The Labyrinth of Blue Towers:
The Disappearance of Jack Arneson
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, June 10, 2011, 7:21 pm
Chapter 2: Saturday, June 11, 2011, 8:38 am
Chapter 3: Thursday, June 28, 1984, 10:10 am
Chapter 12: Saturday, June 18, 2011, 8:00 am
Chapter 22: Saturday, June 18. 2011, 11:08 pm
Missy was constantly amazed by the rejuvenating properties of gin. As it hit the back of her throat, she felt her brain come alive, freed of the lethargy and drag she’d been feeling as a result of the shock she’d recently experienced. Poor Boyd. Was his death something that Missy and Jeanette had caused to happen or something that would have happened anyway? His mouth had been sewn shut, as if to warn others that he should never have opened it. And the people he talked to last were...
Missy took another sip. She didn’t want to think about it. The vinyl on the old stereo in the other room crackled and hissed. It was a song she didn’t recognize - way before her time, but Peter was nodding his head to the beat in appreciation. Missy was still working on her first drink, while Jeanette had already headed to the bar for her second.
“Where the hell are we?” she asked. Peter beamed a beatific smile in her direction, a Cheshire Cat smile if there ever was one. She’d have to prod him for answers. “Is this a bar? A house? A place of business? What is all this?”
And by ‘all this’, she meant the mismatched tables and chairs, including the flimsy card table they were seated at, as well as the Christmas lights which ran around the rooms' high ceilings and up the railing of the staircase in the main hall, providing the only light in the joint.
Whatever it was, it felt shabby and hollow, yet held a kind of charm, too. Skulking in the corners of the dimly lit rooms, Missy could make out a large, movie theatre-style popcorn maker- the smell of hot oil dominating the room, an old pinball machine, a foosball table, an upright piano, and, oddest of all: a tiny platform with what looked like a stripper’s pole. She knew the name of the place was The Sleep Inn, because Peter had been very specific when they’d pulled up and parked, cautioning them that it was a lot like Vegas; whatever happened within its walls, stayed within its walls. Missy had simply shrugged it off - who was she going to tell?
Stepping out of the truck. Missy had continued to marvel at the town’s ability to surprise her. The Sleep Inn was housed in a large, old Victorian that resembled a fat castle, and though it was pitch black out, she could tell that the structure still had many of its original elements, including a set of matching turrets which stood on the front corners of the house like medieval bookends. The towers’ windows radiated a comforting azure glow; the only life from the outside the house appeared to possess, other than the standard lantern-style porch lights on either side of the front door.
The ladies followed as Peter walked right into the place without knocking. Once the trio had entered, the steady hum of conversation quickly died. The only sound remaining was a mournful old Hank William’s song about whippoorwills. It seemed that all the curtains had been drawn shut. It was so dark inside it took Missy’s eyes a few moments to adjust.
Veering to the right, they made their way across well-trodden hardwood flooring to a card table in the center of the room. Some of the tables around them had a candle sitting at its center, the kind Missy remembered Grandma Jean having been fond of - tear-shaped glass globes in milky pastels, covered with white, plastic mesh netting.
“So, what would you like this evening? I think Duane’s got just about everything you could imagine. He could even whip up a couple of those Cosmopolitans that you ‘Sex in the City’ ladies are so found of.” While a Cosmo sounded fun, neither woman was in the mood for anything so colorful; they were in need of some serious booze. Missy ordered a gin martini, and Jeanette, bourbon on the rocks. Peter ambled off into the room across the hall, leaving the two outsiders the opportunity to soak up some of the local color.
People seated at the tables around them resumed their conversations, but every once in a while Missy caught one or the other casting her a sideways glance. She didn’t recognize their faces and was certain that her own unfamiliarity was at the heart of the chilly reception. Once her eyes had adjusted. Missy decided to get up and explore. There were nine other people of various ages in the room they’d been seated in and one middle-aged couple dancing in the room across the hall. Missy surmised that their card table was in what must have once been the receiving room, while the one across the hall, where the couple now danced, would have served as the living room. Behind them, the former dining room ran the width of the house and appeared to be a bit narrower than the two front rooms. It was set up like a theater, with a series of mismatched folding chairs in rows facing the platform with the stripper pole. A few men sat in the last row, their backs to Missy. Through a doorway leading to the rear of the house, Missy could see that there was a brightly-lit kitchen and someone was actually in there, cooking, but she couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman.
Peter poked his head into the theater room and told Missy that her drink was waiting for her. She gave him a tiny smile of appreciation and made her way back to the card table.
Pleasantly surprised. Missy saw that her martini was in an actual stemmed martini glass, complete with olive. It looked so good she wanted to bathe in it. An empty glass sat in front of Jeanette. Had she really downed a whole drink that quickly?
As Missy sat, Jeanette rose. “Where’s the bartender and how much are drinks?”
Peter laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You’re drinking on me. Duane’s around the corner in the next room, next to the stereo. I already told him who you are. Hey, do me a favor and ask him to put on some classic ’Stones’.” Jeanette grabbed her glass and, without a word, moved into the next room. If she didn’t know what Peter meant by ‘classic Stones’, she didn’t let on.
All of which brought Missy to the question: “What is all this?”
“Well, I suppose I could tell you about it, but aren’t you bored with all my storytelling?”
“Oh, darlin’, I am many things when I’m with you, but bored is not one of them.” Two sips in and Missy was already feeling the effects of the gin. She welcomed the relief. Peter laughed. And blushed a bit? She wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell because of all the twinkly Christmas lights.
“The house you’re sitting in used to belong to one Hattie Oswig, a cousin of the three Oswig sisters. It’s one of the original houses their family built. When Hattie passed on, it was assumed that it would be handed over to the sisters, Hattie’s next of kin, but just to piss them off, mainly because they had always treated her like dirt, Hattie left the house to a group of neighbors and friends who had helped her as she’d grown older. Duane had done all the upkeep on the house, and Loretta, she’s the one in the other room, dancing with her husband, Mark; she used to do Hattie’s shopping and cook her meals and such. Martin - he’s back there in the kitchen - he used to mow her lawn for free. Well, nothing anybody ever did for that old woman was forgotten and they all got their names placed on the deed to this property by Hattie’s lawyers.
With so many on the deed, nobody could actually move in. There was some discussion about selling the house, but they reasoned that the Oswig sister’s would try to buy it, and this house ending up in their hands is exactly what Hattie did not want to happen, so that idea was shelved, too. And none of them had the kind of money to buy the other out, so they came up with the idea for The Sleep Inn; a sort of social club, if you will.”
Peter paused, taking a sip of his beer. The idea of a social club in the middle of a residential block struck Missy as odd, but then, she reminded herself, she was in St. Petersburg. “So, this is a business? Or a community center?”
Setting his beer down, Peter continued, “We all drop something into the kitty once a week, and based on who contributes and how much there is, Duane buys booze and food and pays the utilities. Some is put aside for taxes, too. See, there’s a city ordinance on the books, put there by the Oswig family a long time ago, that there’s never to be a bar or a liquor store in St. Petersburg. Which, needless to say, has been a point of contention between the good citizens of St. Petersburg and the Oswigs for a very long time.”
“Couldn’t they just vote to overturn the law?” Missy knew that happened in the Twin Cities all the time
Peter sighed “That’s not how things work around here. Anyway, the thought of this house becoming a place where liquor was consumed? That just sent the sisters over the edge. They were furious. First they tried to protest the will, but the judge ruled against them. Then they threatened all sorts of legal action - some of the letters are framed and hanging in the bathroom upstairs - they even tried to get Sheriff Paul involved. Of course, what they didn’t realize at the time was that Sheriff Paul was one of the fellas Hattie left the house to!
Initially we were just going to keep it to the inner circle, but that circle just kept growing and growing. It’s now to the point where if you donate a bottle or two to the bar, you’re more than welcome, as long as you abide by the club rules.” Peter smiled at Missy. “Well, there you have it, the story of The Sleep Inn. Any other questions?”
Missy had hoped he would ask. “Actually, yes. First off, thank you for the drink. I plan to sip it slowly, and I mean very slowly, because, like your very presence, it is going straight to my head.”
Peter’s face grew concerned. He sprang up, “Oh, let me get Martin to make you something. He’s got burgers back there. Or he can make you a grilled cheese, or a fried egg sandwich”
Missy’s attempt to flirt had missed its mark. Feeling a bit foolish, she smiled and ordered a burger and fries.
“No fries, though. Only chips.” Peter’s eye looked toward the ceiling, searching for the right words. “You see.., Martin, well, he’s a little, slow, and we don’t trust him with a deep fryer. Hey, I’ll go put your order in. You think your aunt would like..."
“Like what?” Jeanette had finally returned to the table. Her glass was three-quarters full, so Missy guessed she was probably on at least her third drink. Assuming that was the case, Missy pointedly answered for her “Yes, my aunt would like a burger Thank you, Peter.”
Peter moved to the back of the house, through the archway that led to the theatre area. Once he was gone. Missy looked her aunt over “You okay?”
“No, and if you tell me you are then I’m going to call you a liar. This has been one weird-ass day.” She sank into her seat. Her eyes scanned the room around them “And this is one weird ass place.”
Missy smiled. “You just missed the lowdown. You know what this place is?”
Her aunt shook her head “It’s a freak show. Missy. A God damn freak show.” She took another sip of her drink.
Jeanette’s assessment struck Missy as a bit harsh. “What?”
Jeanette continued, “Mark my words. There’s more freak flags flying here than in the skeeziest bathhouse in San Francisco.”
Again, her aunt’s words shocked Missy. “What would make you say that? And just what would you know about bathhouses in San Francisco?” she asked incredulously.
Jeanette pursed her lips and fell silent, but her eyes told Missy a different story. She persisted. “When were you in a bathhouse in San Francisco?”
Jeanette’s face went blank. “Another story for a different time. But believe me; if we stay here we are going to start to see things we wish we hadn’t. That’s all I’m saying. This place? This is not the kind of place your Grandma would approve of, dig?”
Missy found her aunt’s take on the place to be a bit disturbing, to say the least, but before she could question her further Peter returned. “Martin’s got your burgers cooking. It’ll just be a few minutes You need another drink. Missy?” He was now on his way to the bar
‘I’m good, thank you!”
The moment Peter disappeared through the archway into the adjoining room, a familiar voice rang out, “Missy!”
Missy turned to look. Coming out of the little theatre room was none other than Adam the admin, munching on some popcorn. He sat himself down in the seat vacated by Peter. In a hushed tone, he asked, “Did you hear about what happened out at the Monastery, tonight? Scary, scary!”
Missy nodded “Yes, we were there - not when it happened, but afterwards. Peter took us.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Peter? You mean Pete Repeat?” Again Missy nodded “Ohhhh.” Adam placed his bag of popcorn on the table and sat back in his seat with his arms crossed. Something about this shift in posture gave Missy the impression that he was passing judgment of some kind. When he spoke again, his tone was almost like that of a concerned parent “And how exactly did you meet him?” Missy explained. There was something rather guarded about the way Adam was listening. When she’d finished, a polite smile was all she got from him, as if there was something he wasn’t telling her. “Well, isn’t that .. nice.” He said this in a manner that gave Missy the impression that it was anything but, and then he abruptly changed the subject completely. “Hey, what do you think of these jeans! I got them in Minneapolis a couple weeks ago. They fit like my skin!”
He did look cute. The skinny jeans, a tight-fitting, lime-green shirt, and the wild spikes of his hair brought out his elf-self even more. His wrists were adorned with brightly colored rubber bracelets sporting one cause or another and upon closer inspection, she realized he was also wearing eyeliner, or ‘guyliner’, she thought they called it. Given their surroundings, all his carefully orchestrated trendiness seemed out of place, prompting Missy to ask, “Adam? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m here for the show Aren't you?’” He could tell by her expression that she had no idea what he was talking about “It’s Saturday night, hon. There’s a little show we put on here, after all the kids are in bed. Nothing fancy, complete amateur hour, for sure, but we sure have fun. Doesn’t start until midnight, though, which is actually creeping up awfully fast. Are you going to stay?”
“Are you in it?”
“Oh, God, no!” He waved her away. “You don’t want me up there singing and dancing. This place is freaky enough.” Jeanette shot Missy an I-told-you-so-look. If Adam caught it, he didn’t question it. He continued, “I’m just here to support my boyfriend. He sings. I think the two of you have already met. Out at Abe Logan’s place? Another nightmare, I know! Two in one day! I think that’s a record. Of course...” and with this, Adam began to laugh, “records were meant to be broken. The whole town’s praying the three Oswig sisters all drop at once. For us, that would be like winning the lottery.”
Jeanette piped up “Did you know Boyd?” This question definitely had a sobering effect on Adam.
“No. Not really. Different circles. I’d see him slithering around every once in a while. So, I guess you could say I knew about him. He was permanently eighty-sixed from The Sleep Inn. That he’s dead? That someone killed him? Doesn’t surprise me a bit.”
Missy was struck by how callously Adam said this. “Why?”
“His lifestyle, for one And secondly...” and for this Adam again leaned way in, “he didn’t exactly make friends easily. He was always in trouble. Patrick picked him up for one thing or another so many times, mostly for stealing. It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so sad. You remember Patrick? Out at Abe Longren’s place? He said you seemed real scared.”
Missy’s mind raced through the faces she’d seen out at Abe’s. There was Sheriff Paul, that guy taking photos, but she didn’t get any further before Adam saved her the trouble. “Look to your right He’s sitting in front of the big bay window with a couple of friends He’s a Deputy with the Sheriff's department. Needless to say, we make good use of that uniform!”
Missy laughed. She turned towards the front of the house and recognized Patrick as the one that had been put in charge of watching Missy and Jeanette as they sat in the Sheriff’s car. He wasn’t at all what Missy had pictured Adam to be into. The Deputy seemed so rural, like something off of a recruitment poster for the Marines, but then sometimes opposites attract. Or maybe, given the size of St. Petersburg, there wasn’t all that much to choose from, and given that, they were lucky to have found one another.
Adam was already onto another subject. “So, did you two have a nice visit with Kathleen? I must say, you certainly stirred her pot, today.”
Missy was unfamiliar with the turn of phrase, though she sort of got its drift. “How so?”
“She was kind of upset when you left. Wouldn’t tell me why, but it definitely had something to do with the two of you. Not that it takes much. Especially these days. There’s all sorts of talk at work. Her brother’s making noise, threatening a kind of family coup. I guess He resents Kathleen so much, on account that she was their Daddy’s favorite.”
Missy warmed to this change in conversation “There is something about her that seems kind of fragile. How long has her father been .. gone?”
“Old Ray? A few years, now. She took it very badly. Not Ray, Jr., though.” Adam shook his head. “He’s a different breed.”
“In what way?”
“Mean. They say he was a mean little boy and now he’s a mean little man. Take my advice: steer clear. Kathleen does. As well as she can, given they work at the same place and live in the same house. Why she stays, I have no idea. I mean it’s a big house. Beautiful, really. Right on the river. But I can’t imagine that place some nights with just the two of them rambling around inside it - like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story.”
Missy got the picture. “You know, we never did get her to admit that B&T Bread was actually Brother’s Bread.”
Adam looked at her, thoughtfully. “Technically, it isn’t. The Tollefsons had their own bakery downtown for years; it just wasn’t as successful as Brother’s Bread, which irked Old Ray to no end. It became his life’s mission to buy them out and steal their recipes. When the sex scandal at the Monastery broke in the late 90’s, he seized the opportunity to do just that. Since then, B&T has done all they can to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the brothers. And who can blame them? People have long memories; especially when it comes to crimes against children.”
This last statement piqued Jeanette’s interest. “That’s what brought us to town. My mother. Missy’s grandmother, she had some memories, well dreams, actually...”
Clearly the liquor in her system had lowered Jeanette’s guard. Missy wasn’t sure where her aunt was headed, but she had no intention of sharing their true mission with Adam. She attempted to change the subject, asking about how long Adam had been going with Patrick, but Jeanette remained undeterred. Her aunt retrieved the list from her bag. “By the way, this place is on the list, did you know that?” This last question was addressed to Missy “Here, take a look ” Missy bent close to see “There Last item on the list With the blue lights in the towers outside - it was the first thing I thought of.”
Missy shook her head. The item read, ‘Labyrinth of Blue Towers’. “Okay, I see the towers, but where’s the labyrinth?”
Jeanette’s face twisted in thought “Maybe it’s metaphorical.”
Missy laughed She couldn’t help herself. Jeanette seemed to take umbrage to this “What? Don’t look so surprised. I know big words. Maybe the labyrinth refers to these people and our having to navigate our way through them in order to find the truth.”
“That’s a stretch.” But then. Missy thought, hadn’t it all been a stretch?
Adam leaned in once more, taking a peek at the list in Jeanette’s hands. “What’s that?” he asked “You guys on a scavenger hunt or something?”
“Yes, you could say that.. a scavenger hunt.” For some reason, perhaps because Adam had proved himself to be such an active gossip, Missy did not want him to learn the real reason for their presence in St. Petersburg. She’d shared the information with Kathleen because she seemed the type that kept secrets. Adam, on the other hand, seemed the type to share a bit too indiscriminately for Missy’s comfort. “Jeanette, put that list away.” she ordered. “We don’t need to call attention to it.”
Again, Jeanette became defiant. “What’s the big deal? You showed it to Kathleen.”
“Yeah, and I’m not sure she reacted all that well to it. Seems the meeting ended rather abruptly after that.”
Jeanette scoffed “She sure was touchy about those books.”
Adam gasped. “Oh. those books! Those are her babies. You didn’t touch them, did you?” He laughed “That would explain why she was so upset. Seriously. We all know better than to even look in their direction.”
Now Missy was more than determined to put an end to this conversation “Hear that, Jeanette? Put that list away before I bring up a little something else you got tucked inside that big old purse of yours.”
Jeanette’s eyes went big. She was about to protest when the place went silent, as if the air had been sucked out of the room. All eyes were now focused on a woman who was standing in the dimly lit hallway. Her clothing was that of someone who definitely frequented the racks at the local Shopko. She was short, squat with a hardy, sturdy body. A pile of badly-streaked frizzy curls fell about her face in a blunt cut just above her shoulders. Missy couldn’t tell if her hair had been treated with some kind of hair product or if it just needed a good shampoo. The woman took in her surroundings with a look of mistrust etched into her flat face. She appeared defeated, lost. In the hush of the room, her words fell heavy.
“Don’t judge”
With that, she turned and walked into the opposite room. The hiss of people whispering filled the hollow in her wake. Both Jeanette and Missy turned to Adam for an explanation.
His eyes were still glued to the place where the woman had stood as he spoke softly, “That’s Mary, Dean Boyd’s mom.”
Missy’s heart went out to the woman. How awful. Then she felt consumed by guilt. Had her actions caused this woman pain?
“It is sad,” Adam added, “but I really think we all saw it - his death, coming. Not in the manner it happened, of course, who could, but... well, you met him. You could sense his days were numbered.” If Adam was looking for agreement he sure didn’t stick around for it. Springing to his feet he bid the ladies adieu, and went to go sit with his boyfriend Patrick, no doubt in order to feed on the salacious details of Boyd’s death.
Just then, Peter and the burgers arrived. They were hand-patted burgers in store bought buns garnished with fluorescent green crinkle-cut pickle slices, a leaf of iceberg lettuce, and a thick slice of pale tomato, served up on a Styrofoam plate. For some reason, the sight and smell of that food brought joy to Missy’s heart, so relieved was she to see something common and simple, given how odd everything around her seemed. Without much in the way of conversation, the women tore into their burgers, thanking Peter for his thoughtfulness between bites. It seemed to be just the thing to bolster Missy’s courage, for midway through her burger; she finally dared to ask something she’d been dying to ask. “So, why was Boyd found hanging upside down? It looked ritualistic. Was it satanic?”
Peter’s smile vanished. “Ritualistic, probably. Not satanic. Opposite, actually.” He explained, “Saint Peter was crucified upside down, in a similar manner Oh, little known fact, the entire monetary? It’s shaped just like the cross of St Peter - from above. I suppose if the Brothers ever did give tours that would be something they might want to share. But as far as Boyd is concerned? I think the killer was just doing a sort of homage.”
“Was Saint Peter’s mouth sewn shut?” Jeanette asked.
Peter shook his head. “No. That... that was probably meant as some kind of warning. To others.”
“To who?” Jeanette asked.
Again, Peter shook his head “I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask the killer.”
“Or killers.” offered Jeanette. “Surely you don’t think one person could have arranged all that by himself. The logistics would seem to suggest more than one person was involved.”
Peter pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair “Dunno. Maybe. Anything is possible, I guess.”
“You’re the ones, aren’t you?”
It was Mary Dean. No one had noticed her approaching the table. She stood before them, drink in hand “You’re the last ones to talk to him. Why’d you do that? Huh? Whattda say to him?” She was drunk; her words slurring slightly. “He was a good boy. He just had bad things happen. He never meant to hurt anyone.” As she spoke, she appeared to be folding into herself, her voice becoming more tearful. And then, out of the blue, she simply exploded. Her eyes ablaze, she told them, “It would have been better if Peg Powler herself had taken him. You shouldn’t of come here. Stirring stuff up. This is all your fault.” Her right hand flew back, as if she was going to throw her drink at them.
“That’s enough, Mary.”
Someone had come up behind the woman and taken hold of her wrist. It was Sheriff Paul. Missy almost didn’t recognize him, because he was out of uniform and not wearing his hat. Mary Dean resisted, but the Sheriff towered over her, so it was easy for him to overpower her. “I said, 'enough’.” He removed the drink from her hand and took a sip “Mary. I want you to head on home, okay? You need some rest.”
Mary Dean’s body crumpled, as if all the air had escaped her body and without another word, she shuffled back in the direction of the bar. The woman Peter had identified as Loretta met her in the hall and ushered her away, but not before shooting Missy the evil eye. Sherriff Paul watched Mary go, raised the glass and took a second sip. “Ahh, not my brand. But good enough. Evening, ladies!” Once again, there was something odd about the Sheriff's tone. Odd enough that it scrambled Missy’s receiver. He moved to the front of their table as he continued to speak. “Still following my every order, huh? Good thing you kept a low profile like I asked.”
It was at that moment that the pieces started to fall into place for Missy - what had seemed so odd about Sheriff Paul, it was the way he was dressed! He was wearing the same blouse Missy had purchased at the Shopko that very afternoon! It was a different shade; a pale green, but definitely the exact same blouse. And what was under the blouse only made Missy’s eyebrows rise further. A pair of grapefruit? That would have been Missy’s guess; grapefruit slung in a bra. What with the mustache, the balding buzz cut, and the stern scolding, it was all just a bit too much. Missy wasn’t sure if she should laugh or not. She knew she wanted to. She shot a look over to her aunt, and from the look on Jeanette’s face, Missy knew laughter was not the appropriate response.
If the Sheriff noticed Missy’s reaction, he didn’t let on. Instead he took another sip of the drink and said to no one in particular, “Got a god damn mess out there at the Monastery. Gonna have a hell of a time trying to pass that one off as a suicide.” With that, he gave the table a wink and made a gesture, as if he was tipping an imaginary hat “Enjoy your evening, ladies. Stay out of trouble. Oh, and by the way” he paused, and bent down so that only those seated could hear him, “it looks like poor Boyd was still alive when his mouth was shown shut. Imagine that, huh?” He smiled a wicked smile and snatching the bag of popcorn left by Adam, strolled off toward the theatre room, seating himself in the front row, propping his feet up, cowboy boots resting on the stage.
Someone banged out a jaunty old vaudeville melody on the upright piano. The sudden sound, in light of the Sherriff s recent veiled threat, startled Jeanette and Missy. Peter rose without any acknowledgement of the strange scene that had just transpired and said, “Ladies? It’s show time.” He, along with the others in the room, shuffled off in the direction of the theatre.
The piano playing came to an abrupt halt as recorded music swelled from unseen sources. Dim lights came up on the stage; red and blue. A follow spot hit the figure of a young blond woman wearing a bejeweled Mardi Gras mask, her scarlet lips still visible. She entered from the far side of the stage to an old Sade song. Sauntering gamely across the stage, a flame of pointed feathers framing her head. Missy was struck by how awkwardly exotic the whole vision seemed. All the woman was wearing was a two-piece swimsuit edged in satin fringe like a 1950’s burlesque dancer and a pair of perilous stilettoes. Missy watched transfixed as the figure moved toward the stripper pole, her movements halting, and jagged. Suddenly Missy realized who it was - it was Libby, the waitress from Dale’s Diner!
Again, Missy’s mind went into a kind of tizzy. She had no idea what to think Was it comical? Tragic? What should she feel? Should she be happy for the woman? Cheer her on? Or was it a travesty - something that should have been stopped by those who knew better? Adding to the confusion she felt was the sight of Sheriff Paul sitting in front row, his cowboy boots still resting on the stage, throwing popcorn down his leering gullet. The audience began to hoot and holler, catcalls filling the air That did it. It was too much. This whole place was just too much. Her aunt had been right, Missy needed to get out of there. The bathroom. There must be a bathroom somewhere. Rising, Missy made her way over to Peter who was standing with his back to her in the archway which led to the theatre. Tapping him on the shoulder, his head swiveled about. “What, hon?”
“I think... I need to... where’s the bathroom?”
Peter smiled “Right this way.” Taking her by the elbow, he guided her to the hallway. He pointed at the stairs. “Last door on the left.”
Missy began to trudge up the steps when her eye caught sight of a door to the right of the staircase. “What’s that?”
Peter winked. “Just the basement. Nothing that you need to know about. Hurry back.” and with that he returned to the main room, to watch the show.
At the top of the stairs, Missy found a wide hallway lined with six doors. Outside each door was a small antique sconce, lighting her way. As she padded down the linoleum covered corridor, she paused briefly in front of each door. Behind one, she detected the sounds of snoring, no doubt someone sleeping it off. Further down the hall, she could make out the unmistakable, muted sounds of a couple making love. Hushed, but primal, it wasn’t something Missy wanted to contemplate at the moment, so she moved on quickly. Reaching the final door on the left, she entered and closed it quickly behind her.
The claw foot tub, porcelain fixtures, and tiny white octagon-shaped tiled floor provided the coolness her body desired Just as Peter had said, the walls were covered with a series of framed, officious-looking letters, but Missy’s head was too clouded for her to sift through their meaning now. Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face before looking in the mirror above the sink. Oh, what a sight She looked horribly tired, something not even the best make-up could possibly conceal. She cursed herself for not having the foresight to bring her purse with her. Thank God for water proof mascara. The rest? Kind of a lost cause.
Just before opening the door, Missy looked longingly at the claw foot tub. It would’ve felt so nice to bask in a tub full of hot, cleansing water. The thought made her smile and she promised herself she would do just that - if she ever got back home again.
Walking down the hall, she could not help herself; she just had to pause if front of the door where she’d earlier heard the couple having sex. All was quiet now. Maybe they were cuddling. That would be sweet and feel almost as good as a warm bath. Man, thought Missy, I sure am in need of something.
At the foot of the stairs. Missy found Jeanette waiting for her, purse in hand. She didn’t wait for Missy to get all the way down before speaking. “Missy, I’ve had enough. I need to go back to the hotel. And when we get there, I think we should get in the car and just go home.”
Wouldn’t that be nice! But Missy knew better. “But the Sheriff...”
“Screw the Sheriff!” Jeanette was really in a huff “Let him come after us if he wants. I’m going upstairs to use the bathroom and then we are out of here.” The older woman moved past Missy on the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. In her wake. Missy caught sight of the basement door once more. Thinking it might be her one and only opportunity to check it out; she decided to go for it. Based on what she had seen and heard so far in this house, she could only imagine what kind of weirdness was waiting for her down there.
Opening the door, she slipped inside and found herself on a landing, bathed in the red glow of a bare bulb sticking out of the ceiling above With great care, she made her way down the wooden steps. The place smelled cool and damp, and there was also something else mildew? Probably. At the bottom of the steps she found herself standing in a small room with four door-less entryways to choose from.
Was this the labyrinth? The labyrinth of the blue towers on Grandma Jean’s list?
Tentatively, she took a step towards the path furthest to her left. The solid black plywood wall turned sharply to the right at a forty-five degree angle. Feeling her way along, she ventured forward. It brought to mind the haunted house at the state fair which Missy had walked through numerous times over the years. After a few more turns, a sense of relief flooded her body, for she saw the promise of a red glow ahead. Moving towards it, she soon found herself in another small room. Heavy chains equipped with black leather wrist bands hung menacingly from the foundation stone in front of her. Shackles? To her right, she spied a table with various paddles, whips, and other devices. She knew better than to study the table’s items too carefully. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as her flesh went all goose-bumpy. She knew at that moment that she absolutely had to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Turning around. Missy found herself stumbling blindly into the darkness from which she had just come. She’d almost reached the end of the passage when she ran smack into someone - it was Peter! Before he could stop her. Missy felt a scream of terror erupt from her core. Though it probably, in retrospect, was not a sound unfamiliar to the walls of this basement it definitely felt out of place at that moment. Embarrassed. Missy covered her mouth.
Instead of laughing, Peter simply put his index finger to his lips in order to quiet Missy, grabbed her by the elbow, and led her up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, before opening the door, Peter turned to her and said in a knowing voice, “Things that happen in the dark should remain in the dark.” With that, he opened the door, allowing the relatively fresh air of the hallway to greet Missy’s chastened face.
That was the last straw. Jeanette was absolutely right; it really was time to get the hell out of Dodge!
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1 comment:
OMG
This is giving me David Lynch all the way! And Sheriff Paul? Who the fuck knew??
XOXO
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