The Red Hunter(69)

It was a nod to the old man. Their dad loved imitating that old guy on the commercial for an investment firm or whatever it was. We make our money the old-fashioned way. We eeeaaarrrn it!

Just remember, Lee had warned. That guy, the one you are when you’re high. He’s a fiction. He doesn’t exist. When you wake up with all of your regrets, he’s long gone. It’s the real you who has to bear the consequences of his actions. And trying to blame it on him, is like trying to blame your imaginary friend. Everyone knows it’s just a lie—even you.

“Look, Rhett,” Josh said. “You don’t need me. Just do it yourself. Take the money and go.”

He felt that surge of strength he always felt after he talked to Lee. Right talk, right speech, words that connected him to that good place inside.

“I do need you, brother,” he said. “The big man wants you, too.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re all in this together from way back,” he said. “And because you can just walk in the door. I, on the other hand, will have to break in or sneak in. And no one knows what will happen then. You know what I mean.”

That was so true to form. Coax, and if that didn’t work, threaten.

“That’s a real pretty woman,” said Rhett. “And that girl. Oh my god.”

Josh felt a hard dump of raw fear, tried to keep it off his face. But Rhett saw it. The predator always saw fear. Jesus, Josh couldn’t have any more blood on his hands. He took a deep breath, summoned his strength.

“Then I’ll go in alone,” Josh said. “I’ll bring you all the money. I don’t want it. You take it, go, and don’t come back.”

Rhett actually looked hurt for a moment, blinking, pushing down the corners of his mouth. And for a moment Josh actually felt bad.

“That’s going to break Ma’s heart,” said Rhett.

“She’ll forget,” said Josh. “That’s what she does. She forgets the things that hurt her.”

Rhett seemed to consider. “When are you going back? Today?”

“Monday.”

Rhett shook his head. “That’s not going to work. He wants the money tonight; he wants to disappear, says things are getting hot for him. He’s coming tonight.”

“It’s got to be Monday.”

Rhett’s face went dark.

“You find a way in there today,” said Rhett. His voice, too, had gone flat and cold. It was almost a relief because now Josh saw the real man behind the Rhett mask, all the masks he shifted around, trying to find the one that would get him what he wanted.

“If you don’t,” Rhett went on. “Then I’m going to find my way in there tonight. And just hope that no one gets in my way.”





twenty-five


Things That Go BUMP in the Night . . . and other problems with living in a HAUNTED HOUSE

It has been an interesting couple of days. First, I hired a handyman. And he’s going to help with the few (million) things that are beyond my DIY skills.

It will be shocking to some of you that 1) I need help, and 2) I’m willing to admit it. But those of you who have been with me from the very, very beginning remember that this is an important lesson, one that I learned after R was born and the specter of depression loomed. I got help, and it worked. Sometimes you just don’t have the right tools in your belt to help yourself. Sometimes you have to call in the professionals.

It was the wallpaper in the kitchen that really did me in. So many (ugly!) layers glued on so thick—I tried the rented steamer, scraping, peeling. But it just came off in these narrow strips, most of it staying fast. I’m sure there’s a metaphor here. Help me out!

Or maybe it was really the barn door falling off in the middle of the night, scaring the bejesus out of R and me, leading us to call the cops.

Or maybe it was just that the handyman showed up, eager and ready to help. Or maybe it was some combination of all of those things. Anyway, he’s coming on Monday and hopefully that means faster progress toward turning this place from overwhelming project into a happy home.

Given what I learned this weekend, hence the title of this blog, you’ll probably be surprised that I even want to stay. I am a little surprised myself.

Last night, I woke up and looked out my window to discover someone sneaking around the property. I called the police (again!). And the same young officer who came out the first night was at my doorstep. He and his lovely young partner (is that sexist to say she was so pretty! And nice!) both grew up here, and they filled me in on the sad, horrible history of this beautiful house.

A family was murdered here. Their young daughter was tortured but survived. The men were never caught. People apparently have been sneaking out here, daring each other to explore the “haunted house.” There’s a rumor that the killers were looking for money that is supposedly hidden here. And people still come out to search. It was probably someone like that on the property last night. I’ll wait while you process the horror of all of this.

Okay. It’s bad. I’ve been sick about it. And I did have about an hour where I thought about packing it in.

But the more I reflected, the more I saw the poetry of the situation, the relevance to me and my journey. Once upon a time, a horrible thing happened to me. A man broke into my home and raped me, leaving me for dead.