Chapter 24
Grant: Someone Left the Cake Out in the Rain
I run into the living room expecting to find Terri sprawled on the floor. I’ve never seen a fainted person before. I imagine all kinds of scenarios, most of which come from cartoons. I think of smelling salts and I realize I have no idea what a smelling salt is. I wonder if putting something that smells awful under the nose of a fainted person would wake them up. Dirty socks, rotted fish, something like that. Then I get into the living room and I see I don’t need to find anything rotted or rancid because a) Terri has not fainted and b) the most rotted, rancid thing ever is lying in the doorway, held up at the feet by someone who looks very much like Curtis Freeman if Curtis Freeman’s soul was devoured by Satan. And I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.
Terri is beating Curtis with a lamp. The thud I heard must have been the plastic lamp landing against Curtis’s head because there it goes again. Thud. Thud. Thud. Curtis is unperturbed by the constant thudding against his head and Terri is very much perturbed by Curtis’s lack of perturbedness.
“What the fuck? WHAT. THE FUCK.” She’s about the have a major freak out and I’m not sure I can be of much help because I’m staring at what looks like the decimated body of a dead hooker. So many dead hooker jokes run through my head and I tell myself to stop, that there’s a time and a place for everything and this is neither to time nor the place for dead hooker jokes. Is there really ever a time and place for that? I’m not sure and I’m not about to have an argument with myself over the ethics of dead hooker joke telling, not when I’ve got a teenage girl about to run her freak machine into hyperdrive because she’s staring at her neighbor who just so happens to be trailing dead hooker all over his clean rug.
“Holy shit, that’s Sharon.” Stu is standing between the kitchen and the living room and he looks for all the world like Santa Claus just found Mrs. Claus fucking the elves three at time in the workshop.
“How the hell can you tell? She’s nothing but legs and guts.” I look at the fishnets and red pumps and legs that were probably awesome until they got stuck with bits of dirt and blood and death.
“That’s the outfit she wore in Naughty Nina’s Night Before Christmas. I recognize the shoes and the green stockings. You can see a little bit of the dress left.”
“I’m not even gonna ask how many times you had to see that movie to memorize her outfit.”
“Eight times.”
“Eight times.”
“It was a good movie. She’s a fine actress.”
“Was.”
And then we’re standing there, everyone quiet like someone just farted at a cocktail party and no one wants to be the first to say “Damn, it smells in here” because, whoever smelled it dealt it.
“What are you all doing in my house?”
See, I told you. Curtis talks first. So this is his fart that’s stinking up the room.
“What in the hell are you doing dragging Sharon’s body around? Did you kill her? What is wrong with you, Curtis? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS TOWN?” Terri starts to cry and I have no idea what to do here. No life experience has taught me how to deal with this situation. Thankfully, I don’t have to. Mrs. Beasley walks in from the backyard where she has been sitting with the seven catatonic children, keeping them happy by singing to them. That’s how I know they’re catatonic, because no alert and conscious person would be happy with Mrs. Beasley’s singing of the Notre Dame fight song. At least I think that’s what it was. She grabs Terri’s hand and says, softly, “Come outside with me, dear. I need help with the children. Everything is going to be ok. Curtis’s shadow is fading.” Terri seems to know what this means. She drops the lamp next to what used to be Sharon’s head and walks outside with Mrs. Beasley.
This leaves me, Stu, Curtis and the remains of Sharon in a bizarre standoff. I’m not sure what to do. I suppose I could grab Curtis by the collar and say something like “This is a citizen’s arrest. Put your hands against the wall and spread em.” Then I’d read him his rights and ask him if he’s carrying anything.
I watch a lot of COPS.
“Unhand that body!”
Ok, I guess Stu is going to handle this one. I suppose “Unhand that body” is better than making a citizen’s arrest, which is kind of a dorky thing to do. Last thing I want here is to look like a dork in front of a murderer.
Maybe it’s the respect Stu commands in that too small Santa suit, but Curtis actually unhands the body. Well, lets go of her feet. They plop to the ground unceremoniously; Sharon’s sparkly red shoes are splayed out like the Wicked Witch of the West just dumped a house full of irony on her. I have the sudden urge to take the shoes off of Sharon’s feet and give them to Terri. “Here, click your heels three times and this whole fucking thing will be a dream.”
“I didn’t kill her.” Curtis’s voice is not quite Curtis’s; there’s a tinge of gruff darkness to it that meek and mild Curtis Freeman could never pull off before today.
I look at Sharon’s body and Stu looks at Sharon’s body and we’re both thinking the same thing. The hell you didn’t kill her.
“I said I didn’t kill her.”
This time there’s no trace of Curtis in the voice. It’s shadowy and sinister. It gives me chills.
“Oh, I wanted to kill her. I really, truly wanted to kill her with the same desire with which I wanted to fuck her before she left me. I wanted to destroy her. Ruin her. Take her breath away.”
Stu and I exchange a small glance. We both hear the darkness in his voice. Listening to that feels like the devil is running his tongue across my face.
“She was killed by ice.”
He walks a few steps toward Stu. I brace myself, getting ready to jump him if he tries anything on my Santa suit friend. Curtis has no weapon, but I think being possessed by the devil sort of counts as a weapon in and of itself.
“I’m gonna kill this whole fucking town, Stu. If I could have just killed Sharon, I would have been satisfied. But it was taken from me. The joy I would have felt when I choked the life out of that whore would have completed me. Instead, it’s going to take killing the entire town to make me feel whole again.”
Curtis’s hands go up, as if to start a choking motion. He’s still about five feet from Stu.
Music starts. What the hell? It’s coming from outside. I take a quick glance out the back door and there’s Mrs. Beasley and Terri and seven catatonic kids and they have Curtis’s boombox. They’re playing one of Curtis’s cassettes from Stu’s radio show. “Macarthur Park” plays in the backyard and as the sound moves in through the door and through the kitchen and into the living room, Curtis hesitates. He puts his hands down.
There’s something in Curtis’s eyes. A flicker of recognition. He twitches like a character in a stop motion animation and I take the opportunity to seize him around the waist and throw him to the ground. I yell to Mrs. Beasley “Turn the volume up. NOW. LOUD.” To her credit, she doesn’t ask any questions. She immediately cranks the tunes up and the rain and the cake and the recipe are filling the house with their tragedy. I’m sitting on Curtis now because I don’t know what else to do and he’s struggling to get up.
I sing along with the song. I sing right into Curtis’s ears and I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m just going on my gut instinct because I know I saw some sort of clarity in Curtis’s eyes when the music started playing. His connection to Scratch and Skip and all those songs must be the only string left between the real Curtis and the possessed man who dragged the body of his ex fiancé into his house. I just wish it were a different song because man, do I hate this crap.
Holy shit. Scratch and Skip. God damn it, Grant. Use your brain.
“Stu! Stu! Say something, like you were on the radio show!”
“What in the fuck are you…”
“Just fucking do it!”
Stu hears the urgency in my voice but more important he sees the look on my face, the one that says, if you don’t do what I say and do it right now, no matter how absurd it may seem at the moment, this motherfucker I’m sitting on is going to break free and kill us.
“Good morning, Green Valley! It’s Scratch and Skip with Stu McLundy! Just another Pleasant Valley Sunday, isn’t it?”
Curtis stops squirming beneath me. He’s whispering. He’s whimpering. Whatever demon is inside him is fighting it out with the real Curtis. They’re arguing like lovers.
“Curtis. You must finish what you set out to do. Don’t let this foolishness stop you.”
“It’s Stu. It’s Stu. It’s time for Scratch and Skip. I want to make a request. I need to talk to Stu.”
“Stop it, Curtis! We have to go. They’re waiting for us in the town center. We must go!”
Then Stu is leaning in closer and talking in his loud, booming radio voice.
“Welcome to the Greener Valley Winter Festival, everyone! Looks to be a fine festival this year, and we’re going to kick it off as always with Winter Wonderland!”
Except “Winter Wonderland” isn’t going to play. Because out back, “Macarthur Park” has ended and the next thing on the tape is the DeFranco Family’s “Heartbeat, It’s a Lovebeat.” That’s Curtis’s song. Well, it was his and Sharon’s song and I’m freaking out that this is going to make demonic Curtis take hold and we’re all pretty much fucked.
“Heartbeat, it’s a love beat, and when we meet….”
Curtis is singing. Softly, faintly, but he’s singing and it is the saddest, most awful thing I have ever heard in my life. But it’s the best thing, too, because it’s making the dark Curtis disappear. All I can hear is the singing Curtis. I start singing. Stu starts singing. Outside, Mrs. Beasley and Terri are singing and the seven catatonic kids are coming out of the state of catatonia and they’re singing too because everyone in Greener Valley knows this song. “Heartbeat” is as part of Greener Valley as is every home and every person.
Holy shit. It comes to me. I know what we have to do.
I roll off Curtis and look him in the face. It’s him. It’s the real Curtis, I can tell.
“I didn’t kill her, Grant. She was already dead. I don’t know…”
“It’s ok, Curtis. There’s time for explanations and shit later.” I don’t know that, of course. For all I know my idea is stupid and terrible and will get us all killed. For all I know, the rest of Green Valley is already dead or possessed. But I have to try, at least. And honestly, it would be so damn fitting if it ends up being Stu McLundy that brings this town back to normal.
“Stu, go in the shrine room and find any tapes of your show from a Winter Festival.”
Stu goes and I go to the backyard to talk to Terri and Mrs. Beasley.
“I have a plan.”
“Oh,” says Mrs. Beasley, “this is just like the movies, isn’t it.” For a second I think the near dementia Mrs. Beasley is back but she finishes with “Now try not to make it one of those shitty movies where everyone dies in the end.”
“Well, that’s up to all of us, Mrs. B. I’m going to need both of you to work your magic. I’ll need to know where the shadows are once we get to the town center.”
“We’re going to the center?” Terri sounds more excited than nervous.
“It’s the only way. We’ll leave Curtis here for now and bring the kids over to the Emporium. They can hole up in the back room there.”
“Ok, let’s do this.”
“Wait. I have to pee.” I don’t really have to, I just want to go in the bathroom and have a little heart to heart with Mr. Solo before we go.
A little nervous, Grant?
Han is standing cross armed in the mirror.
“You’re wearing the wrong outfit. That’s an Indy Jones outfit. From the second movie, I think.”
You’re the one doing the imagining here. It’s not my fault.
I think of Han in his Hoth clothes, with the parka and the fur hood because I need it to start snowing outside and in my distressed state of mind I imagine this will help. Han obliges my wishes and is looking Hoth like.
“Ok, that’s better.”
Glad you approve. So, you ready to play hero, Grant?
“I don’t know. I have this plan but I have no idea if it’s going to work.
Things seldom work the way we intend them to. I mean, look at what happened to me on…
“This isn’t about you, Han. This is about me. I came in here for a quick pep talk, ok?”
Fine. Go get em, tiger. Knock em dead. Break a leg. Good luck and godspeed.
“Gee, thanks.”
Sorry. It’s just that you’re running out of time. If you want to be the hero – and we both know you do, Grant – then you’ve got to do it now. Waiting here in the bathroom talking to the mirror is only going to get you to a point where your window of opportunity to make this thing happen is gone and then what? Then Grant isn’t the hero. Grant can spend the rest of his life being just Grant and not Grant the Guy Who Saved a Town. Stay here two more minutes and you can avoid all that hero crap. You know what I mean. Listen y’all, it’s a….
“Sabotage.”
Go forth and do stuff, Grant. May the force be with you.
“And also with you.”
This isn’t church.
“Might as well be.”
Before I go out there I check Curtis’s medicine cabinet. There are four different prescriptions. I kind of figured. I find the sleeping pills, give a last glance at Han in the mirror and walk out to what feels like is going to be the start of the second half of my life.
Mrs. Beasley has the kids rounded up. She’s holding Curtis’s circa 1985 boom box which is softly playing one of the Scratch and Skip tapes. The children, looking much less feral now and more like the snotty little brats I know them to be, are lined up like they’re waiting for the lunch bell.
“Watch,” says Mrs. Beasley. She lowers the volume on the box to zero. The kids immediately get agitated. Their entire demeanor changes; their eyes glaze over and they once again have the look of catatonic beasts. Beasley turns the volume up a few notches and they relax again.
“You don’t see it, Grant, do you? When we turn the music down, there are shadows everywhere. I guess you can’t see them like we can. But trust us, they are there. And as soon as the music makes the kids go back to almost normal, the shadows are gone.”
“We need to get the fuck out of here. We have to get to the festival before it’s too late.”
I go over to Curtis, who is sitting on the couch, dazed and confused.
“Hey, Curtis. Do me a favor. Take a couple of these.” I hand him the sleeping pills. “We’re going to head to the town center to see if we can’t take care of what’s going on. I want you to stay here, ok? Just take these, go in your bedroom, lock the door and sleep. We’ll come get you when it’s over.”
Curtis starts crying. Well, crap. I’m bad enough when girls cry on me, I have no idea what to do when a guy gets all maudlin and shit. I pat him on the back and say “There, there, Curtis. It will be ok.” Which sounds really stupid as soon as it leaves my mouth.
“It won’t be ok, Grant. Sharon is dead. I swear to you I didn’t kill her, but I have no idea what made me drag her body here. It’s like something evil, something horrible came over me but I can’t remember what. I just remember running into Stu on the street and I went up to the studio because I wanted to…” he trails off.
“What?” I don’t have a whole lot of time here to listen to his tale of woe.
“I…think I wanted to talk to Maurice about something. Maybe about the show. You know, the Stu thing.” He looks up at Stu. “Sorry, man.” Stu shifts uncomfortably and adjusts his Santa pants. “Anyhow, I just remember wanting to talk to Maurice. And then…the…it’s hazy. I don’t know what happened. Next thing I know I’m filled with this rage, like I want to hurt everyone, but mostly Sharon and someone…something….something dark and whispery was pushing me. I think I went looking for Sharon to hurt her. But when I found her, she was already dead. She was dead, Grant! I didn’t really want to kill her, I would never, she was the only woman I ever loved, ever. The only woman I ever slept with, I ever held or kissed, she…oh god…” He’s bawling now, the kind of crying that comes with deep gasps for breath and so much snot that you can’t even blow it out of your nose. He’s wiping the snot on his sleeve and wheezing as he’s crying and talking and we’re all just listening to him. Me and Stu and Terri and Mrs. Beasley and the seven catatonic dwarves. It’s a train wreck that shouldn’t have had any survivors.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember it all. I just…just…she was dead and that made me angry, so angry, I don’t know if I was angry because she was gone forever or angry because I didn’t get the chance to hurt her first, or at least tell her face to face what she did to me. Next thing I knew I was here. I was feeling mean and I was thinking, this isn’t me, there’s something here besides me and I wanted it to go away, Grant. There was this…acid inside me, burning me. And then the music came on and it was like everything melted in slow motion and there I was with her body, her stinking, bloody, ruined beautiful body, I was holding her legs and oh fuck fuckfuckfuck what the hell is going on here, Grant?” He leans into me like a child looking for his mother’s comfort and all I can think is goddamn he got his snot all over my shirt. I don’t know what the hell to tell him. I have as much idea about what’s going on around here as he does.
“It will be ok, Curtis,” I lie. Because I don’t know that it will be ok and the longer this goes on the less certain I am that anything will be ok ever again. “Take these,” I repeat. I shove the pills at him and he grabs a handful, chokes them down without any water. Terri takes his hands and leads him off the couch and to the bedroom. We follow them in there and once again I’m thinking of the Wizard of Oz, imagining a scene where Curtis wakes up from a dream and sees us standing there. “And you were there, and you were there, and you…” We’re all just part of Curtis’s deranged nightmare. If only.
Terri tucks Curtis in. She turns on his stereo. There’s a Cure CD in the player. Terri smiles. She hits the repeat button and leaves Curtis falling asleep with tears running down his face and “Boys Don’t Cry” on the stereo. I know, I know.
We leave Sleeping Beauty and the eleven of us file out the door. I keep myself from singing Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It’s off to massacre we go.