Chapter Six:
As I moved down the hallway toward the game room, I believed I was being watched. I saw no one, smelled nothing, and heard nothing. Yet, somehow this belief only grew stronger the farther down the hall I went. Not until I put my hands on the slightly opened game room door, did this belief go away. There the belief came to an abrupt and drastic end.(This belief would return later)
There was only one person in the game room when I got there. A female. Neither Alexandria nor Gina was this female. No, I didn’t know this female. This female was a tall, night haired young, twenty something girl with bright, oversexed eyes. Her ravenous hair laid short and thin on a small, round face. Her clothes, a tight v-cut black cotton blouse and low rider back zippered skirt, were definitely not off of the rack. Paid for with plastic no doubt, as was her puffy lipped, million dollar smile.
The game room, large and under lit, was so crowded with grown up toys to paly with you couldn’t take three steps without running into something. It was a game addicts’ nirvana, a sensorial potpourri of sights, sounds, and high priced altered realities. Video game systems, pool tables, a ping pong table, an air hockey game, vintage year pinball machines, and a state of the art virtual reality game were all in this room. Upon entering the room I took a quick look around, then spoke to the rooms’ sole occupant.(Besides me, I mean)
“Where’s Alex and Gina?”
“Who?”
“Alex, short pool playing brunette. Gina, your large auburn haired aunt.”
“Oh, them. There not here.” She flashed her contact induced green eyes at me.
“I know, I can see that. Where did they go?“
“Not to the same place.”
“That doesn’t tell me much. Hell, it doesn’t tell me anything at all.”
“Gina went upstairs.”
“Where upstairs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did she go upstairs?”
“I don’t know.”
She ran her fingers through her short, black hair with a loose, exaggerated manner.
“What about Alex?”
“In the kitchen, I think.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you really not know, or are you purposely holding back on me. These questions aren’t intrusive or personal for Christ’s sake. Can’t you open up just a little bit. So far, I’ve only begged for crumbs from you and you won’t even give me that. You‘re one of Donna‘s kids.”
“Yes/”
“Which one?”
“Sylvia. Adrienne and George were here a few minutes ago, but they’re gone now.”
Beads of sweat swarmed across my face like bees on a sweet, fresh honeycomb. The room was on the chilly side. Why was I so warm then, I asked myself. Why was I sweating. If anything, I should’ve been cold. But I wasn’t. I was warm. Yes, I definitely warm. Was Sylvia having some sort of subconscious affect on me? Sylvia then, with no sign or warning, leapt toward me with such a nimble suddenness that I nearly jumped out of my skin. She shimmied up to me and rubbed her small, firm, nubile tits against my chest.
The leash reigning my will was fraying at the bit. I didn’t how long I had it in me to resist the temptation to-----, to-------. Part of me wanted to go, to just turn and get out of there as fast as I could. I wasn’t likely to get any useful information out of anyway. Another part of me, a darker part of me, wanted to stay. To dive right in and satisfy my base primitive lust.
Then, with the same nimble suddenness that brought her to me, took her away. She backed off, moving away from me, and staring at me with eyes of
Sylvia, the young seductive tease was gone and another Sylvia had taken her place. I’ve heard of rapid mood swings. Hell, I’ve had plenty of them myself. But Sylvia, I think, had set a new land speed record.
“Something to drink?,“ she asked.
“Cola.”
“Nothing stronger?”
“No.”
“Not like your partner, are you? She drank and smoked.”
“Did she ask any questions?”
“A few.”
“Have you ever been treated for schizophrenia?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” No reason like hell. I wanted to know if her behavior was an act or was actually a part of a real split personality.
Sylvia went to the rooms’ refrigerator and pulled out a cola for me and herself. The sound of two can tops cracking open soon followed. My questions now concerned the death of Donna Winters, Sylvia’s mother.
“What’s your father like?”
“Which one?”
“You can’t have two fathers.”
“Cats can have two fathers.”
“Are you a cat?”
“No.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“I didn’t mean literally. I meant that I have a public father who’s considerate, generous, and loving. And I have a private father who’s-----.”
“Brutal, selfish, and cold.”
“You know about that?” Her bright, green tinted eyes looked up at me in full, genuine surprise. “You’re aware of his two personalities, or were you just guessing?”
“Just guessing.” An obvious lie to me, but I hoped not to her.
Sylvia’s body tensed considerably as she moved away from me to attached herself to a high priced video game system. She swallowed a couple of long slugs of cola, handed me the can, then started to play a game. I don’t remember the name of the game, but so many of its counterparts, it had an overdose of murder, blood, and mayhem. It didn’t take long for Sylvia to become intensely and maniacally transfixed.
“Don’t just stand there looking stupid and impotent,” she said. “Ask me whatever you like.”
“Is your father capable of murder?”
“Definitely. But then, that’s the longest list ever to exist.”
“Was he home the night your mother died?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t here.”
“Was anyone capable of killing your mother?”
“Did she have enemies, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Not outside this house.”
“Meaning who exactly?”
“Family. All of us.”
“Did you love you mother? Or did you hate her? Or both?”
Sylvia turned sharply away from the game she was playing and roughly snatched both cans of cola out of my hands. Her face was taut and guarded. I couldn’t see, I just couldn’t see what laid behind the mask. She turned sharply again, this time away from me and to the door
“Are you leaving?,“ I asked.
“No, you are. I’m bored with you and your questions. I want you to go. Now.”
“It’s your home.”
“This is no one’s home except my father’s.”
She went to the doorway in a hurry and did so without peering back at her shoulder at me. I moved slowly, purposely so.
“Can’t you move any faster than that?,” she asked.
“When I want to.”
“Well, I want you to now.”
Ignoring the order, I kept my slothful pace to the door. I was reading to leave without another word passing between us, but she stopped with a look and a question,
“Are you the one?”
“The one, what?”
“Never mind, just go. Go and don’t come back..”
“It’s your house.”
“I told you before----.”
I left the room and closed the door before she could finish.. I stood there in the hall for a few seconds, staring down and away at the floor. I knew what Sylvia was referring to when she asked me if I was the one. I purposely put her off. It was a subject I wanted no part of. So, I avoided it. But how long could I keep doing so? In time, I would have to talk about it to someone. But how much time? And how many times?
I didn’t know the answers to those questions. I did know, though, that I would talk about it. Not for closure. I don’t believe in closure. The past is always with you. It’s not a cold, uncomfortable room that you can just walk out of, close the door, and forget you were ever there. No, I would need to talk about this for a different reason.To purge myself of the demons raising havoc with my core being. The demons which sprung to life from a tenuous coma with the news of Donna’s death. The effort to purge, in the end, maybe for naught, but the effort had to be made. The state of my being was at stake. That’s fairly important stuff, I’d say.
After leaving the hallway, I returned to the foyer to pause and think a little bit. I wondered about Sylvia’s behavior. Was the whole thing some sort of act, or was it real? She had shown no outward signs of grief or loss. She only became emotional when I asked her about love and hate regarding her and her mother. Was their guilt at work inside Sylvia? If so, what was the nature of the guilt?
After a few minutes in the foyer, I went upstairs to find Alexandria, Gina, and maybe one or two clues. Once I got to the top of the long, straight and narrow staircase, I decided to look for clues first. But where should I look for them. The house was far too big to conduct a room by room search. There were rooms all along a southern facing wing of the house and their were rooms all along a northern facing wing of the house. The southern rooms were occupied by servants; the northern rooms were occupied by the Winters family. I went north. The trip would have both expected and unexpected consequences.
I would have to go into Donna’s room. Doing so was as compulsory as eating, sleeping, or drawing in a new breath of air. Compulsory even though it promised to be of little help in the investigation of Donna’s death. I had to go there. I had to go. I had to. That was an expected consequence of going to the northern side of the house. The unforeseen consequence would be the presence of a reincarnation of Donna in one of the other rooms. A flesh and blood shadow that would dilate my eyes, numb my mind, and just for a second or two, stop my weakened heart.