Helens-of-Troy (48 page)

“A few. I know at least one of them, or
I thought I did. Marita’s son, Gaspar. He’s your
half-brother.”

“Gaspar? That sickly little boy? Are
you sure? It sounds like Marita slept around a lot too.” She
certainly hadn’t noticed any family resemblance between herself and
the young child.

“I’m sure, Helen. I’ve gotten to know
him over the past year, and let me tell you, you are two peas in a
pod.”

“What do you mean you’ve gotten to know
him? Where is he?”

“He lives at my house. Or he used to.
And he’s not sickly anymore. Not that type of sickly,
anyway.”

“What did you do with him? Did you send
him on vacation or something because we were coming?” She presumed
that was possible. She had initially told her mother she and Ellie
were just staying for a short visit.

“Of course not. He’s kind of on his own
journey right now,” Helen offered.

“Where does he sleep? You don’t have
any other bedrooms in this house, and let’s face it, our rooms are
definitely feminine. I didn’t see him in the basement when I was
doing laundry. Does he sleep in the cottage?” She stood up and
faced her mother. “Is your Naturopathy Clinic just one big
cover-up?”

“My office?” Helen laughed nervously.
“I’m almost offended by that remark, but we don’t exactly have a
history of being honest with one another, so I’m willing to let it
slide. Sit back down, will you? We really need to talk.”

“I’d rather keep standing,
thanks.”

“He sleeps in the garden. Below the
dirt. Usually.”“Okay, maybe I will sit back down,” Helen said,
grabbing the closest chair. Her body fell effortlessly to the seat.
She raised her hand towards her mother. “Wait,” she said, taking a
deep breath and exhaling slowly. “Okay, I think I’m ready
now.”

“He used to come into the house, but I
don’t let him in anymore. You shouldn’t invite him in either, if he
comes back.”

“Why shouldn’t I invite him in? Oh…oh,
no…don’t tell me—you were serious about him being a
vampire?”

“You know, if you’d just believe me the
first time I told you these things, it would be a whole lot easier
on all of us,” her mother insisted.

Helen slapped herself in the head. “Of
course he is.”

“It was the only way to save him. He
was so shaken by the death of his mother that he tried to kill
himself later that night. I had to work fast, let me tell you. Roy
only knows half of what really happened at that stupid party. The
night was still young when they took Marita’s parts away in a body
bag.” She took both of Helen’s hands into her own. “I’m sorry I
held the truth from you all these years, Helen. You had a right to
know about your father. He’s a bit of an egotistical nutcase, but
it was easier to just let you think that I was the unfair one,
never giving him a chance. He does love you, I know that in my
heart. It’s the only reason we keep in touch from time to time. I
have to warn you though, I’m not inviting him here for Christmas.
You can beg me to all you like.”

Helen hung her head and remained
silent.

“We really should get ready, Helen,”
her mother said. “We’ve got a job to do. I’ve asked Willie to
babysit Stan.”

“Willie?” Helen questioned.

“Don’t freak, Helen. It’s going to be
all right. I know he’s a handful, but I think he’ll be okay with
the boy. He’ll never admit it, but while we were talking back at my
office…”

“You were just talking to him at your
office?” Helen said in disbelief.

“Yes,” Helena admitted. “We were
talking about other people’s children and he seemed—I don’t
know—somewhat sad that he didn’t have any of his own.”

“Um, mother…” Helen flinched. “I
wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“No, I think he was
sincere.”

“Oh, I’m sure he was. It’s just that…”
she looked for words she didn’t want to say. “Oh, good God.” Helen
sighed, putting her head into her hands. “There is no Jules. There
is no Julian. There’s just…Willie.”

“Willie?” Helena screeched
uncontrollably. “Are you trying to tell me that Willie is Ellie’s
father? Willie’s dead, Helen. What were you thinking? That’s one
step short of necrophilia in my books.”

“Nooo,” Helen replied delicately. “He
still has some life in him, let me tell you.”

“Seriously, Helen? Our Willie? Not some
other Willie? Like Willie Wonka or even Willie Nelson?”

Helen shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve
never really gotten over Ellie’s father. Willie is Ellie’s
father.”

“
Talk about your long
distance relationships,” Helena sighed.

“When we’re apart I miss him,” Helen
continued, “but whenever we’re together I just want to ring his
bloody neck. That man is impossible. He was never home and he was
always sneaking around. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of him
if I tried.” She tried to mimic his voice. “‘I can’t tell you,
Helen.’ That’s all he ever said.”

“Well, technically he can’t tell
you.”

“You’re not helping,
Mother.”

“Did you elope with him or
anything?”

“No.”

“Well that’s good. ‘Till death do us
part' would have a whole new meaning with him.” She paused and
thought for a moment. “I thought you hated Willie. You were furious
with him the other night.”

“I was furious with him because I
thought the whole night walk was a ploy to take Ellie away from me.
But I see now that he only had her best interests at heart.” Her
voice softened. “I guess I owe him an apology.”

“Well that takes the cake,” Helena
exploded. “We are one messed up family, let me tell you. Who
exactly split the wraiths, Helen? It was Willie, wasn’t
it?”

Helena nodded sheepishly. “Well, he did
kind of help.”

“You should have called me,” Helena
insisted. “I would have come in a flash.”

“There comes a time when you just don’t
want to call your Mommy.”

“There is never a time you can’t call
your Mommy. Not while I’m alive—or after I’m dead for that matter.
No wonder Willie’s so paranoid about helping us now. St. Peter must
have had a field day with that one, let me tell you.”

“We just thought maybe it would help
with his body count. Bonus points or something.”

“Let me tell you something, Helen. When
it comes to opening the pearly gates, our testosterone fuelled
next-door neighbor has a better chance of springing them than
Willie ever will. Ryan will be out of jail long before Willie gets
out of purgatory.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her
head towards her daughter, pausing a moment before she spoke. “I
see now, why you’re so dead set against Ryan and Ellie becoming
friends. You don’t hate the bad boys, you love the bad
boys.”

“Busted,” Helen admitted. “Ryan has
those qualities—bad boy/good heart—you said yourself that Willie
isn’t all bad.”

“For the record, I think Ellie likes
Tom better anyway.”

“Right now, I’d be happy if she was in
love with either of them. Because I’m afraid someone else has
entered the picture. Someone who might not have that ‘good heart’
attribute. Someone who’s bad through and through.”

“Helen, Gaspar is Ellie’s
half-uncle.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“She’s a sensible girl…”

“She’s still a teenager. A teenager who
thinks her mother is wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“Hmm,” Helena pondered. In her mind she
pictured Tom and Gaspar side by side. “I still think she’s pick
Tom,” Helena said. “I think Gaspar’s going to remind her too much
of someone else she knows.”

“I just wish she was sitting in front
of us right now, so I could say, ‘Ellie, you’re a great kid. Dress
any way you want. Hang out with anyone you want. Just don’t be in
such a hurry to grow up. I’ll miss you.” She wiped away the tear
that had trickled down her cheek. “I am so afraid that’s going to
happen before I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to miss her. If you’re
open to it, you can become good friends. She won’t stop needing you
just because she’s a woman.” She looked Helen in the eyes.
“Right?”

Helen gave her mother a hug. “You are
more right than you will ever know.”

“Do you know what I’m afraid of?”
Helena began, shaking ever so slightly with the words. “With Willie
being Ellie’s father, what does this means Ellie is? Part human,
part gatekeeper, part…”

“Dead?” Helen questioned, and then
quickly regretted her words. “I mean loved. She is very fully and
wholly loved.”

“You are sounding patronizingly like
your father now and I don’t appreciate it. What the hell are we
supposed to do?”

Helen put her fingers to her temple.
“Is there time for a massage before Willie gets here? Because that
would help.” She moved her fingers to her ears and rubbed her
lobes. “Did you hear that?” she asked her mother
nervously.

“Hear what?” Helena asked. “I didn’t
hear anything.”

“Ellie,” she said with terror in her
voice. “She just called to me. She said ‘Mom, come find me in this
hellhole.” Helen’s eyes began to well up uncontrollably. “What do
we do now, Mom?”

“We get ready to kill your
half-brother,” Helena said matter-of-factly.

“But he’s…”

“He’s what? Family? I made that mistake
too, Helen. Now look at what’s happened.” She rubbed Helen’s back
to try to comfort her. “Are you sure you can handle this? I know
killing is never easy, and it’s worse when it’s someone you
know.”

“I have another confession to make,”
Helen replied.

“Now?”

“I killed cousin Frankie. Out by the
lake. Full moon, werewolf. That’s the condensed version. I thought
I had sank his body out in the deep blue water well enough, but the
next day Ellie and I were out canoeing and up he came. The body
part, anyway. She saw the whole thing.”

“You killed cousin Frankie? Your aunt
Joan has been blaming me for years. I kept telling her I didn’t do
it.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen offered.

“It’s okay,” Helena sighed. “He had it
coming. His father was a werewolf. I did kill him. What did you do
with Frankie’s head? They never found it as far as I
know.”

“I toasted it with the marshmallows,”
Helen confessed. “Willie got rid of the skull. He does come in
handy from time to time.”

“Well, experience is good, I guess. I’m
sorry but there’s really no choice with Gaspar and Ellie,” Helena
said solemnly. “I know in my heart that only one of them is going
to come out of this situation alive. I think we’re in agreement
which one it has to be.”

Helen placed her fingertips on the
table.

“What’s wrong?” Helena
asked.

“Nothing,” Helen replied. “For a second
there I felt the ground shake a bit. I guess it was
nothing.”

Helen stood up bravely from the table
and did up her coat. “Where do you think Betty hides her whiskey?”
she asked.

Helena opened the cupboard above the
stove. “I took a guess,” she said removing the cap from the bottle
and taking a swig. “It’s so 1970 to hide it there.” She passed the
bottle to Helen. “One for courage?”

“One to ease the pain,” she said,
taking a big swallow. “I’ve got to enter a trance and find out
where Ellie is. I’m going to have one hell of a
migraine.”

“That’s my girl,” Helena said, her face
turning fierce. “’Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned /
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned,’ - William Congreve. Well,
let me tell you this, Mr. Congreve. Gaspar has just royally
pissed-off two women. The wrong two.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Gaspar held Ellie in his arms as her
body went limp. He watched her eyelids flutter, trying to re-open
from the effects of the drug-like sensation palpating through her
veins. He felt no need to slap her this time. He would let her
awaken when she was good and ready. Instead, he pushed back her
black hair from her shoulders and smelled her neck. The combination
of the scent of her hair and the aroma of her skin aroused
him.

“What have I done?” he asked himself.
Unfortunately, as fleetingly as the question entered his mind, it
left. He was more curious than apologetic.

His hands started to move up her body,
his testosterone wanting to know what lay beneath that sweater she
wore. He wanted to reach across her back, and undo her bra, like he
had seen many a man do on those soap operas Helena PVR’d. His
fingers moved slowly to the middle of her back, his mind a mixture
of eagerness and panic. In the end, he did nothing. He knew she had
no free will at the moment, and while that was beneficial for
killing, it crossed the line for anything so instinctively human.
So much for being a monster.

“What am I doing?” he reflected, and
this time his ego allowed him time to ponder the
question.

SHE had told him to try to avoid
romantic entanglements. SHE had said there would come a time when
he would find women who would offer themselves up freely, both
sexually and food wise to him, with no strings attached. Ladies of
the night, SHE called them, a new twist on an old moniker. SHE
hadn’t said how long it would take before he found such a slut, or
how he would recognize the signals from one, but he knew the
scenario would not be like the one before him now.