Darkhouse (Experiment in Terror #1)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I woke up from my short, dreamless sleep as I felt Dex’s car come to a rolling stop. We parked on the street in front of my house. Even in the dark, with leaves scattering in the wind and tossing the thin branches of our cherry trees about, it looked like the nicest place on earth.

“Home sweet home,” Dex said.

I felt awkward. Did I hug him goodbye? Shake his hand? Both seemed strangely inappropriate.

“Feels like the end of a first date, doesn’t it?” he remarked, a smirk deepening one corner of his mouth.

I blushed furiously. “Yeah, I guess.”

Amused, he opened his arms and said, “Come here.”

I leaned over and hugged him. He squeezed me very tight, grunting humorously. I squeezed back, not wanting to let go but also not wanting to give him the wrong idea. The wrong idea being that I wanted keep touching him.

Eventually I pulled away and looked to the side.

“Hey,” he whispered, as he slipped his hand under my chin and tipped it up. I had no choice to but to meet his eyes. They danced in the dark. “You OK?”

I stared at his lips, my breath deepening. The urge to kiss him grew frighteningly strong, so much it surprised me. I obviously wasn’t OK but for different reasons than he thought.

I saved face by closing my eyes and nodding. “I’m good.”

Satisfied, he let go of my chin and sat back in his seat. “Fabulous.”

I quickly opened the door and hopped out of the car before I did or said something stupid. I heard “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant” faintly playing from the speakers, which immediately reminded me of his sing-along session in the car yesterday. Felt so long ago.

I must have smiled involuntarily because he handed me my bag from behind the seat and said, “Want me to start singing again? I’ll sing you the whole CD. ‘My Life’, ‘Piano Man’, ‘She’s Always a Woman’...”

I could tell he was joking, but I secretly wanted nothing more. I swallowed hard and gave him a shy smile. “Guess this is goodbye?”

“For now,” he said. “Go and get some proper sleep and rock their f*cking faces off at the meeting tomorrow. I’ll call you when I’ve got something interesting to say.”

“Sounds good. Bye, Dex.”

I was about to close the door when he stopped me. “Wait!”

He reached behind him into his bag and pulled out his newsboy cap. “Wear this tomorrow. It’ll cover up your brain hole. And you’ll look really cool.”

I took it from him, plopped it on my head and tipped the brim. “Thanks.”

He saluted me with his fingers as I shut the door.

I turned and walked towards the house, hearing the car drive off. I looked behind me, and he was gone.

I sighed, pausing at the front door to gather my thoughts, before unlocking it and returning to my old life.

***

As one can imagine, the next day turned into utter madness times a billion.

First of all, I came home to find my mother asleep in my bed, apparently waiting up for me. Thankfully, Dex had given me his cap, which covered up the wound on the back of my head, and I did not need that to freak out my mother.

Of course she bombarded me with a ton of worried-mother questions that I easily deflected by saying how badly I needed to sleep, which was true; however, it didn’t make a lick of difference in the end, considering I woke up feeling like absolute shit.

Every single bone and muscle in my body ached to high heaven. I couldn’t even bend down to tie my boots and had to opt for ballet flats. Those, coupled with a turtleneck to hide the ever-deepening bruises on my neck and Dex’s cap on my head, made me look an awful lot like Yoko Ono after all.

My choice of wardrobe was the least of my worries, though, because along with my physical pain, I was also in a state of mental shock. I was so tired and exhausted to my core that I was borderline delirious. Even forming sentences seemed to be a challenge, which did not bode well for answering the phones.

Even two Red Bulls couldn’t help my jumbled thoughts, although they did elevate my heart rate to cardiac arrest status, which doubled by the time I walked into my meeting.

But through crazy luck or the pity of the universe, I somehow not only got through the meeting with Frida and the head honcho, John Danvers, but I won them over and got the promotion.

Yeah, I know.

I can’t explain it myself except that I managed to project a very professional and enthusiastic image and even showed them some of the advertising plans I created back at the university. The position was just for a production coordinator, which was a pretty stressful and lowly job, but it was still better and more relevant to me than being stuck in reception. Plus, it paid $3 extra an hour, and I would get benefits.

I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day. Literally. All the painkillers I was popping, plus the lack of shut-eye, made me feel like I was floating away to la la land.

My position started the next Monday, which meant all this week I had to train my replacement (turns out they had the temp who subbed for me last week in mind), which in turn meant a fairly easy week for me. I could just make the other person do all the work.

Easy is what I needed. With my brain and body all jumbled I needed things to go as smoothly as possible. I wanted to put the weekend behind me more than anything and start focusing on a new path. The longer I engaged in the everyday swing of “normal” life, the more absurd the idea of being a ghost blogger became.

Plus, I hadn’t heard from Dex. I know he said he’d call if he knew something, but still; I guess a part of me hoped he would call anyway.

Later that evening, I went onto my Facebook to check his profile like the snoop I am. I found no evidence he had logged on recently, but people had written on his wall during our absence. Some guys, some girls, mostly inside jokes and potential plans. It felt weird knowing Dex had a life outside of me and the lighthouse, as egotistical and stupid as that sounds.

It only hammered home that Dex was still just a man. A befuddling man but just a man in the end. A man with a hot Wine Babe for a girlfriend, an interesting and varied job, a nice voice, a social life and a sordid past. A handsome, beguiling man whose eyes read your very soul and whose smirk held you in contempt. A man I tried my hardest to not think about.

That was easier said than done. Ada kept bringing him up around the dinner table.

“I think he looks creepy,” Ada said haughtily between petite bites of her roast. “I was starting to doubt if you’d ever come back.”

“Thanks, Ada,” I muttered, glaring at her.

“Well it would have been nice if we had had a chance to meet him,” my mom complained wistfully, “instead of having to stare at him from a distance.”

“Yes, well, I thought maybe you’d embarrass me,” I replied truthfully.

“Oh, whatever, as you would say. Why would that matter?” my mom said, exchanging a look with my father, who was silent as he normally was whenever there was food in front of him.

“Because she has the hots for him,” Ada interjected.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please. I just met the guy.”

She wagged her fork at me. “I saw the way you were ogling his Facebook pictures.”

She turned to my mother. “He has a girlfriend too.”

My mouth dropped. “How do you know that?”

“Maybe I know how to use a search engine better than you can,” she answered primly.

“Perry,” my mother teased, looking at me, “you do like this man!”

“No!” I exclaimed and nearly threw down my fork.

“The lady doth protest too much.” Ada smirked.

“You don’t even know what you’re quoting there, blondie,” I shot back.

“Girls,” my dad said sternly but gently. “Let’s let Perry relax a bit. It’s not every weekend that you blow up my brother’s lighthouse.”

I couldn’t tell if my dad was actually angry, as was usually the case with him. I had, after all, blown up his brother’s lighthouse, which couldn’t be taken lightly. Even though it wasn’t really my fault, it did look that way.

However, I picked up some compassion in his voice and gave him an apologetic face.

“We’re just glad you are OK, pumpkin.” He reached over and tapped my hand. “And proud too. Let’s toast your new job, cin cin.”

I beamed despite myself and we raised our glasses of wine. Ada raised her soda with a dry expression, though I could see the tiniest hint of sisterly affection.

After dinner and more small talk about my new position, I retired to my room ready to conk out. It was seven p.m., and somehow even getting twelve hours of sleep didn’t seem like it would be enough.

I packed some things into my purse when I heard the door shut behind me. Fearing the worst, I spun around in a panic.

It was just Ada staring at me in horror.

“What the f*ck happened to your head?” she cried out, and raced over to inspect me.

I swatted her arms away and awkwardly felt my head. The cap had fallen off, leaving my snazzy Band-Aid exposed.

“It’s nothing, go away!” I glared at her.

She crossed her arms to indicate she wasn’t about to go anywhere. “What happened? Tell me or I’ll tell Mom. And Dad!”

I knew she would, too. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know what version. The official story or the truth?

Despite all our differences, though, Ada was my sister. Looking into her jaded eyes, impeccably done up with the best makeup, I knew she had some reserves of belief left for me.

“Do you want the truth or the official story?”

“What’s the story you’ll end up blogging about?” she asked smartly.

She had a point there. If we were in fact still doing this project—at the moment I didn’t know what Dex would salvage from his camera, let alone the fact the whole thing might get shot down—we would obviously show people the truth. That meant my parents, the authorities, Uncle Al, would all find out the truth was wildly different from anything they had heard.

That said, I also knew they wouldn’t believe it anyway. No matter what kind of proof we provided, no matter how well I wrote about the experience, they would assume I made it up. Well, let them.

“So?” she said impatiently. “What is it? What happened? For real.”

“OK,” I said hesitantly.“For real? You better sit down. And check your cynicism at the door.”

She sighed and flopped down on my bed, all gangly limbs and rolling eyes.

I started from the beginning but left out the part about the Creepy Clown Lady because that would just open another can of worms. By the time I finished, I could see Ada was struggling with it.

She chewed thoughtfully on her nails and watched me closely. “So...that’s the real story?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I don’t care, but you wanted the truth and you got the truth. Dex can confirm what I said.”

“But you said Dex never saw this Rodney guy.”

“Roddy. And he did, he just wasn’t....manhandled by him.”

“I...I don’t know what to say,” she got up and started pacing.

“Well, you don’t have to say anything.”

She appeared to think that over for a few beats before a curious look came across her face.

She asked, “Do you remember when we were really young, or I was really young, anyway, and you were like ten or something, and we would go to the ski cottage every winter?”

I did, vaguely. There were a few years where we went skiing in the mountains every winter, though I didn’t know what that had to do with anything.

“Do you remember the room we slept in?”

Again, vaguely. A small, stereotypical cabin room with bunk beds and its own ensuite. I remembered the smell of the fireplace at night and the smell of melting snow on the windowsill come morning but nothing else.

“Kind of,” I said slowly.

“Do you remember some boy you called Sam who would come and visit you?”

The name rang a bell. I tried to think back but was bombarded with images from a million vacations, and a million boys who could have been called Sam. I had one image, though, of a young boy white as the snow outside the window, but it was so hazy and fleeting that it could have been a dream.

“Sam,” she continued, “would come every night and knock on our window. I would wake up and find you at the window trying to open it. I remember I would ask you what you were doing and you would say, ‘Sam’s here. I have to let him inside; he’s cold.’ ”

The memories started to pour back into my eyes. I saw Sam’s sweet, impish face at the window, looking so small and so cold. He must have been around eight years old but tiny for his age. I remembered I would open the window and invite him inside, but he would never come. He said he had to stay outside because his mother was mad at him. I remembered it now, the sharp cold as it came through the window and kissed my feet, the frost that gathered on his eyelashes like fairy dust.

“Yes, I remember,” I told her. Her face grew grim which quickened my pulse instinctively. “What about it?”

“I never saw Sam,” she said carefully. “And I was on the top bunk too. And I remember you would get up every night, always at one a.m., and you would creep over to the window and open it. You would talk to yourself for who knows how long. Then you would close the window, look up at me and say ‘Sam had to leave.’ But there was never anyone there, Perry.” >

I stared at her dumbly while processing this insane piece of information. I had a bad memory and that happened a long time ago, but now that she brought it up I remembered it all as clear as day. I mean, I knew I had imaginary friends when I was wee, but there clearly was a boy named Sam. Right?

“Was I sleepwalking?” I asked. Maybe I dreamed the whole thing.

“I don’t think so,” Ada said. “You often talked about him in the day, too, wondering why his mother would lock him out of the cabin. You even told mom once that you wanted to invite him over for dinner one time. They said sure, thinking he was just some kid who hung around. But I never saw him come over for dinner. And I never saw him at your window.”

“How do you remember all of this? You must have been like five years old!”

“I remember it because it scared me, Perry. You scared me. I started thinking my older sister was crazy.”

“Crazy,” I repeated. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against my temple. I was too tired to deal with this. This was just an extra scooping of ridiculous on top of a growing pile of insanity.

Ada put her hand on my arm. “You’re not crazy.”

“Right,” I muttered and sat down at my desk. I feared this would make me rethink everything.

“I mean it, for reals. I think you saw Sam, even if I didn’t see him. And I think you saw this Old Roddy guy too. I believe you, Perry.”

I gave her a half-hearted smile.

“I’m serious. Maybe you could appreciate that,” she snarled.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “I do appreciate it, Ada, calm down. This is just a lot to take. I mean, what does it all mean?”

“It means maybe you’re meant to see these things. Maybe if you think back over the years, you’ll remember some of the other stuff too.”

That didn’t sound like a very good idea at all. “Other stuff? Was there something else?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe. You acted weird pretty much throughout all of high school.”

“That was the drugs,” I told her bitterly.

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. You know it wasn’t very fun for me growing up. Having you as a sister.”

Ouch.

“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping she would see how much I meant it. “I’m so happy you didn’t turn out like me.”

“There’s still time!” she exclaimed wryly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I know it was harder for you than it was for me.”

“Really, I am so sorry. I have no excuse.”

“I don’t want to hear it! What’s done is done, OK? It doesn’t matter.”

She started to head for the door.

“Wait,” I called out after her, not wanting her to leave me alone with the bomb she just dropped.

“I’ve got things to blog about. Don’t you?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“You know you do. Screw everyone. Write what happened anyway. And if no one believes you it doesn’t matter because I believe you, this Dex dude believes you, and people believe what you tell them to believe. It’s just like fashion. They’ll wear what you tell them to wear.”

How come I wasn’t that smart when I was fifteen? Oh right, the drugs. What a waste.

“Oh, and congrats on your new job,” she added before leaving the room.

Right...the new job. Sam. Old Roddy. Dex. Blogging. Training a receptionist. My sore head.

It was time for bed.

***

“Good afternoon, Allingham and Associates, Melody speaking,” Melody, our future receptionist, picked up the phone and answered in an overly saccharine voice.

I was leaning against the wall and watching her as she did her first trial run of phone answering. I had been training her all morning with the basic logistics of the job, even though she had done the job in my absence last week without any trouble. Still, I found it mildly entertaining to stand back and watch as the torch was passed down. Entertaining and extremely relieving.

See, whereas I did not make a good receptionist, Melody did. She was bubbly, amiable and focused. Though it might have been all for show—most people tried their hardest the first day on the job—something about her screamed “RECEPTIONIST.” It could have been she was cute, tanned and blonde, with the whitest teeth I had ever seen north of California. Or her enthusiasm and immediate organizational skills (she filled all the staplers on her morning break, you know, for fun). Or it could have been that she seemed genuinely interested in helping people, unlike me, who believed a dull stare was just as effective.

As I watched her take over my old job, I realized how happy I was to be going on to a new position. It was scary, of course, taking on new responsibilities. The more I thought about it, the more I worried I wouldn’t be good enough. On the other hand, maybe I could rise to the occasion, do a great job and once and for all put all my laziness, procrastination and overall apathy behind me. I could be a new person. I might surprise myself.

That didn’t mean I didn’t think about Dex during random times of the day, though. I still hadn’t heard a peep from him. I considered texting him or Facebook messaging him. Something very low key and casual, but I didn’t want to come across as desperate. You didn’t call someone back right away after a date; it was the same kind of thing.

It’s stupid how I kept on comparing our adventure to a date when it was very much the opposite. We weren’t even work partners, for crying out loud, and I started to doubt that would ever happen. But I couldn’t help it. It felt like I was in some semi-relationship with him, which made me feel even more stupid. This is how stalkers get started!

I shook my head and let out a disgusting sigh.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Melody was looking at me inquisitively, phone to her ear. I must have drifted off in my head as usual.

I shot her a quick smile and answered truthfully, “No, you are doing just fine.” I, on the other hand, was not. My mind continued to be torn between getting excited about the new position and feeling disappointed at the lack of one with Shownet.

And I didn’t improve as the day went on, either. As soon as I got home my mother whisked me off for a little shopping spree.

Now, I know a shopping spree sounds like a lot of fun, and I know Ada rightfully gave me daggers when my mother hustled me out the door, but this wasn’t supposed to be an enjoyable experience.

My mother usually takes me out on one of these excursions because A) she has bad news and wants to sweeten it up somehow, or B) she wants to go all “Eliza Doolittle” on my ass. I suspected this trip fell into the latter.

“So, what’s the deal, mom?” I asked as she gingerly pulled the car into the narrow mall parking spot for the umpteenth time.

“Is there enough room to get out?” she asked, looking over at my side. There wasn’t unless she was imagining I was thirty pounds lighter, but instead of prompting another attempt at parking, and perhaps a lecture about my diet, I told her to park. Somehow I squeezed out of the car but not without squishing my boobs against the door—glad the children in the neighboring car found that funny.

Once inside the mall, I felt my heartbeat quicken. The crowds, the pushiness, the people in the middle of the hall who worked the kiosks and practically ran after you with hand cream and hair stylers; the mall did nothing to help my panic attacks and was one of the worst places for me, especially when my nerves were shot.

My mother took no notice, as usual. She just ushered me into the Macy’s women’s department. I had it figured out, even before she started pulling various blazers and skirts. She wanted me to look more professional for my new position.

That was fair enough, I suppose. I did need to amp up my wardrobe and my band t-shirts weren’t cutting it anymore, even if I paired them with a nice skirt. I just knew my mom would squeeze me into some very unflattering and un-Perry like clothes.

And I was right. Ten minutes past and I made it out of the changing room with just one new outfit that suited me and one hell of a lecture about my weight.

“We could at least get you new shoes. Maybe some heels? You can’t gain weight in your feet,” she said brightly, and before she had time to insult me again, I was dragged in the direction of the shoe department.

Don’t get me wrong, I love shoes. But I love my kind of shoes, and my kind of shoes are the funky or comfy kind. The shoes my mom wanted me to wear would be better suited to someone else. Someone like Jenn.

The thought of her quickened my pulse.

I think my mom could tell because as the bored salesman shoved a pair of shoes back in the box, she said, “So, tell me about this man you were with. Dex?”

“You mean the producer of the show?” I said, not wanting to go down this road with her. “He’s really...interesting.”

“You like him?”

“No, Mom,” I sighed, and fingered the smooth patent finish of a pair of four-inch pumps. “Does anyone ever listen to me?”

“Pumpkin, you shouldn’t let something like a girlfriend stand in your way,” she said with a little too much conviction.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Even the salesman looked shocked at what she said, but he quickly hurried away before he could hear anymore.

“Mom,” I managed to say. “That is terrible advice to give your daughter.”

She smiled at me, and for an instant I felt like we were sharing our own private joke. “I’m not saying you should do anything. I’m just saying that sometimes life works in funny ways. When I was dating your father, there was a nice man who wanted me. He would send me flowers, ask me on dates when your father wasn’t looking. I never ended up doing anything about it; I was loyal. But I often wonder what would have happened if I went for that other man, Ted was his name, instead. Sure, your father might have been heartbroken, or at least his pride would have been lost, but he’d go on and find someone else. Ted was a very successful businessman. He went on to make millions with some sort of telephone company. My life might have been a lot better if I had ended up with him. You never know.”

This made my mind reel, never mind the pain shooting up from the balls of my feet as I attempted to stand in a pair of narrow-toed platforms.

“Uh, well you wouldn’t have had me or Ada if you went with this Ted dude,” I admonished her while trying to keep my balance.

She shrugged. “I guess. I’m just saying, perhaps it’s best to take a chance. That’s all. You should take those. They make your legs look skinniest.”

I looked down at the shoes. They didn’t make me look anything except bow-legged. But I agreed for the sake of ending this horrible conversation. It’s not that I thought my parents had the most perfect marriage, and I wouldn’t even be surprised if they secretly yearned for different lives, but to hear your mother disclose that so glibly was disturbing, to say the least.

But it wasn’t over. Things kind of got worse at the till when she paid for the devil shoes.

“Now, Perry, I hope this new advancement in your position means you’ll think more seriously about getting your own place and moving out.”

This too? The salesman and I were able to exchange a look that said “It’s not over yet?”

“Oh my God, Mom,” I exhaled loudly.

“Well, I’m just saying. You’re old enough to be responsible and move out. Please don’t think we want you to leave or anything, but with more responsibility comes… more responsibility. And I’d really love to turn your bedroom into my own room.”

“What do you mean your own room?” I eyed her suspiciously.

She shrugged and took the bag from the clerk. He looked happy to be rid of us and relieved that he didn’t have to go home with her, unlike me.

“I don’t know, pumpkin. Sometimes you get to a certain age where you want your own room and your own space. Besides, your father snores. It would be nice to get a good night’s sleep.”

I don’t know exactly how long my parents have been married but this was the first time I ever heard my mom complain about my dad’s snoring. I didn’t like where this was going at all.

As we left the mall and started our walk in the grey drizzle towards the car, our conversation drifted onto other topics, such as the newest reality show she was hooked on. I pushed what she said out of my head as much as I could.