Brett McBean - Tales of Sin and Madness

Every time she tried to write, her mind would wander to the photo. Who were the people in it and how did it end up in the house?

She finished off her sixth cup of coffee, switched off the computer and headed into the room where the photo was waiting for her.

She picked it up, lay down on the bed and sighed. “You’re keeping me from writing, you know.” In the light of day the photo looked dirtier and more worn. It was faded around the edges, which she hadn’t noticed last night. But everything else looked the same — same smiling faces, same weatherboard house, same crease running down the middle. So why was she so fascinated by this remarkably mundane picture? So much so that it was interfering with her work?

Was it a puzzle to solve? Was that it? She had always loved mysteries and detective stories when she was young — it was the main reason she was writing them today — so it seemed natural that she would be interested in something like this. A misplaced photo left in a deserted house. A house that had been the scene of a most vile act.

Was it connected to that? Julia wondered.

Highly unlikely, she decided. Still, the picture did look recent — the clothes, the hairstyles all looked modern and even the house and foliage looked similar to those in her neighborhood. Was it possible, then, that the family lived close by?

I know — the handsome young father is a real estate agent and he recently went through the abandoned house with a client and when he went to give the client his business card, the photo he kept in his wallet of his family fell out and he didn’t notice. That seems likely. Boring, but likely. Or how about this: the boy was taking the spaniel for a walk and decided to take a peek into the infamous house and while he was in there, something scared him and he took off, dropping the photo as he left .

Either seemed plausible. Julia smiled and even though she felt silly, she closed her eyes and pictured the husband coming into her apartment, wearing only a pair of jeans, upper body tanned and muscled, the bulge in his pants straining to get out…

The girl screams and tears are flowing down her cheeks as the man starts forward, eyes glowing with evil lust…

Julia screamed and banged her head on the headboard. Her body was streaked with sweat and she was breathing hard.

Jesus Christ what the hell was that!

One moment she had been daydreaming about the guy in the picture, the next…

Julia sat up and touched the back of her head. It was tender, but when she looked at her fingers, there was no blood.

“I need to get out of here,” she said and hopped off the bed.

It was only when she picked up the phone and went to dial Claire’s number that she realized she was still clutching the photo. She placed it on the coffee table and rang her sister.

As she was getting ready, she glanced at the closet mirror and saw that the bruise, or whatever the hell it was, had gotten bigger.

Impossible , she thought and stepped closer to the mirror.

But sure enough, the dark blotch had doubled in size since this morning. “Great, just great. Why couldn’t this happen during winter?”

With a loud sigh, she pulled off her white tank top and delved back into the closet to find something that would cover the mark up.

“They never caught the guy.”

“What?”

“The guy that killed Amanda Waters, that’s what.”

“Oh, right. Yeah I knew that. So?”

“I’ve been re-reading everything about her abduction and murder. Wanted to refresh my memory since, well, since we were at the house where it happened.”

“Thought you said the place should be burned down?”

Claire nodded and shoved a heap of salad into her mouth. “It should be,” she mumbled. She swallowed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t read up on the case.”

Julia scanned the crowded café. Even though they had elected to sit outside with all the smoke and hot air — Julia hated air conditioning even more than cigarette smoke — she still felt closed in and uncomfortable. She had hardly touched her club sandwich. “Did you keep all the articles or something?”

Claire shrugged. Her round, pasty shoulders jiggled. “Yeah. That weird?”

Julia nodded. “Sure. But look what I do for a living.”

Claire grinned and continued devouring her Greek salad. “So anyway, I was right. That’s where they found the little girl. In that room with all the fairy stuff on the walls. I tell myself I shouldn’t read about it. It scares the shit out of me. I can’t believe I was there last night. The things you talk me into. Julia?”

At the sound of her name Julia looked up. “Huh?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, sure.” She hadn’t.

“What’s the matter? You sound like crap on the phone, tell me you have to get out of the apartment and want to meet me for lunch, then when you’re here you’re off on another planet. And what’s the deal with that top? It’s hotter than Hell and you’re wearing a shirt with a collar? Usually I have to beg you to put on some clothes.”

“Just…it’s my writing. I’m having trouble with it in this heat. It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit it’s nothing. It’s that house isn’t it? It’s gotten to you.”

Sometimes Julia hated that her best friend was her sister. She couldn’t put anything past her. “Well it got to you , didn’t it? You’re the one reading up on the murder.”

“You’re right, my love. But at least I admit to being affected by it.”

Julia stood up suddenly. Claire jumped back a little. “What?”

“Let’s go. This place is too crowded.”

“Okay,” Claire said, eyeing Julia’s half-eaten sandwich.

“I’ll get us a doggy bag, okay?” Julia said, taking her purse out of her handbag.

“No, I’ve got this one. You paid for the drinks last night.”

“It’s okay, really…” The photo fell onto the table.

“Hell, Jules. You’ve still got that thing?” Claire reached out and picked up the photo. She studied the small, wrinkled picture. “Hey, the father’s pretty cute,” she said. Her brow furrowed. “You know, they look kinda familiar.”

Julia snatched the photo from her sister and pocketed it.

“And you’re carrying it around with you?” Claire chuckled. “Why?”

“I dunno,” she snapped. “No reason. Jesus, do I have to tell you everything? I like it. It…” she thought of the most plausible answer that came to mind, “it helps with my writing. Like a muse, a reminder of the house.”

Claire stood and put up her hands. “Okay, whatever. Make peace, not war, remember?”

Julia threw down two tens, put away her purse then walked out from under the annexed café and into the glaring sun.

“Hey, what about the sandwich?” Claire called.

“Just take it and eat it on the run,” Julia called back, shoving her hand into her left pocket to make sure the photo was definitely there.

It was and it made her feel a whole lot better.

Julia listened as the phone rang out for the fifth time that night. She knew it would be either Belinda or Cindy. She usually went out with her old college friends Saturday nights.

Julia didn’t feel like it tonight, though. She didn’t feel like seeing or talking to anyone, and that included whoever was on the phone. She considered taking the phone off the hook, but couldn’t be bothered getting up to do so.

She lay naked on the bed, on her side clutching the photo, the window open, curtains drawn but billowing with each sigh of the wind. The television was on but the volume was low.

She had been staring at the photo for the past few hours. Claire had been right — the house had affected her more deeply than she first thought.