Diamond in the Rough: Chapter 66

They drove down the road and Todd began to slow the car.  She was cautious to remain quiet and she watched his face.  Everything he has remembered over his life as an adult he never faced when he lived here.  He was as sullen as she could remember, but his skin looked a little greenish.  He parked.  He said, "That's it."  She noticed his hands were not steady; they were trembling.


He said, "It looks almost the same, except for the boards on the windows.  There's . . . not going to be any light."


She said, "We can take the boards off.  And there's a flashlight in the glove compartment."


He nodded, and got out of the car.  Coming around to her side, he put out his hand.

She took it.  "My Love, it will be all right."


He helped her out of the car.  They both stood a moment, studying the house.  It was dilapidated, because of time, but she could see how it may have looked.  It was deserted, no one was living there, and it was closed up, as if for winter.  She felt his hand in hers moving slightly, and she said, "Whenever you want.  We can go back, Todd."


He walked toward the side of the house, where the arrows were drawn on Bea's picture.  There was a side door there, boarded, and he let go of her hand to pull it free.  "Must have been boarded a while.  It's loose, like with age."  He said, "That woman, Constance, that was with my father when he died, she had the house, not sure what happened.  It was paid off.  He used to brag about it."


He put the board against the house, and pulled another one free.  She said, "Can I help?"


Both of them worked until the boards were unattached, and he could unlatch the door, as he remembered doing, from the inside by putting his hand inside the unlocked window.  The door opened, and he froze.


She said, "It's okay."


He said, "Step right up, folks, to the spooky house of horrors," and try as he may to sound as if he was lightening things, she could hear the dread and strain.  She took his hand, and he jumped.  


"It's just me," she assured, and they slowly moved through a little passage and walked in to the kitchen. 


He stopped there.  She stood beside him, in silence.  Then, she let go of his hand, went to a small window over the sink, and lifted the shade.  Sun came in through the murky, dusty glass.  She said, "There."


He hadn't moved.  She went back to him, and took his hand, standing beside him without sound again.  She noticed he was looking around, but that his eyes rested on a wall at the far end of the kitchen, next to the refrigerator.  His eyes looked haunted, and she said, "It's over, Todd."


He looked at her, and said, "You're right.  It's over."


"What are we looking for?"


"I . . . don't know."


"Well, let's look around.  Standing here reliving that is not helping."


"You're right.  It's the basement.  He locked her down there, sometimes, when he . . . was busy."


She swallowed, hearing that description.  "Okay, but we definitely need light."  She went into her purse, "Here's the flashlight."

"Okay," he said, and he walked into the living room.  There, in the corner, was the basement door.  He flashed the light on it.  He said, "God, this is . . . really weird."


"I'm sorry, we can leave, any time."


"I'm all right."  She followed him to the door, leading to a staircase into blackness.  She said, "I'll go first."


He said, "Blair, listen to me.  I'm all right.  You stay right behind me, I've got your hand, I've got the light. I'm okay, Babe."


He proceeded ahead of her, into a dank basement, with a large sink, some half-empty shelves, and to their surprise, some cobwebbed old cans on them.  It was damp and cold, but she ignored it.  He stopped, shining his light on the wall.  He said, "Oh, God."


She said, "What is it?  It's okay, Todd."  When she looked where he was shining the light, she saw nothing.  He kept the light there, and his breathing was escalating.  She said, "There's . . ." and then softened her voice, "there's nothing there."


He didn't respond, but she saw the outline of his face and his expression was of plain fear.  His brow had beads of sweat on it.  She decided to wait it out.


He stepped a few feet closer to the wall, and continued to stare.  She noticed, right then, that he closed his eyes, and she saw him lower the light.  Waiting, she was grateful he was still holding her hand.  His grip had not changed.  He said, "Back there."  There were the shelves, to the left of him, and the sink, with the stains.  All of it how he remembered, but more advanced in degredation.


The light from the basement window was enough, with the flashlight's downward cast, for her to walk ahead of him, and toward the wall.  She still was unsure what he meant, until she was right in front of it and spied a very small handle that almost blended in with the wooden paneling.  She said, "Oh my God," very softly, almost to herself, and then, "Is this . . ."


"The chamber?  I think it is."


She thought back to Bea's letter, and she shivered herself.  She would be strong.  There was nothing in  that room that she couldn't handle.  She wasn't so sure about Todd, when looking back at him.  His face was slick with sweat now, and his coloring was gray.  She said, "Oh, a handle.  I didn't even notice it."


He didn't answer her.  She said, "Todd, don't zone out on me, now."


He said, "I'm here.  I'm not zoning out on you."


She said, "Okay.  I'm going to open it, all right?"


He shouted, "No, Blair, don't go in there!"


She jumped at first, but realized he was crossing memories and reality, fear and logic, and she said, "It's okay.  I'm not afraid of whatever's in there."


He came behind her, slowly, and she opened the little latch.  Inside was a small room, no windows, a low ceiling and very dark.  She could tell that she would have to duck down to get in, and then stand up when inside.  She turned and said, "Todd?  Can I have the flashlight?  You don't have to come in here."


He said, "I'm coming in."


She stood at the opening, and he went by her, ducking down, and bringing the flashlight with him, he stood, as she, holding his hand, came in behind.  They both stood for a moment, and she noticed how white he was and that he was shaking, all over.  The room was very small.  In it was a cot, pushed up against the wall, with an old, stained mattress.  Someone had created makeshift restraints on the edges of it with belts.  There was a small hanging lightbulb with a chain coming down from the ceiling.  The paneled walls were dark; there were no windows.  In one corner was a statue or stuffed animal of some kind, and as she looked closer, Blair didn't want to think about what she thought it was.  She turned her head and looked at him.  He said, "He . . . put us here.  When he was angry."


Blair fought the urge to shake herself.  You will get it together right now, dammit!  He needs you.  "Alone?"


"Yeah.  Most of the time."


He reached up for the chain, but the light did not work.  "What was I thinking?  There hasn't been electricity here in years."


He shined the light along one wall.  Near the head of the cot were marks on the wall.  She saw him falter.  "Oh, God.  I used to . . . mark with my nail how many times. . . I can't believe I never remembered this. . ."


The light followed the rest of the wall and stopped in the corner, bringing a clear view to the grotesque husk of a cat in the corner, and he ducked outside the secret room again.  Her eyes burned with tears as she heard him heaving.  She followed him outside and said, "Todd, let's just go.  This is enough.  You came here, you faced it . . ."


He was doubled over, breakfast on the floor.  Thinking there might we well water, she went to the large sink and turning the knob, she was right.  Letting the water run until it was clear, she took off her cardigan, wet the edge, and brought it back to him to wipe his face and brow.  He said, "Thank you," and stayed doubled over a minute, as if the wave of vomiting could come again.  Finally, he stood.  "I'm going back in there."


"No, you don't need to.  We can go now, or let me."


"No, I'm going.  There's something . . . Momma wanted me to see."


They both stepped back into the room, and she admitted to herself his color was better this time.  He continued to shine the light along the room, and revealed the rest of the contents:  a small dresser with drawers, a shot gun case with a key, that held several guns and knives, a stool and a thin closet.  He opened the drawers, and found a series of belts and other insignificant items, a newspaper or two, some rags and old items of clothing.


He said, "Do me a favor, will you Babe?"


She said, "Yes.  Anything."


"Open that."  He pointed to the closet.  


She let him hold the flashlight, and as he directed it toward the closet, she stepped forward.  Opening the door via the knob, she looked inside.  There was a shelf, empty, and a clothes rod, also empty.  There were some hangars on the rod, and a small shoe stand underneath.  It was completely barren.  She looked up, and saw chains, two, coming down from the ceiling with cuffs.   She ignored it, hoping he would not shine the light on them and be reminded.  In her own head, she refused to take the trip into the imaginary world she would have to in order to mentally understand and accept how the room was used.  She could only describe it, in her mind, one way:  utterly terrifying.  

Instead, she said, "It's empty, but I'm going to look up there."


She took the shoe stand and used it as a step ladder, and when she got on her toes, she could see something at the back of the shelf.  She said, "Shine the light right here."


He did.  She saw a hollowed-out area, that had a piece of paneling falling forward.  She moved the paneling and behind it was a box.  It was metal and had a lock.  She slid it out, and said, "A box.  It's metal."


He said, "Can you get it?  Maybe . . . it's important?"


She knew he couldn't come into the closet.  Something inside her told her it was just not going to happen.  "Yeah, I can get it."   She continued, with all her might, to slide the box over until it was at the edge of the shelf.  Then, realizing she could not pick it up, she moved to the right, and shoved it toward herself, and it fell off the shelf onto the floor.  She used her foot to move it out into the secret room.  She noticed his breathing was elevated and that he looked bad.  The sweat was gathering, his pallor was off, and he was shivering again, to the point that she could occasionally hear his teeth hit each other.  


She said, "Let's take it to the hotel."


He said, "That was Momma's place, in there.  When he was angry with her, he put her there, in the dark.    I was too short to reach, at first. . ."  He appeared to be drifting off somewhere in his mind, as the image of the chains from the ceiling brushing against the top of her head just minutes before came back into her mind.


She said, "Todd?"


He didn't answer, rather, he seemed entranced in what he was remembering.  She said, taking his arm, "Todd, we're going now.  We're leaving this place."


He said, "He made her lose her mind."


She knew he was right, but she didn't respond.  She had never thought that it was possible Bitsy was actually mentally ill before leaving Todd, until seeing the nightmare before her.


"Todd, pick up the box."


He ignored her, staring back at the cot.


She repeated, "Todd!  Pick the box up, Babe, I can't."


He crouched down and got the box, and putting it under his arm, said, "How did it get like this, Blair?  How did my life get like this?  Is this what's left of my life?"


"No, this is a small part of your life that's behind.  And we're going to leave it that way when we walk out of here."


''Really?"


She wasn't sure she believed it herself.  "Yes, we can, and we are.  Now."


She found herself taking his hand and pulling until his feet started to move, and lead him out of the room.  He followed, back into the basement, up the stairs and into the house again.  Finally, she got him to the entrance way and outside the house.  She stopped, as if catching her breath, and let him stand, soaking in the cold and the clear air.  He said, "I never could have done that if you . . ."


"Well, you didn't have to.  You won't, ever."


He was still carrying the box under his arm.  He said, "This place, deserves to be boarded up.  And everything he was and did, deserves to die in there with him."


He took her in his free arm, and pulled her close, walking her to the car.  His stride was back; it was as if the house had taken all of his power, and as soon as he stepped free, he was her strong, protective man again.


"If that is what it deserves, then you have to let that be."  Blair said.


"It's done," he said.  "It's already done."

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