15. Ambrose—present day #2
Running the water on my hands, I use a little soap and wash my face. I ignore the sting of cleanliness as I continue until each gash bubbles with tiny drops of fresh blood. I use a clean hand towel and gently pat the injuries dry.
I toss the towel in the hamper and walk through my bedroom.
Finally, after putting it off for days, I changed that flickering bulb this morning. I flick it on, revealing the room that looks exactly like it did when I was fifteen, and my parents tried to entice me back in here and out of Dollie’s room.
Needless to say, it didn’t work.
I chose her pink paradise over my black cave.
I’ll turn off the light again after grabbing a pair of shorts because all these new bulbs are too fucking bright for a guy who hates light.
Horror movie posters greet me as I approach my dresser with a towel hanging low on my hips.
I hate that I look like someone who should be in my favorite kind of movie to the point it makes me wanna rip all the posters down and throw even the signed ones away.
I step into my boxers, and the image of shorts and pants bunched around Shane’s thighs invades my mind again, and anger swirls inside me.
I don’t know why it bothers me, but it does.
The thought continues to pester me as I enter the bathroom, clean up my shit in the sink, and dispose of my towel.
My room is the only one with an adjoining bathroom. It would have made sense as children if Dollie had chosen it, given her illness. But as an adult, it suits me because I never get into bed without washing my hands or feet.
I don’t need the germs crawling over my skin beneath the sheets, breeding there.
A full-on scrub was warranted tonight, though, thanks to the local thugs.
My face still burns from my own abuse and the wash that followed. But it’s a teenager’s spit that I still feel there the most.
A door creaking down the hall snaps me from my trance. I step from the bathroom, my eyes on my bedroom door as another door creaks open… then another… and another. It’s getting closer.
Grabbing my phone from my preferred bedside table, I drift behind where my door will open.
A quick pull of the doorstop clicks open one of the many secret doors to my favorite parts of the house. The seams blend perfectly with all the posters, and no one would ever discover the tunnels lurking behind them.
I step inside and conceal myself just as my bedroom door squeals open.
Heavy footsteps move around my room, examining everything I once loved.
It isn’t Shane, whom I’d still like to beat with a stick. Thinking of him has my teeth grinding.
This person is heavier.
There is no way to see them, but a feeling prickles my skin. They’re a cop, I know it.
They step into my bathroom, where the shower is still dripping, and condensation is on the tiles, not made any better by the window I’d opened to let the steam out.
“There’s no one in the house. I don’t know what these people think they heard. But the place is empty,” I hear a man’s voice say, maybe into a radio.
Upon exit, he leaves my door open. His heavy footsteps move down the hallway and head to the stairs. I follow secretly.
The thin wall between us acts as my cover as he slips down the stairs, and I shadow him.
Each step has me cringing. I’m in nothing but my shorts, and I can’t stand the feel of old concrete against my just-washed feet.
“No one up there.”
“But we heard the front door.” Shane and his voice still piss me off.
I shrug off the feeling, but it clings to me like the cold sweat still coating my body.
“But it was locked. I told you it must have been something else, Shane. I knew the police wouldn’t be able to help because it’s something else.” The panic in Dollie’s voice slumps my shoulders with guilt.
The noise she’d heard was me coming in. I’d slammed the door a little too loudly—frustration from what I’d seen ruling my actions.
“Something else?” the cop asks.
“Like a?—”
“Do you want to get us institutionalized?” Shane laughs, and it’s as condescending as the way he speaks. “Shush, babe.”
There’s a pause.
Maybe the cop is questioning their relationship, like I’ve done since its inception.
A flurry of anger comes out of my nostrils.
“She’s letting the local ghost stories get into her head.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s a ghost. Old houses just make noises sometimes.”
“Okay. So, if it wasn’t a ghost, what if it was that guy? The one outside who left the bloody handprint?” Dollie tries to explain.
“I didn’t see the bloody handprint. The rain got pretty bad before I arrived. But it’s probably just kids messing around with some ketchup or something. You know what this town is like. Someone is always talking about this house or your brother. The walls here are enough proof of that.”
“Lies about their relationship are all over the house,” Shane says with some bite, and I can only assume the cop nods in response because there’s a pause again before Shane adds, “I bet it’s in every damn room. You know, I have no idea why these fools all think she’d be interested in that freak.”
“Well, lots of these slurs don’t mention a choice.”
There’s a silence longer than the last, and then Dollie speaks up.
“He never forced me to do anything. We were just kids.”
“Good.” The cop steps off the last step. “So, as I was saying, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, aside from that carpet in the hallway that needs changing, or at least, the blood washed out, but if you’re that concerned, it might be wise to close the upstairs windows.”
“An upstairs window was open?” Terror still laces Dollie’s tone.
Another nod, maybe? God, why does this cop hardly say a fucking word? Hypocrite, I am. But I have a reason for my silence.
“But there’s really no one up there?”
“There’s no one up there, hon. I’ll go back up and close the window, and I can take one last look around if you’d like?”
“We’d appreciate it. Thank you.” Shane says because he’s too much of a fucking coward to go up and close it himself.
“No problem. While I’m doing it, you should dry yourself off. This house knows how to hold a chill.”
“Yeah, I will. I took a quick shower while I waited for you.”
Oh, so that’s why the cop didn’t question my dripping shower. Thank you, Shane. Prick.
Ignoring the cop and his trek back upstairs, I stick with Dollie, moving to the reading room.
A ruffling sound makes me wonder what on earth she’s up to as I press my ear to the wall.
“What are you doing?” Shane asks, and for once, I’m grateful for his existence because curiosity was tickling me.
“There’s something in this house. And I don’t know that it’s human. On the first night here, I heard my dad. The cop can’t find anyone. Maybe he just can’t see them. I can’t stay here with all these ghosts, and we can’t afford to bring in someone else to decorate.”
“So, setting rosemary on fire is gonna do what exactly?”
“It’s not rosemary, it’s sage. It gets rid of bad spirits.”
“What, you think your dad is a bad spirit?” Shane laughs.
Tension bleeds through the walls as she freezes. I can’t see her, but I know her. The delay in her reply confirms this.
“No,” she replies in a sad tone. “I love my dad, but he could be angry.”
“Yeah, with your fucking dickhead brother, not you. You were his princess. Besides, he’s not here because he’s not alive, Lancie.”
There he goes again, saying things that will get under Dollie’s skin. I’d bet money that nickname does it, too.
“I still think he needs to move on to somewhere peaceful. I’ll do a full ritual tomorrow. Can we go into town and get some stuff?”
“No, tomorrow we have to paint again. You can do your full ritual the next day. Maybe you can help rid the fumes as well as the spirits.”
His faith—or the lack of it in her beliefs is infuriating. I can’t say I believe her witchy rituals will rid spirits from this house, not without lying, but they’ll rid her anxiety. They always have, and that’s good enough for me.
“All done. I’ll see myself out. Come and lock this door. If you need anything else, you know who to call.”
Shane and his smelly slippers move to the door, dragging his feet with each step. There’d be no chance of hearing this if my senses weren’t constantly on alert to everything he does.
He irritates me that much.
I stay put on one side of the wall while Dollie is on the other.
The fumes of her little burning herb are starting to make their way into my secret passage, and the nostalgia that brings takes me back in time thirteen years for the second time tonight, to us both in her bedroom, where I lit the sage for her because she was struggling with the lighter.
I blink that thought away to the sound of her voice here and now. It’s almost inaudible, but I catch her whisper while she’s alone.
“I wish you could understand that I just need a little protection.”
Shane doesn’t hear her. No surprise, as he doesn’t seem to listen half of the time when she’s standing at his side.
I wish I could tell her just one thing as my head slumps against the wall, and I ignore the pain that feels something like heartbreak.
You’ve got it.
I place my hands on the wall, desperate to touch her. To be closer to her. To tell her that she’ll always have me, even if she hates me for whatever reason.
Fuck, that hurts.
I push the thought away, hoping to transmit another to Dollie.
I’ll never stop protecting you.