Carno's Successer
Part 6/7
By Selenite
The Day Before Marie's Magic Show
"I have to do it today," muttered Don to himself as he pasted another wet picture of Marie into his sinister collage. "If Marie's going to do a magic show tomorrow, she might as well do it using real magic. The kids who come to see it will be a lot more impressed that way, and besides--" He put his chemical-moist hand to his heart. "--after I show Marie the chapel and guide her through the steps to getting what she wants, you will be HER problem, not mine, and I can be sane again."
He smiled wistfully, and then he frowned. "But, why Marie? If you first were in the former owner of this house, Carno, and then you were in me, why do you want to have Marie? I thought your preference was only for men. Why not Jason? He's a boy. Why do you want my little girl instead of him?"
Don waited a few seconds, but the only answer he received was the pounding of his own heart. He didn't see any bloody messages smeared on the darkroom wall, or any swirling letters formed in the developing bath. He saw nothing, heard nothing, that could give him any answer to his question.
After a long sigh, the tortured photographer threw up his hands in resignation. "Okay," he snapped. "If it's Marie you want, it's Marie you'll get, just as long as you get out of me and leave me alone!" Don picked up the tray of chemicals again and swirled them together. It was almost as if he were obsessed with this developing bath. It seemed to give Don purpose and meaning in his depraved life.
This time liquid letters slowly appeared, forming the words GOOD BOY.
*******************************
Betty Marie Griswold Gordon, up in the third-floor bedroom of the Carnovasch Estate, was packing a large black canvas suitcase. She did not pack any of the things she treasured most, only her essentials, because she had to fit her children's clothes in also. After fourteen long years of the most base, vile, and uncommunicative marriage ever known, Betty had finally decided to take her kids and leave everything behind--the house, the money she had acquired through her marriage, and especially Don, whom she hated almost as much as the Devil.
"I should have done this long ago," she muttered to herself, her once lifeless eyes now gleaming with anger. "How could I have been so weak and passive as to put up with this kind of marriage for so long? My Christian morals when it comes to divorce sure didn't do me any good this time."
Betty huffed and put her hands on her hips. "Let's see," she said, glancing over the clothing she had packed. "All the clothes I need are here, and so are Jason's and Marie's. I have about a thousand dollars in my checking account, which I'm going to close today before we leave. It looks like everything's ready. All I need to do now is find the kids and get the blazes out of here." She zipped up the suitcase angrily and then turned and walked to the small nightstand by the bed. On it rested a picture of a smiling Don, the light of love for her in his eyes, his grin sane and genuine.
Betty picked up the picture, looked at it for a minute or two, and then pulled back her arm and threw the picture against the wall, shattering the frame and the glass into jagged pieces. "As for you, Donald Gordon," she hissed, "you'll stay here--and go to hell!"
****************************
Jason, however, was nowhere to be found in the house. He was over at his friend Mark's house, drinking. Something disastrous had happened in this young man's life, something that he thought could never happen to him, only to stupid guys who had no common sense about--well--using protection.
Jason's girlfriend Denise had told him that she was pregnant.
They had been going out ever since they were in seventh grade. Now, they were both sophomores in high school, invincible, carefree, wild, and fifteen. Nothing had ever perturbed them. They both believed that they were truly in love, and, in some respects, they were. In most respects, however, their love was a mixture of youthful experimentation, infatuation, and lust. Even though this was true, and they did make love often when they became freshmen, Jason had always used protection, and Denise had started to take the Pill. So, Jason was truly baffled--and depressed--by his girlfriend's news.
"Pregnant," he moaned sadly to Mark as he took another sip of his beer. "I can't believe it. I mean I--I always--you know," he stuttered, "and Denise was on the Pill. We tried so hard for this NOT to happen! Of all the crappy luck in the world! Why did it?"
Mark shrugged. "I don't know, Jase. Look, it's really no big deal. Just tell her to go to the clinic in Boston or something, and you won't have to deal with it anymore."
Jason sighed. "No way, Mark. I'm already responsible for Denise getting pregnant. I won't be responsible for her killing the child I gave her. I'm not telling Denise to get an abortion. Ever."
His friend, who was far more practical, looked hard at Jason. "Then, what are you gonna do? Marry her? Look, Jase, you're only fifteen. You can't even get a job at the General Store in this little hick town, so how do you think you're either going to support a wife and child or pay child support? You can't. You have no money and no steady employment. Just tell Denise to get an abortion and you can get back to being fifteen again." Mark folded his hands together.
Jason, however, after hearing all this, began to cry, something normal fifteen-year-old boys were not supposed to do. The tears rolled slowly down his thin cheeks, and he didn't bother to wipe them away.
Mark hugged his friend. "Jase, Jase," he soothed. "Don't take it so hard, man. Just calm down. You just had sex and made a little mistake. Shh. Don't cry. Just tell old Mark everything, and everything's gonna be okay. I think you'd better stop drinking, all right? No more booze."
The distraught Jason, however, had a much deeper concern on his mind. "Mom," he sobbed. "What will Mom say when she finds out? If she does, I'm toast. I'm dead. I'm a chunk of rotten meat." He started to cry harder. "Ever since I was a kid, a little kid, she told me that sex was the worst thing people could ever do. She said it was evil, in fact, and that people should only do it if they want to have kids, which should be rarely or never." He choked back his sobs. "She even used the Bible to prove her point, and I can see now that she was right! It was good with Denise, it was WONDERFUL, and we were in love, but now I see that I was just a stupid idiot who should have been castrated!"
"JASON!" Mark shouted. "SHUT UP, man, just SHUT UP!" He shook his sobbing drinking buddy hard. "Get a hold of yourself, man! You're falling apart, and all because of something that isn't even a BABY yet!"
Jason, all of a sudden, pushed Mark away with a force that made him bump against the arm of the couch.
"You just don't understand, Mark," Jason sobbed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "And you'll never understand--what it feels like--to have your own mother tell you that she never really wanted to have you or your sister, and she didn't have any abortions just because she had a sense of 'morality!'" He leapt up from the couch and ran toward Mark's father's bedroom.
"Jason--" Mark stuttered, also jumping up from the couch and trying to catch his friend. "Jason--Jason--Don't go in there, Jason!--That's where my dad keeps his guns, remember?--For gosh sakes, man, they're LOADED!" Mark bolted into the bedroom and came face to face with Jason, who had the barrel of Mark's father's .38 in his mouth. Jason gave a sad, loving wave goodbye to his friend.
"NOOOOOOOO!" screamed Mark, just as Jason pulled the trigger, another tear dripping from his eye.
*****************************
Betty had finished packing the suitcase and getting her makeup case ready, and as she carried them both down the long wooden staircase, she heard the telephone near the front doors ring. She laid down her luggage and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" she asked, a bit peeved. "This is the Gordon residence, Mrs. Gordon speaking. May I help you?"
"Mrs. Gordon?" sobbed the young male voice on the other end of the line. "This is Mark Dunne, Jason's friend. Listen. Jason was over at my house, and--"
"Oh, good," Betty snapped. "I was beginning to wonder where he was. Can you tell him to come home right away? I need him here at the house."
Mark continued sobbing and could barely manage the words, "Jason's dead."
Betty's blood turned cold. "Mark? What did you say?"
"JASON'S DEAD!" the poor young man wailed. In no time at all, he had blurted out the entire story to Betty, admitting the news about Denise's pregnancy, Jason's feelings of despair and hopelessness and his subsequent suicide--everything.
As soon as Mark had finished talking, Betty softly clicked the phone into the receiver after saying a weak "Thank you, Mark. Thank you." She dashed up the long spiral staircase to the second-floor darkroom, banging on the door until her fists turned red and screaming, "JASON'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD!" over and over.
This time Don unlocked the door and listened to his wife as she sobbed uncontrollably and told him what Mark had told her, with all the horrific details of the tragedy that had just unfolded.
Don comforted his wife on the outside, but inside him, his heart was filled with unquenchable, murderous rage. To Don, she was the one who had killed Jason and not Jason himself. Betty was the one who had told her own son that sex was a base and evil thing that should never be practiced except to procreate, that certain aspects of his personality annoyed her, and most of all, the fact that she had never really wanted to give birth to him in the first place.
'Tonight', he swore, 'I'm going to kill this witch of mine. She has ruined my life and the lives of my children completely. True, I never really wanted them either, but I stayed silent about it. She, on the other hand, could never shut up. And that stupid church. That stupid Bible. Her stupid morals. They've turned her from a fun-loving, sexy, funny, compassionate woman into a heavenly-minded old hag that's no earthly good. Tonight. In the collectibles room. I'll strap her to that little table, grab the Book, and make her eat her words.'
Meanwhile, Betty thought that at that moment, her husband was sane and loving again, and that he had enough human compassion in him to comfort her and love her again.
Later That Evening
The kitchen table which had held places for four people now seated only three. Jason's seat was empty, and Donald Gordon's family seemed empty for his loss. The only sounds that Betty, Don, and Marie heard as they ate were the clinking of their own pieces of silverware and their own sighs.
"I'd better clean the house," Betty finally mumbled. "If we're going to have the funeral here on Sunday, I don't want this place all dusty. I think it would be disrespectful to Jason to have his memorial service in a dirty house."
Don put his hand on his chin, glancing at his wife, who looked more haggard than she had in five years, her hair an unwashed, mousy brown and her face showing deep wrinkles. Hers was the face of a woman who had suffered too much and enjoyed too little in her life. "If all goes as I planned tonight," Don thought bitterly, "there will be two funerals scheduled on Sunday!" Out loud, he said, "Clean up if you want, but I think this memorial service is a big waste of time and money. Why not just have a nice quiet little funeral in the back yard?"
Betty stood up and smashed her plate against the table, breaking the china into huge pieces. "Donald Gordon!" she shouted. "I will NOT have my own son buried like a dead dog in the backyard! I can't believe you. Either of you," she added, turning to Marie. "Marie, don't you even care that your brother's dead?" she snapped. "I haven't seen one tear out of you."
Marie looked up sadly. "Maybe I just don't cry, Mom," she said.
Betty looked at the two in disgust. "I'm finished here," she snapped. "Marie, you or your father can wash the dishes. I'm going to start cleaning the bathroom on the third floor. I don't want anybody bothering me; this is my way of grieving for Jason. I sincerely hope that you two have your ways." She stormed out of the kitchen in a huff, her heels clicking harshly against the tile floor of the kitchen.
"Dad," Marie said after a long pause, "I'm not doing the show. I'm cancelling."
Don's heart leapt into his throat. "Not doing the show? But, Marie--I thought magic was your dream, your aspiration! I thought that doing this magic show was going to be the fulfillment of your highest ambitions! Why do you want to throw away all you've worked for and cancel what you've planned to do for months, and ever since you decided you wanted to be a magician?"
This time tears began to fall from Marie's solid gray eyes. "Dad," she wept, "no dream of mine, no ambition, is worth fulfilling at the cost of respect to my dead brother."
Don rose from his chair and put his hands around Marie's shoulders. "Marie," he whispered softly. "I've never told anyone this before, but I know the secrets of real magic. REAL magic. It's what you've wanted all along, isn't it, my dear? I know how to obtain it."
Marie wiped her eyes, a spark of hope beginning to gleam in them. "How?" she asked softly, not quite believing what she had just heard. To think that her father actually knew true magic--the thought astounded her and made her heart beat wildly with anticipation.
Her father smiled. "If you promise to perform your magic show in Jason's memory, I'll show you what I know and how you can have this knowledge also. I've longed to give it to you because I know how much you yearn for it and the power it will give you."
Marie grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement now. "I will, Daddy," she cried. "I promise. I'll do it for Jason, in his memory, and all of the money I earn from the kids at school and parents who are coming to see it will be used for his funeral expenses!"
Don leaned close and whispered in his daughter's fine-tuned ear. "If you do the show tomorrow, Marie," he explained, "then there won't be any funeral for Jason. Once I show you the power of real magic and tell you the steps to follow to obtain it, then you can do anything your magician's heart desires. There are two tricks I want you to perform at the show, among others. First, I want you to do your escape trick from that metal thing--the Throne of Terror."
Marie nodded. "I've been practicing that trick. Go on," she said, trying to hide her elation behind a cold surface of nonchalance.
"Then, for your finale," Don continued, "--Listen. I know where Jason's body is; we have stored it in a casket in the attic. At the end of your show, I, as your assistant, will roll the casket out onto the stage--and you, the true magician that you have become--will spare us all a lifetime of grief and raise your brother from the dead!"
Marie gasped. "But I can't--no one has EVER--Dad--the dead are the DEAD! They can't come back to life, or at least not physically!"
Don smiled. "With the magic I will give you, resurrecting your poor brother from death will be as easy as reciting the alphabet. It will work, too. Trust me, I know. Will you do it, Marie?" he asked, holding her close in a hug. "Will you bring Jason back to us?"
"YES!" Marie cried, embracing her father and crying tears of joy. "If the magic works--if you're telling me the truth, Daddy--then I'd be insane not to; I'd be the cruelest human being that ever walked the face of this earth. No matter how much he used to bug me, I loved Jason. He was my buddy, my bro. I don't think he ever really despised my dreams; he just thought I was a little bit kooky. But, just think, Dad--if I raise him from the dead, then he won't think I'm a kook!" She laughed joyfully. "Show me, Daddy. Show me now. I want to save my brother's life." Marie kissed Don on the cheek.
Don held her a few centimeters away. "Not now, Marie. I have some things I need to do first. I want you to stay up all of tonight practicing your magic show, and when tomorrow morning comes, I'll take you to a room in the house only I know of. Within it lies the spellbook--a real spellbook, mind you--that will give you true magic. I'll guide you through the spells you need, and then you'll have the power your heart wants--and Jason needs."
Marie jumped up and down twice. "I'll go practice," she cried. "This will be the best magic show anyone in human history has ever seen. Tomorrow evening, my dear brother will do something that no one except Christ has ever done--return from the dead, both in body and in spirit!" She fled from the kitchen in ecstasy, heading towards the theater.
Don smiled smugly. He knew what would happen next. He placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. "She is yours, evil one," he whispered. "Tomorrow...she is yours."
****************************
Betty dusted the collectibles room in a flurry, running the black feather duster over a suit of armor, an old phonograph, and a strange contraption made of wood that seemed to have leather straps attached to it. As the feathers tickled the dust off of the straps, the chair, and a rusty iron funnel, a cold chill came over Betty, making her armpits clammy with sweat.
Suddenly, a spark snapped inside her brain. Somewhere and at some point in time, she had seen this same device before, with all its components, and had learned its horrific purpose.
Then Betty remembered all the way back to one month after she and Don were first married, that night in the coolness of the third-floor bedroom when she and Don had made love. Before they had done so, Betty had had--
The nightmare.
FLASH!
She remembered Don's insane laugh, his irreverent and murderous glances, and the way she had struggled against the straps and the iron funnel. Betty could now taste the dry pages of the Bible sliding down her throat and clogging her airway, and gasping for oxygen against their weight in her trachea. Then, she felt her eyes rolling white into their sockets, and seeing, at the last, the plump, dark-haired woman who had died the same death, if only by something red instead of white.
FLASH!
Betty's head jerked back, and her body fell limply to the floor, unconscious.
When she awoke, she was lying on this wooden contraption, and her ankles were strapped and buckled to the chair in which she sat. Don was there with her, and he was fastening them both more securely, cackling murderously as he did so and grinning like a gleeful, deranged lunatic.
Undescribable horror swept over her. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "This is no nightmare. This is REAL!"
Don chortled. "Yess, my denominational darling, you're really in for it this time! All these years I've listened to you rant and rave and preach from the B-I-B-L-E and made me S-I-C-K. I've put up with it for fourteen years, but tonight it all ends, Betty Faye Baker! Yo-o-ou know what this all involves; you had a nightmare about it before. Well, wake up, my heart, because this is REAL-LY happening!"
"Don," she sobbed, "please don't DO this to me! PLEASE!"
Her husband began to secure her left arm to the chair with the tight leather strap. "I'm sorry," he grinned, "but murderesses deserve to be murdered! Yo-o-u're the one who made Jason commit suicide by telling him that S-E-X was something that only EVIL people did! Well, he believed you, and now he's DEAD! Ha ha ha!" With her left arm now strapped in, Don moved to her right one.
Betty had a sudden idea. "Don," she said firmly, blinking her tears away, "I don't believe that anymore. I realize now what pain I've caused this family by telling them that. Please. I've learned my lesson, and I'll suffer far more from living with the guilt of my son's suicide than by dying now."
Don grinned evilly. "Too late! You should have told me that about, say, two years ago? Three? You can't change the fact that Jason's dead, my fundamentalist freak, no matter how much 'repentance' or 'praying' you do. Dead people stay dead their whole lives, as will you! I'm going through with this! Hee hee hee!" he chortled and finished securing his wife's right arm to the chair.
'Okay,' Betty thought to herself. 'Last chance.' "Don," she said again. "Look at me. LOOK at me."
Her husband did so.
"To prove to you that I don't believe sex is evil anymore, I'm going to do something I haven't done in almost fourteen years. I'm going to make love to you." She smiled seductively, making a kiss noise with her lips.
This piqued Don's interest. He stood there for ten full minutes, pondering. Deep within him, a spark of compassion and hope flickered and grew, and the evil that had possessed him seemed to vanish as he stroked his wife's cheek tenderly. "Will you do everything you used to do when we were first married--everything--out of love for me? Will you be completely thorough in your actions with me, giving me your all and not just your body?" His eyes were hopeful.
Betty nodded. "If you will spare my life. I love you, Don." The first part of her statement was the truth, the second a blasphemous lie.
Don tenderly nodded, unstrapped his wife from the chair, and said, "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't know you felt that way now. I thought during the first five minutes I stood there that what you said was just a ruse to get me to let you go, but during the second five, I don't know what happened, but my mind and heart were changed. I love you, Betty." He carried her upstairs to the third-floor bedroom, where they fully reconsummated their marriage after fourteen horrible years.
Betty was as good as her word, being thorough and complete towards her husband in her lovemaking. Don also kept up his end of the bargain, sparing his wife death and misery. He had no feelings of malice towards Betty that night, only love and hope, because tomorrow he would be sane and he would love his wife again.
Little did he know, that while he was sound asleep, Betty went to the bathroom.
She forced herself to vomit five times, brushed her teeth until they stung, and then bathed herself until her skin was raw and red, always trying to be as quiet as possible with only the nightlight to guide her.
"I...want...revenge...," she whispered finally, scratching her fingernails against the stained-glass window, eerily illuminated by the moonlight outside.
Only after this arduous process could she sleep soundly, with no traces of a nightmare to plague her consciousness.
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