IV

“Winston? It’s Bill. Listen, I came by the house but no one was home and Marie still hasn’t called Linds about the stupid book club whatever and Linds says Marie isn’t answering her phone. Y’all go on vacation without telling me? Give me a call back.”

Winston sat on his stool positioned in the hallway as he blearily watched the leak run into the bucket seated in front of his knees. The stain had grown and he was beginning to suspect the duct tape was the only thing holding the ceiling up anymore as now several trickles of sludge seeped between the edges of the tape, the drywall bowing low like the gut of a potbellied pig. The sound of the drip had become a dull silence in his ears now, drowned out entirely by the void of his thoughts. His finger idly tapped the side of his phone as he considered Bill’s voicemail.

No one was home?

“It’s getting worse, Winston. You need to talk to somebody,” Marie sighed from the base of the stairs.

“It’s not in the budget,” Winston replied bleakly, eyes not leaving the bucket. “Bill said he stopped by but no one was home. Where were you?”

“I was here. I must not have heard the door while I was in the shower,” she said with a frown. “I don’t know why he didn’t stick around or leave a note or something.”

Winston didn’t look away from the bucket and Marie placed a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to one foot.

“Something needs to be done about this and soon,” Marie added. “It’s going to break and ruin everything you tried to fix.”

“It’s fine,” Winston said, getting slowly to his feet and trudging to the door to pick up his coat. “I’m handling everything.”

“So you say,” Marie huffed, watching him let himself out.

Hands tucked warmly into his pockets, the exhausted man strode across the property towards Cheryl’s house, eyes stinging in the biting chill of the breeze in his face. They watered and spilled over on his cheeks and he scrubbed them away with a shuddering exhale. He wasn’t sure how much more of things he could take or for how long these feeble little fixes would last. His wife, his daughter, his book, the money, the house.

That damn house.

They all spoke to him in different ways but none of it was anything he wanted to hear. If it could all be silenced for a moment, if the noises in his head would quiet for just one moment. He was so lost in his thoughts that he felt as though he’d sleepwalked all the way to Cheryl’s door, his own knocking rousing him from his cold and self pitying slumber. The door opened and the woman on the other side greeted him with a familiar smile. It was sunny and welcoming, the entry sign of a lost but happy childhood he long since had missed. This was a future, wasn’t it? A future he couldn’t afford to ruin because it wasn’t his.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, though the ruby-lipped smile faded a bit as she noticed his expression. “You okay?”

“I’m… tired. I’m just tired,” he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cheryl asked, holding the door open wider to allow him inside.

“About what? My stupid little problems?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Sure.”

Winston stared past her at the wreckage of her living room, taking the first step into it. A second step did not follow immediately, however. Instead, he pressed one hand to her hip, staring at her contemplatively. It slid up her side and around to her back, the other hand coming to meet it, and he fell to his knees, burying his face into her lap as his breath shuddered and sobbed. Cheryl didn’t pull away, didn’t protest. She only placed a hand on his head and allowed him to weep.

“I can’t hide them forever,” Winston whispered. “If you don’t find out, someone else will.”

“Then don’t hide,” she replied. “It’s okay. Come in. Let’s talk.”

Winston could hear it all throughout the evening. The constant ringing of his phone. It was Bill, asking questions as to where they are, every voicemail more frantic than the last. Curled up now in the corner of what was meant to be Colette’s bedroom, Winston watched the blue screen of his phone light up every few minutes with a hive’s worth of buzzing as it rested on the top of the partially damaged box that sat next to the door. Somewhere in the house, he could hear Colette crying, but he made no move to find her. She was with Marie. Marie was taking care of her. Marie was always taking care of her.

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs as his wife passed the door then backstepped to glare at him in the dark.

“Don’t you hear your daughter?” she asked briskly.

“Don’t you?” he replied thickly.

“What is wrong with you, Winston?” Marie asked coldly. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because none of this matters. He’ll come and take care of things for you.”

“Who? Bill?”

Winston said nothing, wiping his nose on his sleeve as the phone kept buzzing. He could only imagine what Bill was screaming at him. Or perhaps it wasn’t Bill calling at all anymore. Either way, he didn’t want to answer it.

“What are you doing with your life, Winston?” Marie asked, stepping into the room.

“I am trying to provide for my family, Marie,” he replied.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

It was louder than ever now. Something about these words were familiar, but he couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore over the sound of the leak that fought not to be ignored any longer.

“Since when? When have you ever done anything for this family instead of yourself?”

It didn’t make sense anymore.

“I’m just saying, you could provide by getting a real job that you actually get paid for,” she added.

“Why can’t you just support me?” he asked shakily, kneading his fingers into his skull until his fingernails scraped his scalp. “I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’ve been taking care of everything, haven’t I?”

But did it ever make sense? It all sounded rehearsed. Something he’d heard or said before.

“You always use this motherhood excuse to just sit there and tell me what to do and how bad I am at everything! You talk about how you have to take care of Colette, huh? Yet, you refuse help because the rest of them aren’t good enough. I think you’re the one who’s afraid to work!”

There was someone outside. Through the plipping, he could hear that knocking that always came after this argument.

“You’re barely even a mother, Marie!”

“You’re barely even a man!” she’d barked. “I do everything for Colette!”

The knocking was getting louder.

“You really want to see how much of a man I am? Huh? Do you?”

He’d proved it, didn’t he?

“Drop it, Winston! Just drop it! Drop it!”

He remembered how heavy it was in his hand. The quiet clacking of the weapon as it shook in his sweaty grip. Her eyes were wide, weren’t they? As she’d stepped back, clutching their daughter to her chest, her eyes were like moons in the darkness that had begun to swallow him up.

“Please, Kevin, don’t do this! Just drop the gun!”

But he didn’t, did he?

It was only a matter of time until somebody had found them.

The knocking turned to banging, viscous thumping that demanded his attention, red and blue lights shining beyond the window as his phone rattled itself off of the box with a clunk against the wood. He wondered if Cheryl was standing out there with them, spit-soaked landline dangling from the finger that would point to him once their flashlights lit upon his face like a frigid spotlight. She’d told them everything he told her, didn’t she? He almost didn’t care enough to consider asking. He sniffed once, hugging his knees as he could make out the faint sound of something upstairs.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Winston pushed himself to his feet.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

His feet carried him up the stairs, squelching and splashing in the stinking puddles that gathered on each. He stared up at the attic hatch, browned and slick, and he reached up to the latch to slide the lock away. The hatch burst open as did the front door and Winston closed his eyes to take in the smell.

Do you remember me?

Someone in the house was rotting.