Saltar's Point (9 page)

TEN

Darrow sat with his head in his hands. The screaming anguish in his head had returned with a vengeance, pounding inside his skull with relentless ferocity. The boiler room was hot, making his skin flush and his pores dilated. Beads of sweat rolled down his face and dripped silently from his chin, congregating in small puddles on the cement floor below. The whisky was burning through his system, heightening his emotions. He sat on the edge of his bed, a small cot really, consisting of a stained featherbed mattress sitting atop a rusted box spring balanced precariously on four cinder blocks. The boiler was acting up again, pinging and clanging incessantly, driving him up the wall and making it impossible to control the thoughts that spun aimlessly inside his head. Darrow clutched his ears in his hands, trying fruitlessly to drown out the relentless clamor.

“FUCK! FUCK! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

He rocked back and forth on his haunches, like a small child in a doctor’s office awaiting his first shots. The boiler continued pinging. Darrow rose from the bed like he was shot out of a cannon and grabbed one of Porter’s mops leaning against the south wall. He struck the side of the boiler repeatedly with the mop handle, producing a series of clangs that echoed off the boiler room walls and made the fillings in his molars vibrate, simulating the unpleasant sensation of biting on tin foil. Darrow screamed in rage with each swing.

“FUCK!” CLANG.

“FUCK!” CLANG.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

The mop handle shattered, spraying splinters of wood in all directions before Darrow collapsed on the floor, curling himself into the fetal position and sobbing uncontrollably. He whimpered pitifully. An inundation of memories flooded his mind blending past and present.

“No mommy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me any more. Please Gretchen please.”

Darrow used his mother’s first name like he did sometimes when he wished to grab her attention, hoping that it would jar her from the confines of her blinding rage. This time it had no effect. She grabbed him by the hair, dragging him along the cellar floor.

“You don’t want to eat your vegetables, fine. Then you get the hanger again.”

“No mommy, I’ll eat. I’ll eat!”

Darrow kicked and screamed as his mother drug him along the dusty floor. His tiny sneakers kicked up clouds of dust as he struggled to get a foothold. His mother continued undaunted, mercilessly pulling him over to the radiator and slamming his head against the iron pipes. Darrow’s skull exploded with blinding white light, disrupting his vision. The cold steel of the handcuffs cut into his wrist, his mother tightening them until he could no longer feel the pulse in his fingers. She clamped the other end to the radiator. The steel banged against the iron creating a metallic sound that pierced Darrow’s ears.

“Please, mommy don’t. Please, no.”

She made her way over to the tin cabinet that held a variety of cleaning products, methodically scanning the shelves until she found what she was looking for, a bottle of Borax bleach she used rarely for cleaning. She unscrewed the cap and walked slowly back over to her son. Darrow thrashed against the radiator; mustering all the strength he could in his five-year-old arms he pulled against the handcuffs trying desperately to free himself. His wrist began to bleed. The crimson blood trickled down his arm, staining his shirt on the sleeve and just below the armpit. Gretchen flew into a rage, spittle flying from her lips as she hissed at her son.

“You ungrateful little puke! Do you have any idea how hard I have to work to buy those clothes?”

Darrow curled into a ball, shielding himself from his mother, hoping that her rage would subside and that she would leave him alone.

“No you don’t do you? Everything is just handed to you on a silver platter isn’t it Jacky boy?”

“Mommy please.”

His pleas were getting more conciliatory now, resigning himself to his inevitable fate. Gretchen pulled the rusted clothes hanger out from behind the radiator where she kept it stashed. It had been unfolded, forming a long metal rod, one end brandishing a dirty cotton ball wrapped around the prong. She placed the Borax on the floor and dipped the hanger into it, dunking it up and down several times, making sure the cotton ball was soaked with bleach. When she spoke her voice was calm and cold.             

“Look at me.”

Darrow tucked his head against his side peering at the floor, praying that his mother would let him be.

“Jacky look at me.”

Her voice was firmer this time. Darrow rocked back and forth staring at the ground and humming to himself like he did when he was nervous. Gretchen’s patience dissipated like smoke in a stiff breeze.

“LOOK AT ME YOU LITTLE FUCK!”

She grabbed his hair and jerked his head up with a savage yank. Darrow tried to fight her off with his free hand but she was too strong. She pried his eyelids open one at a time jabbing the Borax soaked cotton ball into his eyes. The bleach burned his retinas and the metal wire scratched his eyeballs, causing Darrow to cry out in excruciating pain.

Darrow smacked his head against one of the cinder block bedposts jarring him back to realty. He was drenched in sweat. His clothes clung to him like a second skin. It took him a second to get his bearings before the familiarity of the boiler room came back to him. He wiped his face and sat upright. His jeans clung to the cold cement floor making him shiver, reminding him of the cold water he dumped on Abby earlier this morning. Oh my sweet Abby, how could I be so cruel? The tears welled in his eyes blurring his vision. She was a saint, and he had treated her like vile trash, like a blight on his existence.

Darrow rose from the floor, wiping his tears away. His God damn bitch of a mother wasn’t going to control him anymore. It was an oath he had sworn to himself countless times before. The boiler clanged again, threatening to take him back to the cellar in which he had spent most of his youth. He would not listen, not this time. Darrow forced himself to ignore the clanging in his head and exited the room. He was going to check on Abby, to make sure she was comfortable. He made his way through the darkened corridor, moving swiftly. It was familiar to him now and he navigated the twists and turns effortlessly. He reached the elevator and pulled the handle, jarring it to life.

When it reached the top he stepped out into the main foyer, blinking in the light streaming from the track lighting high above. The floorboards creaked underfoot as he walked to the grand staircase. His hand followed the banister while he ascended the steps. At the top of the stairs he made the sharp left leading to Abby’s room. The hallway was pitch black. This was odd; he always left the light on for Abby, helping to alleviate her fear of the dark. He searched the wall looking for the light switch and found it in the on position.

“What the hell?”

He flipped the switch down and then quickly back up again. The hallway lights blared to life making him squint as his pupils dilated. Electrical problems already. That lying Jackson had told him that the wiring in the entire house had been replaced a year ago. Now he had something else to concern himself with. He entered Abby’s room quietly, not sure if she was asleep, and not wanting to rouse her if she was. Despite the light from the hallway, Abby’s room was dark, making it difficult for Darrow to see Abby’s face. He bent over her, straining his eyes in the darkness. She was sleeping soundly. Darrow watched her chest rise and fall in tune to the steady rhythm of her breathing. He planted a kiss gently on her forehead.

“I love you Abby baby.”

He whispered the words, not wanting to wake her. Darrow shivered, the room was cold. He pulled the covers up and tucked them underneath her chin. He watched her sleep for a few more minutes before turning and leaving the room.

She watched Darrow leave, crouching quietly in the corner of the room concealed by the shadows. The light from the hallway burned through her, making it difficult to think. She focused her concentration and withdrew the energy from the room, snuffing the hallway lights out like a candle. She was not sure if Darrow could see her or not, but she didn’t want to take that chance, content for the moment to sit idle. The acrid stench of whisky hung in the air even after his departure. His thoughts were bad ones. He planned to hurt someone soon. She had to warn Abby, that much she knew. There were bad things happening at Talcott Manor, bad bad things, and Darrow was the cause. He had awakened it from its slumber and she was scared. She made her way over to Abby’s bed with jerky steps, sloshing as she went.

In the boiler room Jack Darrow stripped off his clothes, leaving himself naked save for his boxer shorts. He shivered in the chilly air. Why the fuck was it so cold? The thermostat upstairs had indicated that it was sixty-eight degrees but it felt like twenty. He could see his breath for Christ’s sake. It swirled about him, clouding his vision and making him angry. He cursed Randall quietly to himself once again. The God damn wiring was shot and the heating system couldn’t make a slut hot at an orgy. He could replace the wiring himself but it would take both time and money. The heating system was a bigger problem; he would have to call somebody for that. It was much more time and effort than he had anticipated. Darrow sighed to himself, the joys of owning a new home never ceased.

Darrow.

The fucking voice inside his head was talking again.

“Leave me alone you son of a bitch!”

Darrow yelled into the darkness, making him feel foolish. Good God, He was screaming at a voice inside his head.

Just one step away from the nuthouse Jack
.

He paused for a second, waiting for the voice to return. It didn’t. Darrow shook his head, the flashbacks were getting bad. At first they were just nuisances, repressed memories that would surface in his nightmares, and then they were gone with the light of day. But lately those nightmares had turned into daymares, (if there was such a thing he thought to himself) terrifying his every waking moment. They would show up out of nowhere unannounced and unwanted. The fucking bitch of a mother wouldn’t leave him alone even in death, haunting him mercilessly. What terrified him the most however, were the blackouts, the loss of consciousness that left him dazed and confused unable to remember anything at all. Usually he awoke in the same place he blacked out. Other times however he would awake outside, or in another room. One night he had awoken to find himself standing over Abby while she slept. The incident had left him shaken for weeks. Although he couldn’t remember what he had been doing or thinking, he had a horrific feeling that his intentions towards his wife were not good.

The jolts back to reality were often more horrifying than the blackouts themselves, like being sucked through a black hole towards a bright piercing light. Now the voice had started speaking to him. At first it was pleasant, like a welcome companion offering advice and comfort. But lately it had begun to nag. If there was one thing Darrow despised above all else it was constant nagging. His mother, Abby, and now the voice chatting and bitching at him incessantly, each word cut like a knife tearing his flesh from his bones.

Darrow!

This time the voice was angry. It erupted in a hiss and sounded guttural at the same time. Shrill and forceful, it exploded in Darrow’s head like air escaping from a tire gauge. His hands shook. Darrow calmly sat down on the edge of his bed and taking a deep gulp of air forced his voice to remain calm.

“Who are you? And what do you want from me?”

We have work to do Jack, you and I.

Darrow was alerted to the fact that the temperature in the room had gotten even colder. He shivered in the surrounding cold and shook from the terror welling inside of him.

“Show yourself.”

In good time.

The presence moved towards him. It stopped at the foot of the bed. Darrow couldn’t see it but he knew it was there. He could feel its aura, it was cold and dark almost like an absence of matter, a vacuum that existed in between worlds. It wanted to be felt, to let him know it was there. Darrow had no doubt that if it had wanted to it could have moved by undetected, but for reasons still unknown it has chosen to reveal itself to him.

Listen to me Jack.

Darrow waited with baited breath.

Upstairs Abby awoke, afraid to move a muscle. It was back; she could feel its presence. Moving her eyes back and forth she scanned the room looking for the vile presence. She would not be afraid she told herself as her heart beat like a jackhammer against her chest. She found the headboard once again and strained to bring herself upright. Her eyes were incapable of piercing the darkness, it was too heavy. Jack had neglected to turn the hallway lights on again like she asked. She drew ragged breaths, struggling to normalize her breathing. Afraid that the sound of her respiration would draw unwanted attention her way.

“CAW!”

The sound shattered the silence making Abby’s heart feel as though it had exploded in her chest. It had come from the outside, reverberating through the plate glass window and filling the room. Abby swung her head around, her eyes wide with terror. A large raven sat on the windowsill, peering at her with eyes of crimson glowing bright in the light of the moon. The bird sent shivers down her spine. The raven had long been considered to be a bird of ill omen. Abby doubted that its appearance on her windowsill tonight was a sign of good tidings. What was the most troubling was the single thought that echoed through Abby’s head. Why had it crossed the boundary?