Marilyn Read online

  'Thanks, I needed that.’

  Walter sniffled. He wiped his running nose with the sleeve of his ripped jacket and observed it with curious eyes.

  'How old are you, Jack?' Walter asked.

  'I'm eight,' Jack entertained.

  Walter stared across at Jack but said nothing. He swallowed hard.

  'Where were you heading, Jack?'

  'I'm not too sure, Walt. We were heading to my mom's boss's house. He let her borrow it for a little while. So we were going to stay there for a few months, maybe more. At least until we found a little place of our own,' Jack answered, honestly.

  'That's nice of him.'

  Jack didn't reply.

  'Where's your dad, is he still alive?'

  'He's back at home, with his new girlfriend. They're calling it a separation, but they'll definitely get a divorce.' He didn't stop there, he couldn't help himself. 'I heard that word at school, divorce. It what parents do when they don't love each other anymore.'

  Walter listened to Jack intently, changing the painful subject as he slid around a bend.

  Do you want to see a picture of my son? His name’s David.' he asked openly.

  'Yeah, sure.'

  Walter slipped his wallet out from his back pocket with his free hand. The brown leather was worn and cracked from years of use. He flipped it open and pulled out a picture from inside. It was beginning to fade like something that had been left in the sun for too long, and had little tears and creases around the edges. Walt passed it across to Jack.

  Jack stared and stared at it. He couldn't believe what he was looking at. It was like looking into a mirror. The boy in the picture could have been his brother. The resemblance was uncanny. Sure, his haircut was a little dated, but that's where the differences stopped.

  ‘He was such a handsome boy, full of life and wonder,' Walter stated without taking his eyes from the road.

  David was sat on a wooden chair, his arms resting limply in his lap. A grey, blue backdrop hung behind him. He was smiling like he had no worries or cares in the world. It was a natural smile, easy and happy. David's hair was combed over, revealing a little side parting. He was dressed smartly, wearing all black, with a little, thin stylish white tie pressed against his shirt, the knot just off centre. Jack cleared his throat with a nervous cough.

  'That's a lovely picture, he looks like a nice kid.'

  Walter gazed across at Jack. Jack looked right back at him.

  'He was.'

  'Was?' he asked, cautiously.

  Jack waited in the humid silence for a response. Nothing.

  'What kinda things did he like?'

  A smile crept up Walter's face. A smile Jack had not seen before.

  'He loved jazz music. Which was strange considering his age.' He laughed. 'He got that from his mother, not from me. He was learning to play the saxophone. He was actually pretty good at it.'

  Jack smiled, something he could not remember doing for a long time.

  'He played for hours and hours every day. I used to phone him on my lunch break at work and ask him to play something for me. It was really impressive,' he claimed passionately.

  'He was also a mean soccer player, but he was short. At least for his age, anyway. He helped win the season at his school. I was so proud of him. I missed the game, I was working. I was always working,' he snapped disapprovingly, his voice flooded with anger and resentment.

  Jack took another sip from the bottle. 'My mom missed my birthday last year, she told me she would be home.' Jack replied, with real empathy. 'But in the end she couldn't make it. I cried. She promised and promised me that she would be able to get the time off work to make it home to see me open my presents.'

  Jack rubbed his silver chain between his thumb and index finger. He spun it around his neck, a mini ingot dangled from the chain. The Chinese character for 'hope' was expertly engraved.

  'But she never did.' He let his head fall, his chin touching his chest. 'She came home the next day and we argued and I didn't speak to her for a whole day, almost two, then she left again.'

  Jack turned to look out of the window. He felt a tear trickle down his face, he smoothly and secretly wiped it away. Guys don't cry, he thought.

  'Parents should always be there for their children, no matter what,' Walter puffed, squeezing his fingers around the wheel, watching them turn white. 'They grow up so fast, every moment you have with them is precious. Before we know it, they move out and don't need us any more.'

  Jack could see that Walter was becoming ill-tempered and irritable, he stared at his hands, not wanting to look into Walter's eyes.

  'Everything's going to be fine, David. There's nothing to worry about. I won’t miss any more of your soccer games or birthdays. I'll never miss anything, ever again.'

  ELEVEN

  'Let me get you something dry to wear, it won't be much, but it will be better than the soaking wet clothes you've got on,' regarded Elwood.

  'I have suitcases in the boot of my car, I packed enough clothes to last a lifetime.'

  They both smiled at each other.

  'Well, it’s a bit wet and dark to go searching. Would you mind something that I've got here? They're clean and pressed,' he said, keeping the same smile.

  'No, not at all, that would be really wonderful. Thank you.'

  Elwood stood, ready to leave the room.

  Marilyn viewed the room from behind bloodshot eyes, the world was a rocky blur, where focus seemed a thing of the past. She pushed herself upright off the sofa, loitering, the wet from her jeans sinking into the skin of her thighs. She could feel the goose bumps chafing against the damp denim as she moved. Her eyes roved like bleary searchlights hunting for nothing specific. They stopped. The photographs on the mantelpiece demanded attention. Their golden frames gleaming under the orange spell of the pendulous light. Others hung from the wall off crooked nails and bent hooks, all different shapes, colours and sizes. Elwood Bailey was indeed a family man. She wondered about the people in the pictures, who they were, where they were. The walls hadn't been decorated in a long time. The wall paper was a rain-washed berry red, with a black border along the top and bottom that went around the whole room. It didn't look professional, but it looked tidy enough.

  Marilyn watched her hands as they shook. The shaking wasn't as bad as it had been an hour ago, but it was still distracting. She gripped her fingertips with the opposite hand and squeezed until they turned a white shade of pink. It didn't do much good. Marilyn thought about Jack. She was calmer now. The drink had helped a little. She rubbed the nightmare from her eyes as she traipsed around the room nervously, wheezing with a sluggish chest, readying herself with a warrior's heart for what the night was going to bring. She walked over to the photographs and picked them up, looking at each one individually, inspecting the faces, tracing the happy smiles with her finger, thinking back to a time of her life when her photographs told joyful stories.

  Elwood strolled in, holding folded clothes in his arms. His face void of emotion.

  'They're not much but I hope these will be OK.'

  Marilyn didn't look, her finger hovering over the face of a bright and happy teenager.

  'They'll be fine, thank you.'

  'They were my wife's, but they should fit.'

  She could hear the sadness in his voice. She put the picture down, turned and walked across to him.

  'Thank you for everything, I don't know what I would have done without you. If you hadn't answered the door. I… I...'

  'Hey, hey. It's OK. Here. Put these on. I'll make us coffee, and we can figure something out, OK?'

  'Yes, thank you, Elwood.'

  Elwood handed her a pair of faded denim jeans, a white blouse, clean woollen socks, and a thick, black knitted cardigan. He closed the door behind him as he left.

  She undressed slowly, paying no attention to her cold and quivering body.

  ***

  Elwood navigated the corridors with ease, strumming his fingers on his c
hest, twisting and turning left and right. He led himself to a small kitchen area. The floor was laid with alternating black and white square ceramic tiles. It was clean and compact with a separate dining area. He reached into the top cupboard, pulled down two mugs and set them on the worktop. Everything was arranged just as June had left it. The coffee, tea, and sugar all had their own compartments. Everything had its own little home in the kitchen. What a woman she was, he thought. He boiled the kettle, pulled out a flowery cushioned seat at the table and waited patiently, rubbing his hand across the spotted, plastic table cloth, carefully thinking of his next move. Their next move. He made two overly strong coffees and made his way back to Marilyn.

  ***

  When Elwood returned he was carrying two steaming mugs.

  'Here you go, I don't know if you have sugar and milk, but I put some in anyway.'

  'That'll be fine. Thank you.'

  She gladly accepted the coffee and they both sat down. Marilyn wrapped both hands around the mug and let the hot steam billow against her face, smelling the wonderful sweet smell. She took a loud slurp of her drink, it was the way Jack had always done it. She laughed, fracturing the lull.

  The storm passed fiercely overhead, whipping against the brick motel walls without care or respect for humanity, making them both jump.

  'Tell me about Jack, Marilyn. I'd like to hear about him,' Elwood enquired, truthfully.

  'He's a great kid,' she said, blowing the steam from around the ring of the cup. 'He's smart and funny. Caring and sensitive. He always manages to find the good in people, no matter what. He's trusting and thoughtful, always putting others before himself,' she answered, happily, a smile curling in the corners of her mouth like a gentle wave washing over the shore.

  'Do you have a picture of him?'

  'I... I don't. Not on me. It's in my purse, in the car.' She took her first sip. It tasted damn good. 'He's handsome, takes after his father. That's the only thing, thank God.'

  'Hey, he sounds like a wonderful boy, and lucky, too. To have a mother like you.'

  Marilyn lifted her head from the hypnotic aroma of her coffee mug.

  'Thanks, but I wouldn't be so sure of that.'

  'Don't sell yourself short. I can tell a good person when I see one. We'll get him back, don't you worry about that.'

  He sipped his coffee, his brain ticking over.

  'There are only two ways out of here, Marilyn. Back the way you came or to head to the freeway. But to do that you have to pass through the next town. It's a couple of hours' drive. My guess is that they're heading toward the freeway, to avoid the local authorities.' He took a long sip of the piping hot coffee. 'The phone lines are down here, and they may be out in town, too. There's no way of telling.'

  Marilyn was nodding, hanging on his every word.

  'We have to get to town, I mean.' She got to her feet, her drink almost spilling. 'Jack could be there right now. We have to leave now, Elwood. I have to go.'

  'Marilyn, I know this is probably going to sound stupid to you, but you need to rest. When was the last time that you slept?' Elwood replied, keeping himself firmly planted to his chair.

  'Sleep? You think I can sleep?' she spat furiously, raising her arms and tipping coffee over the side of the mug. 'My son is missing and you want me to rest? Jesus, he could be anywhere, anything could have happened to him, he's out there all alone, Jack, my eight-year-old son, with some fucking maniac in this fucking storm. I don't know if he is alive or hurt or even…'

  She ran out of breath and broke down into a fit of tears. Her body convulsed and buckled as she fought back her breathless cries. Elwood rushed over to her, threw his arms around her and held her close, one hand holding the back of her head, he whispered into her ear.

  'Shhh… shhh. It's OK, It's OK. We'll find him. OK? We'll find Jack.'

  He continued to hold her close.

  'The storm sounds like it's passing, but right now, it is hell out there. We won’t get ten feet.'

  Her body stiffened around Elwood's heartening nuzzle. She knew he was right, but didn't want to accept it.

  'We can leave within the hour. It'll give us time to pack a few things and then we'll drive to town, but we will take my Jeep and I'll drive. And you have to promise me you'll at least try and rest. Do we have a deal?'

  Marilyn gently pushed herself away from the warm embrace, her tears had stopped. She sniffed hard and wiped the watery sadness from her face.

  'Deal.'

  'Let’s go and get Jack back.'

  TWELVE

  Jack tried to keep his mind as busy as possible, to take it anywhere but inside the car. Thinking of all of his mom, his dad, his friends, his favourite T.V shows, anything and everything. Jack leaned in close to the window, seeing his warm breath hit and dissipate against the streaky glass. The rain maintained its steady downpour but it was weakening, losing its barbaric lustre. It pounded against the roof of the car like hammers on a steel drum in an opera, charged by a blind conductor. He peered out at the venomous sky, what he could see of it, at least. It was becoming less deadly with each passing mile. He had just about caught a glimpse of a broken signpost a few miles back. They were closing in on a town.

  He turned his head to look at O'Sullivan, he was in an unblinking trance, staring at the road, his mouth twitching with the occasional squeak of the wipers. Jack carefully folded his arms across his stomach, slowly tucked one arm under the other and grappled quietly for the door handle. He found it. He slid two fingers underneath and tugged. Nothing. The door didn't budge. He captured his disappointment in the creases of his face, but made no noise. He released one finger at a time, making sure not to let the handle snap back. It didn't work. His moist finger slipped and the handle snatched backwards, its stiff plastic slapping against the door.

  'David, what are you doing?' O'Sullivan growled, glaring at Jack with wide eyes.

  'There was a draught, I was just checking the door to see if it was closed properly,' Jack answered, immediately

  'Well?'

  'Well, what?' Jack replied, trying to wipe the stroppy tone from his words.

  'Was it closed properly?' O’Sullivan barked.

  Jack jumped.

  'No. It wasn't. It’s closed now, though. The draught has stopped. I'm Sorry. I didn't mean to make a noise, I won't do it again.'

  'You better not, do you hear me, boy?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  O'Sullivan focused his attention back to the road, losing himself, twitching with the squeak.

  THIRTEEN

  They drank the rest of their coffee, not waiting for it to cool. They silently studied each other from opposite ends of the room.

  Elwood's thoughts kept circling back to a few hours earlier. He questioned himself and took a deep breath.

  'Marilyn,' Elwood started. 'That man you saw at the restaurant, you know, the one with the scar? I… I can't be sure, but I think he stayed here, about five hours ago. I recognised him from your description of the cut under his eye.'

  Marilyn sat upright, tense, the anger and confusion so blatantly obvious on her face.

  'You what? Are you serious?' she demanded. 'How could you? Was Jack...?'

  'He was alone, Marilyn,' Elwood interrupted gently. 'Jack wasn't with him. That's why I can't be sure it's the same person.' Elwood cleared his throat and rubbed at his lips. 'But it certainly sounded a lot like that guy from the way you described him. A mark under his eye, a torn and ragged jacket. There was something off about the guy, I knew pretty much as soon as I saw him. I felt like... I don't know, like he was hiding something.' He dropped his head. 'I just didn't know what. You know, I didn't really have any reason to question his motives, he was seeking shelter from the storm. I'm sorry, Marilyn.'

  Marilyn, softening, placed her coffee mug on the floor next to her feet, the cold trickles of spillage dripping onto the carpet.

  'Did he give you a name, did he give you anything, anything at all, Elwood?' she pressed, taking charge. 'Did h
e use a name?'

  'He said it was David. David O'Sullivan, if my memory serves me correctly. Now, I don't know if that's an alias, or what.' He threw his arms into the air, palms facing the ceiling. 'Like I said, he did seem like he had something to hide. So that may not be his real name. We can check the log-in book, but I'm pretty certain that's what he said. I'm usually quite good with names and faces.'

  Marilyn swept her fingers through her hair, keeping her body active, keeping the swarm of emotions at bay.

  'Can you remember what room he stayed in, what number?'

  'It was Number Five, it's the best double room I have here. I put him in it because I felt bad for the guy. Now, I wish I had hit him across the head with my bat. Bastard.'

  'Have you been there since, to his room?'

  Elwood raised and shook his head, keeping his eyes to the carpet.

  'I haven't. If I'm truthful, it was your knocking that woke me back up. I thought it was him changing his mind about breakfast. 'He gave me the key deposit as..' He stopped. '...As a tip and I told him to post them back through the letterbox.'

  'Right, OK. Where is it? I want to see his room. I want to see where he kept Jack,' she ordered, not taking a single breath.

  'Marilyn. I didn't see Jack. This may not be the same man. He was alone.'

  'You don't know that for sure,' Marilyn enforced. 'He could have hidden Jack in the car, without you seeing. Did you see the car, can you remember what he was driving?'

  'I can't, I'm sorry,' Elwood stated sullenly.

  'Never mind about that, I want to see his room. Come on, let’s go.'

  Elwood dragged his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt twice, checking them.

  'OK. Let’s go and get the key. We'll check it out. But I want you to wait outside while I check, OK? I'll go in first. Just in case.'