Sammy pointed to a canvas bag propped against the wall next to the stairs. “That’s his duffel there.” He leaned further into the room without leaving the staircase and leveled a finger at a particular rafter perhaps a yard from where I was standing. “I found him right there.”
Rick crossed the room in two strides and grabbed the duffel. Donald and I stayed where we were; it felt good to have a little elbowroom. We’d been cramped from the moment we’d entered the house, and the claustrophobic feel had only worsened upon descending into the basement.
“He’d already been dead a while when I found him,” Sammy added.
“You sure you want to go through that here?” I asked Rick.
“It’s OK, I’ll be upstairs. Come on up when you’re done. Just make sure you shut the light off and lock the door behind you.”
He left us, and I wished I could’ve joined him. There was something final about the way he closed the door behind him, and again, the nightmare I’d had began to play in my mind. I forced it away. “Come on, man,” I said to no one in particular, “let’s get the hell out of here.”
“What was that shit about the Marines?” Rick asked. “How could Bernard lie about being a Marine and us not know it?”
“Let’s talk about this later, OK?”
“Don’t go getting all spooky now.”
“Bernard died here, man. Right fucking here. I want to leave, this place is creeping me out.”
“I know it’s freaky, but it’s no different than standing in a hospital,” he said. “People die in them all the time.”
“I hate hospitals.”
“My God,” Donald whispered as if mesmerized. “What an awful place.”
“Hurry the fuck up,” I muttered.
Rick defiantly hoisted the duffel onto the cot, pulled it open and emptied the contents. Mostly dirty clothes tumbled free, wrinkled and old, many of them I remembered Bernard wearing at one point or another. I did my best to zero in on the contents of the bag, but noticed Donald gazing apprehensively at the rafters. His eyes brimmed with tears, so I pretended I hadn’t seen him.
“Hey,” Rick said, crouching over the items, “check this out, Alan.”
My legs felt like they’d been filled with lead but I forced myself over to him. He held up an aged photograph that had been taken at my wedding. Rick, Donald, Bernard, and myself, together at the reception, smiling, holding up drinks or beer bottles, broad smiles spread across our faces. We looked so young. “I remember when that was taken,” I said.
“Me too.” Rick resumed rummaging through the pile.
The photograph trembled and I realized my hands were shaking again. “I remember that moment… that exact moment.”
“He’s got a bunch of them.” Rick handed me a small stack and continued his search.
I rifled through them—six in all—four from my wedding and one of Tommy’s high school yearbook picture, wallet-size. The sixth was of a woman I didn’t recognize. I handed the rest to Donald. “Who is this?”
Rick glanced up and shrugged. “Dunno, some broad he knew I guess. A relative, maybe?”
There was something that told me she wasn’t a relative. There was casualness in the woman’s posture and facial expression that signaled she might have been more to whoever took the picture. She had a medium complexion, thick auburn hair to her shoulders, and dark eyes. Her lips were curled into a combination smile/smirk, like an inside joke had been cracked just before the picture was snapped. The shot was from the waist up, and she wore a low cut shirt knotted just above her navel. Something about her seemed overtly sexual. The smile was more than a friendly one, the glint in her eyes telling yet mysterious. The picture had been taken in what appeared to be a kitchenette of sorts; the woman leaned against a counter. The setting was not familiar. I showed the picture to Donald. “You know who she is?”
He took it and studied it a moment, then shook his head in the negative.
Rick found an old Walkman and a handful of cassettes amidst the clothing. “Anybody want these?”
“This is just too morbid,” Donald sighed.
“Yeah, please, Rick. I’m begging you, man, let’s roll.” I felt like a buzzard picking through a carcass, gnawing scraps of meat from human bones.
He tossed the items aside and began stuffing everything back into the duffel when a small package fell free. We watched as it bounced soundlessly along the mattress, and as it came to rest, Rick scooped up a shopworn nylon appointment book and planner. After a quick inspection, he realized it was zipped shut, but as he opened it several papers and things fell free. “Jesus, it’s stuffed.”
“Probably left over from his job,” I said.
Rick smiled and it struck me as obscene to do that here. But I saw that one of the things drawing his attention was a sports card in a plastic holder that had fallen free. He picked it up and looked at it a while. “It’s his Bobby Orr rookie,” he said. “I’m surprised douche bag upstairs didn’t snag it and sell it. He must’ve missed it.”
Rick stuffed the miscellaneous papers back into the planner and zipped it shut, but his eyes remained locked on the card. For the first time there was something in Rick’s eyes beyond the usual. “Hey, you guys mind if I keep this?”
Before I could answer Donald dropped a hand on Rick’s shoulder and said, “I’m sure Bernard would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Rick held his smile and gave a slow nod.
“Definitely,” I agreed. “Now please, let’s go, all right?”
Rick stuffed the card in his jacket and Donald hung onto the photographs. It was then that I realized I had nothing, so I grabbed the planner, tucked it under my arm and explained I’d just as soon go through it later.
In a way, leaving that cellar was like saying goodbye to Bernard for the first time. Since it was something none of us had been given the opportunity to do except in dreams, we stood quietly at the foot of the stairs, finally able to take it all in, even the rafter he’d been found hanging from. Now that we understood its finality, for the first time it seemed like it was truly over, like Bernard really was dead and gone, and the time for quiet mourning and contemplation, fond memories and moving on had arrived.
In our own ways, we made our peace with that horrible little cellar, then headed back up the stairs. But like the tangible entity it often is, darkness followed.
It was far from finished with us.
CHAPTER 3
Nobody said much on the way back to Potter’s Cove, and that was probably best. The rain continued to pour from dark skies while the three of us, together yet apart, retreated into ourselves for the ride. I considered bringing up the lie Bernard had told about being a Marine but there seemed little point, and along with the nightmare, I pushed it away and remembered happier times instead.
Before I knew it, we were back in the diner parking lot.
Rick parked but left the engine running and the wipers going. “I gotta get home and get some sleep.”
“Me too,” Donald said softly.
I believed Rick but knew Donald would first stop at a bar or package store and hide out with a bottle for a while. Had he leveled with me I’d have joined him, but since he didn’t I tucked the planner inside my jacket and prepared for the sprint to my car. “I’ll call you guys,” I said absently.
“Why do you suppose he stayed in the basement?”