, but I can’t put that in an e-mail. Especially
since I know now Tony really has been reading and deleting my
messages. I’ll have to change my passwords. No, I need to stop
using his computer, pack up the rest of my things and go. What’s
the use? We are all talked out.

Why can’t changing the course of your life
be as easy as a key stroke - hit the delete button and do over. But
love isn’t a spelling error. And I can’t blot out the things he
said - or the words I flung in his face. Nothing is as simple as we
want it to be. Blaming Suzan won’t fix what’s wrong. If I thought
that were true, I’d cut her out of our lives like a tumor.

Claire used the remainder of the morning
straitening things out around the house. Tony left for campus
without a word. Claire thought a good loud, knock-down-drag-out
fight would be preferable to the way things were.

She pulled out the vacuum cleaner and
cleaned the life out of the carpets, then scrubbed the bathroom and
kitchen until she ran out of cleanser and energy. Housework done,
she packed a selection of toiletries and some clothes for the
weekend, wrote Tony a short note and left the house unsure when, if
ever, she would return.

* * *

The cabbie knew enough English to ask for
his fare but not enough to tell Suzan what he thought of someone
taking a taxi half a mile. At home in Bellingham she would have
felt relatively safe walking that distance at night. Not so in
Seattle. Especially when she wasn’t sure where the Comet Tavern
was, beyond its Capital Hill address. Not to mention that it was
already nine o’clock by the time she made up her mind to go to the
party.

The cab dropped her in front of the Comet
Tavern and pulled away from the curb before she noticed there a
small hand-lettered “closed” sign taped to the door.

Wonderful!
Do I have the wrong night?
No, Marla said Saturday night.
And
it was undeniably Saturday night. So what was going on? What kind
of tavern is closed on Saturday night?
Can’t believe this! What do I do now, flag another cab back
to Linda’s?

The street was a cacophony of traffic and
nightlife. A group of college age revelers outside the corner sushi
bar broke into a slightly obscene rap version of “Over the
Rainbow”. Suzan leaned back against the closed tavern door and
mulled over her options.

Barely masked by street noise she detected a
drumbeat coming from somewhere close. It seemed to be coming from
the other side of the door. Idiot, she thought, you didn’t even try
the door. She tried it now. Locked.

She gave the door’s center panel a closed
fist knock and waited, conscious that if Claire knew she had gotten
this far, then turned tail she would never let her live it down.
The door stayed firmly shut.

Maybe they can’t hear me over the music,
thought Suzan. As she raised her fist to give it another try the
door creaked open slowly, letting a wedge of blue light leak onto
the sidewalk.

“Sorry, we’re closed tonight. Private party.
Come back next weekend,” said a baritone voice from the other side
of the already closing door.

“Wait! I was invited,” she shouted at the
door.

That reopened the door and produced a
mountain in a muscle shirt. He somehow looked familiar. Could he
have been the bouncer at Jax’s?