Cursed (13 page)

“My hands are clean.”
He quickly said, embarrassment heating his tone slightly.

“I know; it didn’t even cross my mind.” She sincerely meant it, and instead of the pity and fear he had received for too many years to count, she merely made a statement with no undertones or lies, but with compassion and respect.

Mason didn’t reply but instead retrieved his box that had been left on the counter and opened it, gathering the plastic utensils that had come in the bag. Sitting gingerly on the living room chair, he spread a napkin open on his lap and began to eat like a man who indeed was not used to a sharing a meal.

Sarah ate, keeping quiet as the hot soup worked its magic, calming her throat and warming her body. When she finished and opened her dinner, she decided to break the silence.

“So, you never told me. How do you know so much about Boston’s history? Did you grow up here in the South End?”

“No.” At first she thought he wasn’t going to say anything further but almost as an afterthought he added, “But that’s a long story.
I have lived here for a long time.”

“Well, you seem really knowledgeable about the area and if you wouldn’t mind, I might run some more stuff by you to get your take on it.
You might have some more color you can add like the park area earlier.”

Mason stirred his food and nodded. Taking another bite and glancing up at the television.

“I hope you don’t mind. It’s just. . . .” How would she describe what she wanted to say? She felt like it was on the tip of her tongue, like she knew something but didn’t quite know it at all. She looked down at her noodles in confusion.

“Just?”

Sarah turned and looked at Mason sitting on the chair, the light from the kitchen behind him casting a shadow and the television glow illuminating the better side of his face. She didn’t see the man she knew was there, but saw a young man with brilliant sea blue eyes.

“It’s just . . .” Tilting her head, her straight blond hair fell over her right shoulder, brows furrowing as the words she had thought she was going to say about leveraging his Boston experience turned into “I feel I can trust you.”

“Trust?”

“Um, yeah? Why did I say that? I feel like I know you, although I really don’t know anything about you, but I just feel . . . safe.”

Mason sat back in the chair, looking oddly perplexed which confused Sarah even more. She thought she should explain more but didn’t know what to say to clarify her strange and sudden admission. Was it that the cat really scared her that badly?

“I’m sorry.
It’s probably that I am just glad you were here when Midnight, er . . . the cat, acted a little crazy.”

“I would be very interested in knowing something, Miss Carter.”

“Sarah.”

“Yes, Sarah, I am wondering if the house or the apartment might be why you feel safe.”

She thought about this question and realized that was true. "I do feel at home here. Ever since the first day when Mrs. Casey showed me the apartment, I had a feeling that this was the only place right for me here in Boston. Not that I looked at any other apartments to compare it to.” She chuckled a little at herself and her lack of comparison shopping, but stopped quickly when the laugh turned into a cough. “I saw this apartment and felt it was perfect, like it was meant to be. Does that make sense?”

“Actually, I think it does.” Mason picked up his napkin and stood up slowly, leaning on the arm of the chair to steady and push himself up.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay.
You have my number if you need anything.”

Sarah stood to walk him to the door. As he turned the handle, it looked like something occurred to him and he hesitated.
“Not that I think the cat will pose you any cause to be concerned for your safety, if it hasn’t returned its owners have probably taken it back in, but you may want to close your bedroom door and stay on the couch tonight. Just to avoid being woken with its cries to come in and get warm.”

“That’s a good idea.
Thank you, Mason.”

“Good night, Sarah.”

She closed the door behind him and turned the lock, hearing him limp off slowly down the stairs. Sarah crossed over to her bedroom and shut the door before using the bathroom to clean up for the night. She was hoping to get some sleep and an early start tomorrow so she could be home for Christmas Eve.

She pulled off the hoody she was wearing and got back on the couch in her t-shirt and sweats.
The sky was still clear and she wondered if the snow they predicted by morning would take a turn to the south and avoid Boston.

The medicine helped induce a quick, deep sleep where Sarah dreamed of being with Lisa in the park wearing long dresses and sweeping hairstyles and drinking lemonade.

Mason

Mason descended the marble stairs slowly to the lobby, checking the lock on the front door and then pulling his tired body to the backdoor exit to make sure the safety was on.
Pausing by the window, he looked out at the snow drifts and watched as the wind blew and swirled the light snow on top. He was looking for footprints but had a feeling if there had been any the wind would have surely smoothed them out by now.

Mason returned to his apartment.
Opening the door, he realized how exhausted he was from the work of shoveling followed by two visits to the top floor and the emotional drain of the cat and Sarah. The absence of sound, save for the grandfather clock ticking away the never ending stream of seconds was also a stark contrast to Sarah’s apartment. The conversation, especially with her, and the television being on in the background was all a little too much and he felt comforted now by the peaceful solitude.

Sarah was a problem.
He had suspected it since last October, but was surprised to find that he almost welcomed the conundrum. He was so very tired of living alone this way and it was nice to have someone accepting him, looking beyond his disfigured shell of a body. It hadn’t been that way for a long time, when he had his adopted family around him and they saw him as he was. Granted, he had become worse with time and much worse since they all died.

Mason moved around the apartment, checking windows and locks. Feeling thankful they had not lost power but cursing himself for not asking if she had more than candles to light.
Briefly he toyed with the idea of bringing her a flashlight, however, he decided he was worrying too much and put the extra flashlight back.

What was really worrying him was the cat.
Throwing itself against the glass had been surprising, but the glass held and did not crack. He doubted the cat could get in, but what would it do if it did? If the cat returned, and he was convinced she would eventually, he wanted to be there. He did not like leaving Sarah alone two floors up but her closing the bedroom door gave him some measure of solace.

Entering his bedroom, the shades and curtains already drawn as they were every day and night to avoid anyone from seeing in, he removed his clothes.
As he pulled the thermal long sleeve shirt off over his head he noticed his right shoulder, typically gnarled and stiff, was less distorted and the boils had subsided somewhat. Moving closer to the vintage mirror on the beautiful antique bureau, Mason tried to get a good look at his back. It looked the same, with welts and boils and the hump over his left shoulder blade.

Trudging heavily into the bathroom he ran the water until steam filled the small room.
Stepping into the shower, he felt his knotted muscles start to loosen and thought again about the conversation he had with Sarah. Hopefully she would be able to go home tomorrow and get out of the building but that really won’t solve anything – she would eventually come back and he was fairly certain the wheels had already been set into motion.

Fearing he heard a sound, Mason quickly shut off the water and listened.
His senses were heightened since seeing the cat and, really, since the cat saw him. All he could hear was the howling wind outside the bathroom window, so he dried off and returned to his room.

Mason put on sweat pants and a t-shirt, his typical sleeping garments, and shut off the light.
Pulling down the covers he slipped into his bed and thought about what the next day would bring; goodness or evil. And, just how much he should tell Sarah? Contemplating different scenarios of telling her everything, telling her just enough, or telling her nothing and asking her to leave. Or, he could just cut to the chase with telling her his suspicions and have her laugh at him, or worse yet, fear him. A headache was starting to settle in from the worrying, but the bottom line was he wasn’t sure if she would believe any of his tale, and if she didn’t, then where would that leave them? Sarah didn’t seem to remember anything and perhaps that might still be best for everyone. He could think more about his next steps tomorrow.

Exhausted from the day, the physical labor of keeping the building clear of the heavy snow and the emotional strain of the situation on the third floor, Mason drifted into a quick, although troubled, sleep.

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The screams began in the dark hours before dawn. At first Mason thought he was still sleeping, visions of hissing cats mixing with the muffled screams, but as he came awake, he realized they were inside the building. Faint, but he was now sure of it. They were coming from Sarah’s apartment.

He sat up in bed a little faster than he normally would and his spine, having grown twisted into an unnatural shape, cracked in protest.
Without much thought to the sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing, he hobbled out his front door and up the stairs as rapidly as his body allowed. It was quiet now but that hushed calm only spurred him on faster. As he rounded the last set of stairs, feeling the air tearing at his burning chest and pulling himself along with his hand on the banister, he could finally hear the sobbing and a part of him relaxed by just hearing the sound.

Reaching her door he pounded with the side of his fist.
“Sarah, are you ok?” His voice seemed to echo in the open hallway and it was a long moment before he heard her voice inside, small and childlike, “Yes, Mason, I am ok.” He then heard the latch being turned and she opened the door, clearly looking disheveled but unhurt. Her face was wet from the tears.

“I guess I had a bad dream.
Would you mind coming in? I am glad you are here, I’m still not feeling right.” She turned and went back to the couch and sat down in the near dark. There was only a little light coming from the partially closed bathroom door up the hall, but given his appearance and exposed arms, he preferred it that way. His protesting body was happy to sink into the chair he ate his dinner in a few hours earlier and he watched Sarah as she digested whatever it was that scared her.

After several minutes, in a soft reassuring voice, Mason finally asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sarah nodded her agreement, but still stayed silent. Mason waited; he had many years of experience waiting and could tell she still needed time.

“I had a dream.
At first it was beautiful. I was in a field . . . it was very green but with flowers everywhere mixed in the tall grasses. And the sky was so blue.” From what he could see of her face in the dimness, she seemed to be reflecting on the dream and smiling to herself.

“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” Mason said.

Sarah raised her gaze to meet his and he felt himself reflexively cringe, even though he knew she couldn’t really see him in the darkness. Once he confirmed everything was alright, he thought, he would excuse himself and leave.

“This part wasn’t the bad part.” She said, shaking her head.
“So, I’m in this field and I can feel wind in my hair and I suddenly realize I am riding a horse.”

Mason had frozen in his chair, barely breathing but feeling the quickened tempo of his heartbeat pounding in his chest and in his ears.
As her words came out about the horse and how lovely it was, and the deep brown color with red and gold highlights in its coat, he felt his innards turn cold. When she mentioned the white spot on the horses crown his hands began to tremble as they had from time to time in her presence.

He watched how she spoke, the tilt of the head and the way she tugged at the lobe of her ear when she started to get agitated.
He had noticed her tugging at her earlobe the day in the basement when the dryer wouldn’t work, but he had purposefully disregarded it. He knew, but then again, he had known all along hadn’t he?

“And I was riding around in this meadow on the beautiful brown horse with flowers sprinkled in the tall grass and all of a sudden we were inside somewhere and it was so dark, so very, very dark.
But the horse was still there. I more knew that than could see it.” He saw her involuntarily shudder at the thoughts that must be replaying in her head and he wanted to stop her. Stop her for herself and for him.

“But there were screams.”
Her eyes were closed and she pulled air in through her teeth, trying to control herself and not cry. “Screaming all around me. It was an ungodly sound yet there was another sound . . . but I am not sure what it is. I know I don’t like it.” Sarah’s eyes are staring off across the room, unseeing of her surroundings. “At first I thought the screams were the horses but I think it was really me. I woke myself up screaming. I don’t know what scared me or what that other sound was but I think there was something else in the dark. I’m just not sure. I can’t seem to remember.” She tilted her head and self-corrected herself. “My dream, that is. I can’t remember my dream.”