Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Page 14

  “This is where you live?” asks Melissa.

  “This is it, me and my grandparents.”

  “Aren’t they going to mind me staying here?”

  “Naw, they’ll be gone the rest of the summer, fall, and most of the winter. They have another home in Orlando, Florida, so they spend a lot of time down there.”

  “Oh.” Melissa gazes up at the yellow colonial style home. Like the other homes, it also has an immaculate garden. It sits pushed back from the street, and thick evergreen bushes graze its outer boundaries. Its white columns support a spacious balcony that extends from one of the second floor rooms.

  As they continue up the driveway, Melissa smiles at the garage, a cute miniature version of the home.

  “This is a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you. You’ll enjoy yourself here.”

  The two exit the vehicle and enter the house through a side door. Once inside, Morgan finds the light switch and illuminates the kitchen. With its marble counter top, dangling copper cooking utensils, and brightly polished pots and pans, Melissa recalls a similar kitchen in the Better Homes and Gardens magazine. She has only fantasized of such a place. Opening her eyes wide, she takes a mental snap shot of all its beauty, just in case this is some sort of dream. Even though she feels exhaustion overwhelming her, she methodically visits each room. She has no need for Morgan to give her a tour; she allows her senses to guide her through the impeccable home. The beauty of each room captivates her. Finding each light switch, her mouth gapes in awe.

  Realizing the street life has adapted her senses to much less pic- turesque surroundings, Morgan allows her to wander.

  Stopping at one particular dark room, Melissa searches the wall, looking for the light switch, when suddenly a strong arm reaches over her.

  “I see you’ve found your room.”

  Smiling, Melissa turns.

  Morgan switches on the light, then gestures goodnight with a simple nod of his head. He steps back into the doorway and with a mild-mannered grin, he closes the door in front of him. The room is just as colonial as the outside. The carpet is a satiny peach tone that comfortably covers the entire floor. One dresser sits lonely in the far corner, attractively topped with tiny animal figurines. The tiny sculptures sit upon a pure white lace cloth that loosely drapes off the sides of the dresser. Wallpaper with a light bouquet pattern covers the wall with the whisking shadow of a ceiling fan crossing it. Melissa gazes at the soft flowery patterned ceiling fan crossing it. Melissa gazes at the soft flowery patterned watt bulbs lighting the room. The oversized pillows line the head of the bed, their deep, fluffy appearance inducing a huge yawn. Melissa waltzes toward the bed, performing a private strip show. She ends up unclothed before reaching the foot of the bed. Slipping her nude body between the dark, floral patterned sheets, she lays her head gently. The puffy down-feathered pillows swallow her. Too tired to even attempt to get up and flip the light switch, she just buries her head even deeper before closing her eyes.

  6

  A

  knock on the door awakens Melissa. She opens her eyes slowly, then quickly shuts them as the blinding sunlight invades her pupils. Lifting herself to the headboard, she

  makes sure her nude body is fully covered.

  “Come in.”

  The door is pushed open, with its bottom brushing against the

  thick carpet.

  “Good morning.” Morgan takes a brief pause in the doorway.

  He’s wearing a red checkered plaid shirt and blue jeans which have

  seen their better days. He walks into the room with a towel, wash-

  cloth, and a small stack of clothes. “This will get you started,” he

  says, approaching the foot of the bed and placing the small stack

  down. “If you need anything, just let me know. As far as break-

  fast goes, I can’t cook worth a damn, so there’s some Wheaties

  down in the cabinet. If the spirit moves you, you can always whip

  yourself up something else. Everything you need is in the kitchen.

  I need to mow the lawn, so I’ll be outside.” Morgan turns and

  begins to walk out.

  “Morgan,” says Melissa softly. He turns. “Thank you.” “Are you kidding? It’s my pleasure,” he answers, walking out

  and closing the door behind him.

  As Melissa stares at the clothing, her mind begins to wander. Sarah, I wish you were here with me. I think this could really

  be a beginning of something good. This man, I think, is truly trying to help me. He doesn’t seem as useless as you always said men

  were; this one seems nice. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what

  happened with Harry; I was too ashamed.

  Almost teary-eyed, Melissa reaches for the towel and hand

  cloth.

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu An hour later, Melissa waltzes out of the house, wearing an oversized shirt with gym shorts. Standing in the shade, she views the magnificent front lawn and garden. She peers at the small trees that have come to full bloom with their beautiful pink and white blossoms. The humid summer breeze swirls around the house, peeking through any opening it can find.

  The front porch is broad and spacious with a few small potted plants lining the inside of the white banisters. Melissa can’t help but notice the little yellow swing that squeaks with each passing of the summer wind. She walks over to it, but before sitting down, she gently strokes the smooth wood and supporting chains, savoring the moment. As she sits, she hears a loud roaring sound coming from around the corner. Soon after, Morgan emerges, shirtless, pushing a shiny red lawnmower. Not noticing Melissa sitting on the porch, he continues his mowing, making sure to avoid the precious flower beds.

  Melissa enjoys the sight of this handsome shirtless man. She watches his muscles vibrate as they control the loud mower. Sweat beads on his forehead, then pours down his face and hairy chest. His skin lightly tanned, his hair a deep black, Melissa thinks of him as one of those gorgeous men she’s often seen in GQ magazines. Viewing him fully once more, she smiles to herself. She watches closely as he stops for a brief moment to wipe his perspiration. As he reaches down to shut off the mower, she eyes the bulging bicep helping to flip the small lever. Then reaching back, he pulls out a white cotton cloth and gently strokes his face and torso. Suddenly, for some odd reason, a vivid picture of Harry pops into her head, reminding her of her recent bad decision. Quickly blinking, she washes the picture away.

  “You’re outta bed! I hope the mower didn’t force you to get up,” Morgan says.

  “No, I was about ready to get up anyway.”

  “How was your sleep?” asks Morgan as he walks toward the porch stairs.

  “I slept fine; the bed felt good.”

  “That’s good.” Morgan walks up to Melissa and takes a seat next to her.

  “You know, I can leave anytime. You don’t have to let me stay here.”

  “Oh please, don’t worry about that. Plus, you’re doing me a favor by staying here. I need someone here so I don’t have to be in this big house alone all the time.”

  “What about your girlfriend?” Melissa asks.

  “Nope, don’t have one. Nobody seems to be able to handle my long hours and dangerous job.” Melissa takes another look at the garden.

  “Your grandparents did all this?”

  “They sure did,” he answers with a proud smile.

  “Where are your parents?”

  “They live in Philadelphia.”

  “Get to see ‘em often?”

  “As often as I can.” The two take a brief pause. “What about you, where’s your family?” asks Morgan. Melissa’s lips button shut. “Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just nosy. I’m starving. Let’s go inside and get something to eat.” Morgan stands and walks to the front door, then opens the screen door for Melissa. At first, she’s hesi- tant, still thinking about his probing question, but she rises and enters the home.

&nbs
p; Melissa searches the kitchen for the necessary ingredients to prepare a tasteful breakfast. Compiling some jumbo eggs, hickory sausage, and frozen home fries, she tries to resurrect the memory of her mom’s cooking skills. Once Melissa’s cooking is underway, Morgan enters the kitchen after a soothing hot shower.

  “Wow, something smells good.”

  “Who the hell are you kidding?!” Melissa fans away some of the thick smoke, revealing black, unappetizing portions of circular sausages. “Damn, I can’t do this. Sarah did all our cooking at the apartment. All the other times, we ate at the mission.”

  Morgan chuckles and says, “I told you I had Wheaties.” Melissa stops and laughs. Soon Morgan joins her with his own laughter. The unexpected ringing of the phone interrupts their comical moment.

  “Hello? I’m sorry, they aren’t here. They’ll be out of town for a while. Well, I’m sorry they didn’t tell you, Mrs. LaSalle, but I’ll be sure to give them the message as soon as I speak to them. Sure, Mrs. LaSalle, will do, bye-bye.”

  “Looking for your grandparents?” asks Melissa.

  “Yep, they go out of town so much no one can ever keep up with them. Now, how about those Wheaties?”

  With a small snicker of laughter, Melissa answers, “Sure.”

  7

  T

  he days come and go, and weeks quickly fly by. Melissa and Morgan’s simple arrangement remains stable. Melissa no longer looks like the street dweller she is used to being. Now she looks like a beautiful young woman. Her hair nicely styled, her face clean and healthy. She is a captivating sight. Because she stays in the house all day, she occupies her time by keeping the place neat and sometimes venturing out into the garden to prune the bushes and tend to the flowers. Reading Time Life books on gardening, she picks up the tricks of the trade quite quickly. Even though Morgan and she haven’t even kissed, she feels like his wife, taking care of all the shopping and household needs. Melissa often thinks about the people she left behind at the mission, but she understands fully that she has to move on with her life.

  She often wonders why such a handsome man doesn’t even have visitors. When he answers the phone, he only stays on for a few moments. His whole attitude is that of seclusion and hermitlike behavior.

  Morgan remains gone most of the time because of his work with the department; if he’s not fighting a blaze somewhere, he’s fast asleep at the station. Each time he comes home, no matter how exhausting the day has been, he always finds a kind smile and gentle words for Melissa.

  On his days off, they take walks along the large lake in the shallow woodland behind the house. Their conversations often drift into personal aspects of Morgan’s life, but as soon as the spotlight turns to Melissa, she quickly quiets. Morgan never pushes the issue, he just continues along another train of thought.

  Melissa, feeling obligated to give Morgan some type of payment for his hospitality, often mentions going to get a job. Mor- gan, however, explains to her that she shouldn’t get just any ole job. She should wait until the job fair next month, and he will talk to some of his old colleagues for her. That way she will be able to stay off the streets for good and possibly raise a family. Melissa often hopes that when he mentions a family, he will turn and look at her with that special smile, but it never happens.

  One early afternoon, Melissa rests quietly, watching her daily soap operas, when a commercial comes on that directs her into serious thought. The commercial only lasts thirty seconds, but Melissa’s puzzled look lasts much longer.

  She stands slowly from the plush chair and walks dazedly through the room, toward the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, she turns on the water and begins splashing her face. After a few moments, she lifts her head from the sink and silences the running water. Looking at her drenched face in the mirror, she begins knocking herself on the head, trying to force herself to remember some important fact. Her hair clings to the sides of her head and face, her skin color begins to withdraw. Her eyes grow wide, her lips wrench into an angry sneer.

  “It can’t be,” she mutters angrily. “It just can’t!” Melissa snatches one of the thick blue towels from the towel bar and begins rubbing her face fiercely. Visibly distraught, she tries to calm herself by burying her head into the towel. “Please no,” she begs from within the towel. Her soul suddenly stings in agony, her stomach churns, her skin becomes flush with pure anguish, and she almost passes out. Dropping the towel, she grabs onto the towel rack to maintain her balance. Slowing her rapid breathing, Melissa calms herself.

  With little haste, she runs out of the bathroom and quickly grabs the small duffel bag that doubles as her purse. Slamming the door behind her, she hurries down the street.

  Exhausted from her hasty walk, Melissa gathers her senses as she walks through the electronic doors of Epstein’s Food and Drug. Holding her duffel bag tightly, she strolls past each aisle. As if she has committed a crime, she avoids eye contact with the other patrons. When an inquisitive employee asks if she needs any help, she just shakes her head and continues. Once at the aisle she seeks, Melissa takes a brief pause.

  8

  S ometime later that afternoon, Morgan pulls up to the house. Walking up the steps onto the front porch, he hears a slight sniffling sound. Opening the screen door, the slight snif-

  fling amplifies into a muffled cry. Feeling a sense of urgency, he quickly locates the sound coming from the bathroom. Rushing in, he finds Melissa huddled in the tub with a small pool of blood next to her hands. The bathroom mirror is smashed and pieces of glass fill the sink and decorate the floor. Morgan sees where the blood trail starts. He notices one particular sharp edged piece of glass. Its tip is covered with blood droplets surround it trailing to the tub.

  “Melissa!” he screams. Melissa, still crying, doesn’t respond. “What the hell are you doing?!” Morgan’s tone becomes angry, then strangely fright fills his eyes. He quickly turns, looking out the bathroom as if to watch for someone or something. His heart races, praying she hasn’t seriously hurt herself. “Shit, you’re going to be the death of me, girl,” he says as he checks her arms. Seeing that her cuts look much worse than they actually are, he wraps her arms in a towel, then lifts her from the tub.

  Before Morgan leaves the bathroom carrying Melissa, he observes a small, white, slender object sitting in the sink amongst the glass and blood. Curious, he steps over to it. It isn’t long before he sees the blue plus sign at the end and realizes it is a home pregnancy test. “Damn.” Becoming even more jittery and nervous, he races Melissa upstairs to tend to her wounds.

  Melissa whimpers as he lays her upon the soft bed. Morgan uses his emergency medicine techniques to dress and clean her arms. His soothing touch puts her mind at ease. Never opening her eyes, she drifts off to sleep.

  Morgan smells a slight aroma of vodka.

  “Been in grandpa’s cupboard, huh?” Morgan is still uncharac- teristically shaken and nervous. Even though this situation would make most people nervous, it seems like there is more, that something else is scaring him. His thoughts are drifting well beyond this room and past Melissa’s well-being, into somewhere else, to an unknown place.

  Melissa quickly falls fast asleep. Her body now seems to float, as if it’s weightless. Her wrists no longer throb. The vodka no longer burns her throat, but instead soothes her body with graceful warmth. Her pregnancy scares and angers her, but the alcohol calms her rage. She wants to cry more but feels she will continue later.

  A full-sized picture of Sarah develops on the backs of her eyelids. It’s a picture so vivid that Melissa believes she can reach out and touch her dear friend. Sarah looks more alive than ever, her whole body wholesome, skin unblemished, eyes white and clear, hair still short and braided. The image stuns Melissa — it’s a depic- tion of Sarah she’s never seen. Maybe this is the real Sarah, she thinks. Maybe it’s the Sarah who became lost somewhere along the line, like Melissa. The Sarah that Melissa never knew.

  The picture of Sarah quickly dissolves into nothingness.
The blackness then takes over Melissa, sending her off to a quiet, natural suspension of unconsciousness, giving her body the tranquility necessary to heal itself.

  9

  “ Good morning.” Morgan’s voice is surprisingly calm as the fear that stalked him the previous day has vanished. A wide grin on his face, he stands at the foot of the bed with a huge plate of sizzling bacon and eggs sitting on a tray. “Time to get up. I know you don’t want me to eat alone.”

  Melissa’s eyes slowly open. She takes a hard look at the white bandages that are spotted with blood. Remembering what she did, and, more importantly, why, she closes her eyes tightly.

  Morgan sits on the bed, placing the tray on the floor, then speaks with a low voice.

  “I know you’re pregnant.”

  Melissa’s eyes promptly open. Her dark brown pupils gaze for- ward.

  Morgan’s voice is still low and kind.

  “Don’t worry about it, I’ll still be here for you.”

  Her eyes roll smoothly toward him. Melissa speaks with a low voice.

  “I was raped.”

  Morgan sees the movement of her lips, but can’t make out the words she formed.

  Feeling dry mouthed, she takes a deep swallow. She speaks once again.

  “I was raped.” Saying it louder causes an overwhelming sensation of misery that overpowers her calm demeanor. An outpouring of tears suddenly flows like tiny rivers. Her face flushes, and her mouth is squeezed tightly shut. She tries to cover her face, to hide her downpour of emotions from Morgan. In response, he seizes her arms compassionately. Opening them wide, he gently slides in between to embrace the terrified woman. Melissa squeezes him tightly, praying to never to let him go. Shutting her eyes, she hears his heavenly voice.

  “I’ve loved you with all my heart since the first day I laid my eyes on you. As you lay there motionless, my soul cried out for your safe return. Why I feel this way, I’m unsure.