TAPE SEVEN 11/9/85

After that night Marlene and I became...well, I don't know if there is a good word for what we became to each other. Boyfriend and girlfriend is pretty innocent. We certainly weren't engaged, but "going steady" - which was supposed to describe something between those two - didn't really cover us either. A guy who was going steady usually bought a huge chrome ring which looked like a truck lug nut and gave it to his girl who wore it around her neck on a chain. If the guy was one of the leather jacket crew or belonged to a car club, the lucky girl had to wear his pitty jacket around school all day, too.
I didn't think Marlene would put up with any of that stuff, and I was right. Although she'd been pretty tender the night I gave her the locket, on the next school day, as soon as she saw me coming down the hall, she turned her back and started talking with one of the motorcycle girls that she always hung around with there.
Avoiding her in school wasn't difficult. Like I said before, because we were in different grades we didn't have any classes together, except at the start of second semester she was transferred into my art class. She made sure to sit way across the large room from me, and if our eyes did accidentally meet, we quickly glanced away.
I guess the only word to describe us was lovers, but I certainly wouldn't have used that word then, and even now I think it's way too sophisticated. Maybe you could say we were friends whose main bond was sex. That pretty well said it for me - at least at first. What Marlene felt I'm still not so sure.
Don't get the idea from this that life was some great orgy. In the first place there were only certain days I could see her. On Sundays and even pretty early on Monday afternoons the big black Cadillac was in the carport beside the house. I never went near there on those days. On Wednesdays Marlene was always out in the afternoon and didn't seem very happy to see me if I stopped by in the evening. From what I know now, I guess she was seeing her doctor - probably a shrink - and was usually in a rotten mood afterwards. On Fridays she often went out.
Although I didn't like to spy on her - in spite of what she thought - I did once. She walked a few blocks away from her house and was picked up on a dark corner by a car with a couple of guys in it. I thought I recognized Leo Frank. That pissed hell out of me, but there wasn't much I could do about it except shut up or risk another blowup with her. She still ate lunch with those guys. I didn't even go into the cafeteria anymore unless it was raining.
Anyway, that left Tuesday, Thursday, and sometimes Saturday for me to go over to her house. Even then, most of the time we just spent doing homework or talking about problems in general or listening to music. She listened to my bitching sympathetically but never said much about herself. That was alright with me because her mood could get pretty bad if she got on personal things, and I would usually have to look for an excuse to leave if that happened.
To my surprise, though, I learned a lot of things from Marlene that spring. Like I said before, I usually got grades without too much sweat, and that year I remember I was getting pretty interested in science, especially astronomy. Marlene knew a hell of a lot about that stuff, and she was great in math, too. It shocked me at first, but then I really took advantage of it, and my grades were never better. She knew a lot about art and even politics and philosophy and could really get hot if something she considered an injustice had happened. Then she would rave on, and I would soak it all up so I could look good later in social studies class. You've got to remember that all this was a little unusual in the know-nothing fifties. Students didn't get very involved in social issues for another ten years, especially high school students.
Sometimes those conversations got a little off track, though. I remember one day when there was a thing in the news about the police hiring some lady who claimed to have extra-sensory perception. They wanted her to use her ESP to help solve some really gory crime that had everyone upset at the time. Marlene started talking about ESP all serious, and I thought it might be a good time to mention the stuff about visions, because the truth was the vision still bothered me and I really wanted to talk to someone about it.
I started off all impersonal, like it wasn’t really me.
“I know a guy,” I said, “who says he can see things that happened in the past - I mean stuff he never saw, himself, but that happened in a particular place or to someone he knew.”
Marlene’s eyes narrowed - which I should have recognized right there as a bad sign, but I went on,
“This guy says he can really see that stuff, like it’s happening right in front of him.”
“You’re saying he can see into the past whenever he wants to?”
“I don’t think he can do it whenever he wants to. I think it’s more like the visions happen to him whenever they want to.”
“And you believe that.”
“Well, he sounded pretty convincing.”
Then she really blew up.
“Well, tell your friend that he’s either a con man or a bullshitter. He’s either trying to get something from you, or he’s just jerkin’ you off. In either case, that’s just the kind of crap I can’t stand, and, believe me, I’ve seen plenty of it.”
I began to get really pissed off. Here I’d sorta opened up to her about something I really needed to talk about, and she blows me off completely. The best I could do was to keep control and look for some way to get out of there before I blew it completely. I decided to just keep that stuff to myself, like I always had.
Then there were the moments when that old smoldering feeling would settle over the dining room or the kitchen, wherever we were studying. I would look up and see that thing in her eye. We would work on in silence for a while, but my groin would begin to throb. She would just get up and touch my shoulder, and I would follow her upstairs.
In those days you didn't hear so much about sexual abuse. There was enough of it around, I suppose, but it wasn't on TV every day, and you didn't hear teachers talking about it in class. About the only one who talked about it was Marlene when she'd get in one of her snits, and then I'd be headed for the door.
Usually when you hear about stuff like that you think of some old guy forcing little kids to do things they don't know about and don't want to do. That didn't really apply. Marlene was a little older than I was, and she did trick me the first time, but once I knew what it was, there was no doubt I wanted it.
But maybe abuse can also mean using another person for your own needs without considering what he or she needs. In that sense maybe what went on between us was abusive. I could be smart and say that it was a form of abuse for which I had a good tolerance, but I won't.
Even though I had no way to compare, I guess I knew that our sex was not exactly normal. In the first place, I don't think that most kids my age would even keep something like that going for so long. I mean, there was so much talk about sex, but I don't think many guys really wanted to settle into something like that with just one girl.
And then there was Marlene's attitude during sex. It could take two forms. The first one wasn't really nasty, but it wasn't really not. Sometimes when we were into it she’d get that look she had that day in her father's bathroom when she’d tried all that kinky stuff with me. Then she'd do things like getting on top and gyrating around and leaning way back. Now, maybe you don't see much in that, but at that age bending back was a thing my cock just didn't do well when it was hard. Hell, it was sometimes tough just to pry it off my stomach, and she knew it. Still, she'd keep on. It wasn't pain so bad that I'd lose it, but it did keep me scootching all over the bed to relieve the pressure.
Her other attitude was even stranger, though. She'd only go so far with semi-sadistic stuff, and then something else would take over. She'd get sort of dreamy, almost like hypnotized, and just lie back and let me do my stuff, run my race. It wasn't that she wasn't enjoying it. She seemed to, and she responded to me, but at the same time she seemed removed, like a voyeur watching herself and me. Sometimes I would try to take it a little slower, but I could tell she was getting tired so I'd finish off. I didn't think much about it at the time. I thought that was just the way it was.
Actually, if you want to know, I didn't think about it too much at all, because the truth was that - more and more - I really needed it, regardless of what she felt. These were moments when I could lose my mind - just shut it off for a while without the agony of running or the nausea of alcohol. In many ways they were the only sane times in a world that grew a little stupider every day. And maybe it was coincidence, but during that spring I had no more premonitions and no visions.
What did strike me a little strange was that she usually fell into a very deep sleep afterward. I was just the opposite. Sex gave me energy, and I could probably have done it a couple more times. But I didn't push it. I'd cover her and try to doze off, myself, but would end up staring at the ceiling or out the window until she woke up, usually after about a half hour.
Then one day I made a change in the routine. Feeling very awake and very thirsty, I decided to sneak out and explore a little. I got on my shorts and went down the long upstairs hall to the back stairs. I went down to the kitchen and picked up a soda from the refrigerator. Then I gave in to my usual desire to investigate houses and snooped around a little.
I already knew the downstairs pretty well, although I hadn’t really studied the den that connected the large kitchen with the living room and formal dining room. That day, though, I went back upstairs and, after looking in on Marlene, who was still asleep, went through the other upstairs rooms. Marlene’s room was on the front of the house while the other bedrooms - there were five more- were on the sides.
Next to her room, in the front west corner of the house, was an area I’d seen briefly the other times. It was sort of an upstairs living room full of couches and overstuffed chairs. There was a bar on one side, and sliding glass doors led out onto the balcony. It was a place for entertaining, and it had been all lit up the night of the Christmas party.
Compared to the subtlety of the decoration downstairs, the design of this room was a little gross. It was supposed to look Hawaiian or South Pacific or something like that. The wallpaper looked like it was hand painted and probably pretty expensive. It had lots of palm fronds and tropical flowers and vines, but it seemed out of place with the rest of the house. There was a semi-jungle of potted plants with big leaves, and all the furniture was bamboo or rattan. The upholstery was mostly dark green, but some of the cushions were in bright flower colors. On the floor the rugs were like squares of woven straw. When I was a kid, bright stuff like that usually turned me on, but there was something there I didn't like. It was a little depressing, although I'm sure the intention was just the opposite. It was like her father's bedroom: it sort of grabbed you by the throat and beat hell out of you trying to make its point.
That day I skipped her father's room. There were four other doors on the hall, and I wanted to discover what was behind them. They all turned out to be bedrooms - guest rooms, I guess, as Marlene and her father were the only permanent residents. Each was done in a different pastel color - one blue, one green and one yellow. All of the furniture, all of the fabrics, all of the trimming were done in the same tone of the same color. They all seemed mutants of Marlene's room and they all had that same impersonal feeling. They were far from cheap. Everything was the best quality and painfully coordinated in style and color, but they didn't belong to anyone. They were hotel rooms in a house. They screamed to be messed up, to have someone make his mark.
I said that all the doors led to bedrooms, but that isn't quite right, or at least I couldn't have said so that day. The last door on the east side - the one across from the back staircase - was locked then and every day I tried it. In the bedroom next to that locked room there was a door joining the two rooms, but a heavy dresser had been placed over it - which was kind of strange considering the effort at perfect arrangement in the other bedrooms. One day I moved the dresser enough to try the door, but, while the handle turned, there was some sort of latch on the other side that prevented it from opening.
You might ask what right I had to stick my nose into every room in that house. The answer, of course, is that I had none. It was a kind of addiction, a drive to know everything I could about that place. But, like you come to accept that even your best friend has personal places closed off from you, so I accepted that that room wasn't to be known by me. Maybe that was the reason I stopped trying to get in it, or maybe it was something I felt when I got near that door. Instead I concentrated on knowing the downstairs.
I can still remember so many details of that place that I could go on and on and bore hell out of you, so I won't do that. But just to give you an idea, I'll tell you about the den. Maybe den isn't the right word. It was like a study or small library. It was between the dining room and the kitchen. The dining room was in the west front corner of the house, right under the tropical paradise room, but it was separated from the kitchen by this small study. Actually, the wall between the dining room and study could disappear I found out one day be leaning on it just right. Instead of a wall, it was really three beautifully carved wood panels balanced so that if you put a little pressure on the edge of any one of them they each swiveled on a middle hinge, and the two rooms became one. There were even runners on the floor and ceiling so that the panels could be pushed to one side - for a bigger dining room, I guess.
The den itself was paneled with a light-colored wood. There was a small bar in one corner. It wasn't real dark, like some libraries, but it gave a warm feeling that made you want to sit in one of the comfortable chairs with a book you'd picked from the shelves that covered two walls. There were all kinds of good books, especially about architecture, and I often found myself reading away almost too long. There was always a danger I wouldn't get back upstairs before Marlene woke up.
The turning wall was not the only deceptive thing about that room. In what appeared to be the outside wall there was a sliding glass door covered with a curtain made of heavy threads loosely woven so that you could see through it into a rose garden on the other side. The only thing was, that side of the house had a driveway outside, not a rose garden. When that finally occurred to me, I pulled the curtain and opened the doors only to find myself in a small room, not more than four feet deep, that had a terrific painting on the opposite wall that looked like a garden stretching away from me. It was really a kind of greenhouse with several real roses growing in artificial humidity and light that changed at different hours of the day, and, I guess, went dark at night. By just stepping a few feet back into the den you would swear you were looking out onto the formal garden of some great estate.
That was only one of the tricks and illusions that filled that place. The downstairs rooms were full of them. For example, the kitchen had a dumb waiter. One day, goofing around with it, I figured out that it went down to something in addition to going upstairs. That started me exploring, looking for some entrance to whatever was in the basement. Finally, once while I was looking for an interesting book in the study, I noticed a crack between the bookcase and the wall that I hadn't seen there before. Then I noticed a small latch, barely visible, in the back of the bookcase. Pulling it, the whole section of the bookcase gently swiveled away revealing a small landing with steps leading down. There was another door on the landing, but it was locked.
I turned on a light switch and went down into an underground area that had several rooms. First there was a wine cellar that seemed pretty complete. The walls were covered with angled shelves holding hundreds of bottles of what I guessed was good wine. I could see that this was where the dumb waiter from the kitchen opened. A door at the other side of the wine cellar led to another room filled with exercise equipment. Doors from the exercise room opened to a plain room with only a built in bench in it. It was a steam room, I guess. Next to that was a large bathroom with a tub that was really a small swimming pool. It looked like it had water jets and was probably a 50's model hot tub, although I never got to see it in action. I tried out some of the weights and stuff, but I was afraid to stay there too long.
When I got back to the den, the other door on the landing made me curious, but I left that for another day and made sure that the bookcase/door was tightly latched. It was the day I discovered where the other door led that I almost lost Marlene for good.
Wandering about and exploring the house had almost become as great a passion with me as having sex with Marlene. I was in that house two or three times a week, but we were only in the living room or the kitchen unless we went upstairs. I always took care not to pay attention to anything but my schoolwork or Marlene when we were together, although all around me the damned place was screaming like a siren on the rocks.
Without realizing it, an idea had begun to crystallize out of my thoughts. I don't know if it was something that was just in me - maybe the cause of all that house watching when I was younger - or maybe it came from my father, something he said or some attitude he had about the nature of things. I knew that some places had special vibrations and that some were stronger than others. More and more I came to believe that there would be some place so special that you could see really deep things, really great things, a place where maybe you could feel the meaning of the whole universe or something like that. And then I got the idea that if a special enclosure, like a really great house, were built over a place like that, it might concentrate the powers there into something tremendous.
Well, I know it sounds crazy, but that was what I thought, and after wandering around the Barzani’s house so much, I began to wonder if maybe there just might be such a place right there, if only I had the time to really look. When I think back about it, though, what was really crazy was that I didn't even realize that by chasing after that idea I was sliding toward the very thing I'd been trying to avoid by being with Marlene.
During the months we'd been together that spring, she'd gradually been changing, and I couldn't really say if that was good or bad. The way she dressed in school was changing, and I thought that was good. She still was a long way from the "nice" girls, but she wore a few pounds less makeup and didn't rat her hair quite so much, and her clothes had changed to rather simple blacks and greys now, as though some family member had died. Still, it wasn't too depressing or anything.
Her personality was also going through some kind of metamorphosis. She wasn't suddenly all reasonable or anything, but her highs seemed less manic and her depressions not quite so low. There was this kind of background nervousness, though, like she was always anticipating something.
On one particular day that spring she'd seemed pretty happy, and so I didn't think we'd go upstairs because she was usually a little more somber before that happened. But without even that old feeling coming over us, she touched me on the shoulder, and I knew what that meant.
The way we usually did things I didn't waste much time getting my clothes off, and I didn't that day either. But she was not in a rush. While I lay on the bed she sat at her dressing table and brushed out her hair, like ignoring me, but she really wasn't because next she undressed in full view, very slowly, very deliberately removing each article, leaving only the panties. She sat down again and brushed some more because she'd messed her hair undressing.
Finally she came over to me, her brown hair almost golden from the brushing. By that point I was really throbbing. She paid no attention. She wanted to kiss. That was something we rarely did. She gave me that slow, soft kiss, not only on my mouth, but all over my body.
It was late April, I guess. The window was open, and warm gusts with aromas from the garden below shivered the tree leaves and traced over our bodies like little feathers. I passed into a kind of dreamy feeling, not even wanting to go on to anything else, content as a fat cat being stroked just right.
I know now that Marlene was reaching for something new, but I wasn't ready for it. That didn't affect her. She brought her breasts to my face and I felt them and kissed them while she got hotter and hotter. Then she made it pretty clear what she wanted from me next.
I wasn't any crazier about it than I had been the first time, but after so much taking, there had to be a giving. I got myself between her legs and gradually found the spot with my tongue. It really wasn't bad - there was only a little salty taste - it was just the thought. As soon as I made contact I could feel her stiffen and lean back. Then she began to sway and groan a little and to work her body back and forth, like we were really doing it. We went on like that for several minutes. My jaw was beginning to hurt a little when her legs closed tight around my ears and I felt soft, fluttery movements on my shoulders as her fingers moved involuntarily over them. Then she arched back and shuddered hard. It seemed the same as what I felt during an orgasm, but, because she'd been my only experience, I didn't know girls could go through it the same way. It seemed like a pretty complicated way to get there. Finally she pulled me up to her and kissed me deeply.
It was pretty amazing that I hadn't come, too. I felt like it was going to explode. But she seemed to want something more, like she was afraid to let me get a little relief, like this might be a last chance at something. I could sense a feeling in her like a desperation or a controlled panic now that she'd opened up so much, but I didn't know how to - or didn't want to - go deeper with her, to move it on to some other plane.
Finally she seemed to resign herself to something, and she let me finish. Even then it wasn't like before. I didn't think she was going to sleep. She went to the bathroom, and I rolled to look out the window so my back would be toward her when she came back. Still, she lay down again instead of dressing. I knew I should talk to her, that she was waiting for me, but I faked sleep until I could hear her soft, even breathing beside me.
I know those were stupid days. I was too young for what I was into, too young and too full of all the egotism and insensitivity of fifteen, but I wasn't completely dense. Maybe I couldn't put it in words, but I could feel what I was doing. While Marlene was groping toward something real, I was using her to chase a fantasy. Maybe I told myself that she was just using me, too, but I guess I knew who was being honest and who wasn't.
I waited several minutes, because it seemed like she'd wake up at any moment. Even with my back to her I could tell she wasn't in the same drugged sleep as before. Finally my eagerness pulled me up and out of the room. I didn't bother to put on my shorts, partly from laziness, partly because it turned me on to walk around the house like that. Part of it was the danger of being found nude in someone else's house; part of it was the sensuality of feeling those plush rugs and rich fabrics and suedes and leathers against my body. It was like soaking the place up in every way, not just with my eyes and fingers. I'd become a house junkie, and that day I knew I was headed toward the ultimate high: the secret room in the center of the house.
Even before I'd seen the door that opened onto the basement landing, I knew there had to be another room downstairs. Part of it was logical. Like a living thing, the house had everything but a headquarters, a brain center. There had to be some thinking center in that place whose every detail showed thought, and I wanted to know all its secrets. Anyway, it didn't take a genius to notice that some space wasn't accounted for. On the west side of the house the dining room and den connected to the kitchen. The entrance hall, stairs and maid's room took up the east side. But the living room, although wider than the dining room, just didn't reach the kitchen wall. There was a space between the two.
Several times I'd looked for some kind of entrance, but hadn't found it. I hadn't pushed the search too hard because there were so many other things to explore, but that day I was up for it. I could have tried to open the door on the basement landing, but I knew it was locked, and I was no lock picker. Besides, it might just be a closet door. Somehow I felt there was another entrance.
On other days I'd checked out the living room wall. In the center, opposite the great window in the front of the house, was the huge fireplace. I couldn't imagine that someone would figure out a way to move a fireplace that size just to hide a door, but I'd checked out all the flagstones that made up its facade. On either side of the fireplace were cases that held books and art objects, as well as photos of people who looked important to someone. Although I searched carefully, I couldn't find a latch like the one in the den.
That left the entrance hall and the passageway to the kitchen. This area was all covered with rich mahogany paneling - not sheets of plywood with a glued-onveneer, of course - but mahogany boards with raised frames every few feet, the whole thing polished to a low sheen. I searched this wall in vain for any indication of a button or a hinge hidden in some recess. Finally, feeling very frustrated, I leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the passageway and heard a faint click. As I lifted my body from the wall, a pressure latch, activated by my leaning, opened, and a door swung out, revealing a closet under the stairs. As I pushed, the door closed; the magnetic latch caught it and held it with another firm click.
Now, with my heart really pounding, I returned to the opposite wall, and, starting at the living room entrance, worked my way toward the kitchen door, pushing on each panel. At the third panel there was another click, and the panel swung away, uncovering a regular door. Nervously, I touched the handle, and it opened.
The room was in total darkness. With no outside walls, there were no windows. The dim light from the hall showed nothing. I stepped inside and ran my hands over the walls, but could not immediately find a switch. Finally, about three feet from the door I found one behind a metal cabinet I'd crunched into. I flicked it on in great anticipation. A table lamp on the file cabinet came on and revealed - a room.
It was just a room. It was painted tan or grey - I can't remember. It had no rug and was very sparsely furnished. There were a couple of steel tube kitchen chairs with padded plastic backs and seats. There was a drawing board and floor lamp in one corner. There was the dented grey two-drawer file and lamp by the door and two four-drawer files on the other side of the room. In the center of the room was a large old wooden desk that looked like it had crossed the plains dragged behind a covered wagon. It was covered with with blueprints and large plan sheets. An empty feeling of deception was taking me over, but I went to the desk and began to look at the plans without any real purpose other than a feeling that the effort I'd made deserved at least a little reward.
The plans appeared to be of some large building, but before I could make out any more of them, I heard the voice of a man. It seemed to come from directly behind me. I jumped and wheeled around. No one was in the room, but the voice continued, coming now from the hall. Like a fiend, I sprang for the door and turned off the light, expecting someone to enter at any moment. When no one did, I peeked around the corner. The door was wide open, but the covering panel had swung almost closed. Pushing it slightly, I could see no one through the crack. Pushing a little more I could see the front door and the heads of two men through the arched glass in the middle of the door. One had wavy black hair and the other wore a workman's cap. The one in the front, with the wavy hair, was saying he'd like to know who the hell took his keys. He began to ring the bell and to call out for Marlene. Without thinking about it, I knew he was her father, and I knew I was in deep, deep shit. If I was depressed a second before, my heart was screaming now. Marlene's father said something like Marlene should be home, but there was a key in the garage. When I squeezed another look only the man with the cap was at the front door.
I pulled the panel to me. I could feel the click as the latch caught. Carefully, I closed the door and stood in the dark. Now a cold sweat soaked me, and I gave in to a total panic. For several minutes I was incapable of action. I was doomed. Marlene's father had lost his keys and had come home to look for another set. Of course the first place he would come was to his office. Even if he didn't, even if he got the keys and left without finding me, Marlene would kill me. Probably at that moment - suddenly wakened she was finding my clothes and wondering where the hell I was. If she found me in the office, it would be the end. She'd know that I'd been spying all along. She hated spies. She'd hate me.
Although the thoughts were terrible, the thinking calmed me down. One thing was clear: I had to get out of that room. I switched on the light for a moment. There was nothing in the room big enough even to hide behind. I decided to open the door and make a dash for the stairs, hoping the man on the porch wouldn't be staring through the small window and wouldn't notice me. Just then I heard the voice of Marlene's father again and the sound of a key in a lock. Swearing to myself, I was about to turn off the light when I noticed the obvious: the other door.
The door that led to the basement was in the opposite corner from me, behind the easel drawing board. Memorizing the route I had to follow around the chairs and desk, I turned off the light and made my way smoothly, only gashing my side on the aluminum frame of the drawing board. Swearing, I found the knob,It had a push-button lock which I made sure to press again as I let myself into the passageway. I could smell the mustiness of the wine cellar and thought of hiding down there, but I had to get out of all those secret passages and back upstairs before Marlene found me.
I heard the voices again, definitely in the house now. Searching the back of the den bookcase with my hands, I quickly found the latch and pressed it down. The bookcase's bulk swiveled effortlessly away from me, and I was in the den. The voices were clear even though they were on the other side of the house. The acoustics in that place were so great. Marlene's father was thanking the other one for bringing him home and telling him he'd get the keys in a minute and they'd go back. He told the man to go to the kitchen and get something from the refrigerator. It was pretty clear from his tone that this was someone who worked for him.
Now I had to get through the kitchen before the workman came in. Without thinking more, I dashed through the door and across the kitchen, making sure to keep low behind cabinets and the big stove in the center of the room. The last ten feet had no cover, but I shot across and squirreled around the door frame onto the service porch just as I heard the swinging door from the hallway open. For a second I caught my breath, then crawled below the windows that separated the porch from the kitchen until I got to the stairs. Creeping into the stairwell, I sprinted up the carpeted steps, keeping to the side so not to make them creak.
At the top I'd started the dash to Marlene's door when her father's voice from the front stairs froze me in mid-stride. Marlene answered something back from her room. Any second he would step into the hallway and she would open her door. And there I was to complete that little triangle.
I was beyond invention or thought. Instinctively my hand shot out to the nearest doorknob, the one for the room that was always locked. This time it opened, and I disappeared into it.
I guess I closed the door quietly. I guess no one was aware of my presence. I really wasn't thinking about it. I felt like I'd just run ten miles. I lay against the door, hand still on the knob, eyes closed, heart ready to break out of its blocks.
I was still leaning on the door like that without opening my eyes when visions began to form. They weren't exactly pictures in my mind like the last time, but more like moods or colors. Visions were the last thing I was looking for. I was happy just to be out of harm's way, but things kept trying to come up in my mind. They were trying to form pictures - and nasty pictures at that.
I opened my eyes and looked around to see what was causing it. It wasn't easy to see much in the room. The two windows had shades pulled down. The sun was setting on the other side of the house, and only a little light filtered through. Although it was dangerous, those sensations scared me so much that, without thinking about it, I switched on the light.
It was a dingy, messy room, and the contrast with the rest of the house made it seem even worse. I think the wall paper was original with the house, maybe forty years before. It was all washed out, and the colors had turned tan or brown. There was an old braided rug in the middle of the room and some stained tulle curtains at the windows. In one corner was a tarnished brass bed, unmade, and I guess there were some dressers or shelves. A lot of childish drawings of houses and rooms had been stuck on the walls near the bed. A closet door stood open, and another door led to a bathroom that hadn't been renovated; all the old fixtures were still there. The whole room looked like it had never been cleaned since the house was built.
But what was really awful about that place were the dolls. There must have been over a hundred dolls there - all sizes, all styles, new, old, on the bed, on the floor, on shelves - dolls everywhere. Some were still in boxes,like they had just been bought. Others were as old and crummy as the room. There were two old, dirty ones that were really bad. I mean, they just looked like regular old dolls - one didn't have any eyes, just sockets that stared out - but somehow they were the ones that were projecting all the shit into my mind.
I didn't want any of it. This day had gotten way out of hand. First Marlene was all weird, and then nothing about the house worked out right, then Marlene's father, and now this. I couldn't stand the stares of all those little glassy eyes taking me in in every detail. I'd never felt so naked anywhere. And the shit those two were trying to unload on me was way too much.
Even though I could still hear Marlene and her father talking somewhere upstairs, I almost opened the door and went back back into the hall, but then I remembered the door into the adjoining bedroom. I turned off the light and went over to it, avoiding touching any of the dolls - like you might walk through a tank of crabs. A spring lock was mounted near the top of the door, and I unlatched it. When I opened the door I remembered the dresser that covered the other side. It seemed heavier than the last time I tried to move it, but I finally got it over enough to get through. I made sure the door was locked again and that the legs of the dresser were back in the holes they'd made in the carpet.
For a while I paced around the room. It sounded like Marlene and her father were downstairs then. Gradually I calmed down. That other room really had me agitated, but the bad feelings didn't seem to get through the door. I was exhausted, and at some point I must have layed down on the bed, because the next thing I remember was waking up to Marlene's screaming,
"What the hell are you doing in here?"
It took me a minute to come back to myself, and she just kept on howling.
"What are you doing in here? What are you doing walking around our house with no clothes on?"
Her tone told me that I was definitely not included in the "our." Finally I managed to get out,
"I was thirsty."
"Thirsty? "
"Yeah. Like I wanted to get something to drink. So I was going down to the kitchen when..."
"Like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like that - no clothes."
"You've never seen me with no clothes?"
"You could have put on your shorts."
"That would have made a difference? Who was that - your father?"
"Yeah."
"And it would be better if he found me in his house just in my shorts?"
"Well, you nearly got us both fucked up. Can you imagine what I felt? First my father screaming at me from downstairs. Then all your clothes in my room, but you're not. I could barely get my own clothes on in time. Even he noticed how nervous I was."
"I was going to get a drink when I heard someone in the kitchen," I explained with exaggerated patience. "When I ran back up I heard your father coming up the front stairs, so I just ducked in here and waited. I guess I fell asleep."
"You didn't go in any other rooms?" she asked with a strange edge to her voice. Involuntarily she glanced at the dresser.
"I tried next door. It was locked. This was the first one I found open.”
"And how many other times have you gone down to the kitchen when I was asleep?"
"I never have. I usually go to the bathroom if I have to, but this time I wanted a coke. I didn't think you'd mind."
You could only tell she didn't believe me, but she said,
"Well, get your clothes on. You've got to get out of here."

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