Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (14 page)

knock on the door awakens Melissa. She opens her eyes
slowly, then quickly shuts them as the blinding sunlight
invades her pupils. Lifting herself to the headboard, she

makes sure her nude body is fully covered.
“Come in.”
The door is pushed open, with its bottom brushing against the

thick carpet.
“Good morning.” Morgan takes a brief pause in the doorway.
He’s wearing a red checkered plaid shirt and blue jeans which have
seen their better days. He walks into the room with a towel, wash-
cloth, and a small stack of clothes. “This will get you started,” he
says, approaching the foot of the bed and placing the small stack
down. “If you need anything, just let me know. As far as break-
fast goes, I can’t cook worth a damn, so there’s some Wheaties
down in the cabinet. If the spirit moves you, you can always whip
yourself up something else. Everything you need is in the kitchen.
I need to mow the lawn, so I’ll be outside.” Morgan turns and
begins to walk out.
“Morgan,” says Melissa softly. He turns. “Thank you.”
“Are you kidding? It’s my pleasure,” he answers, walking out
and closing the door behind him.
As Melissa stares at the clothing, her mind begins to wander.
Sarah, I wish you were here with me. I think this could really
be a beginning of something good. This man, I think, is truly trying to help me. He doesn’t seem as useless as you always said men
were; this one seems nice. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what
happened with Harry; I was too ashamed.
Almost teary-eyed, Melissa reaches for the towel and hand
cloth.

An hour later, Melissa waltzes out of the house, wearing an
oversized shirt with gym shorts. Standing in the shade, she views
the magnificent front lawn and garden. She peers at the small trees
that have come to full bloom with their beautiful pink and white
blossoms. The humid summer breeze swirls around the house,
peeking through any opening it can find.

The front porch is broad and spacious with a few small potted plants lining the inside of the white banisters. Melissa can’t
help but notice the little yellow swing that squeaks with each passing of the summer wind. She walks over to it, but before sitting
down, she gently strokes the smooth wood and supporting chains,
savoring the moment. As she sits, she hears a loud roaring sound
coming from around the corner. Soon after, Morgan emerges,
shirtless, pushing a shiny red lawnmower. Not noticing Melissa sitting on the porch, he continues his mowing, making sure to avoid
the precious flower beds.

Melissa enjoys the sight of this handsome shirtless man. She
watches his muscles vibrate as they control the loud mower. Sweat
beads on his forehead, then pours down his face and hairy chest.
His skin lightly tanned, his hair a deep black, Melissa thinks of him
as one of those gorgeous men she’s often seen in GQ magazines.
Viewing him fully once more, she smiles to herself. She watches
closely as he stops for a brief moment to wipe his perspiration. As
he reaches down to shut off the mower, she eyes the bulging bicep
helping to flip the small lever. Then reaching back, he pulls out a
white cotton cloth and gently strokes his face and torso. Suddenly,
for some odd reason, a vivid picture of Harry pops into her head,
reminding her of her recent bad decision. Quickly blinking, she
washes the picture away.

“You’re outta bed! I hope the mower didn’t force you to get
up,” Morgan says.
“No, I was about ready to get up anyway.”
“How was your sleep?” asks Morgan as he walks toward the
porch stairs.
“I slept fine; the bed felt good.”
“That’s good.” Morgan walks up to Melissa and takes a seat
next to her.
“You know, I can leave anytime. You don’t have to let me stay
here.”
“Oh please, don’t worry about that. Plus, you’re doing me a
favor by staying here. I need someone here so I don’t have to be in
this big house alone all the time.”
“What about your girlfriend?” Melissa asks.
“Nope, don’t have one. Nobody seems to be able to handle my
long hours and dangerous job.” Melissa takes another look at the
garden.
“Your grandparents did all this?”
“They sure did,” he answers with a proud smile.
“Where are your parents?”
“They live in Philadelphia.”
“Get to see ‘em often?”
“As often as I can.” The two take a brief pause. “What about
you, where’s your family?” asks Morgan. Melissa’s lips button shut.
“Hey, don’t mind me, I’m just nosy. I’m starving. Let’s go inside
and get something to eat.” Morgan stands and walks to the front
door, then opens the screen door for Melissa. At first, she’s hesi-
tant, still thinking about his probing question, but she rises and
enters the home.
Melissa searches the kitchen for the necessary ingredients
to prepare a tasteful breakfast. Compiling some jumbo eggs,
hickory sausage, and frozen home fries, she tries to resurrect
the memory of her mom’s cooking skills. Once Melissa’s cooking is underway, Morgan enters the kitchen after a soothing hot
shower.
“Wow, something smells good.”
“Who the hell are you kidding?!” Melissa fans away some of
the thick smoke, revealing black, unappetizing portions of circular
sausages. “Damn, I can’t do this. Sarah did all our cooking at the
apartment. All the other times, we ate at the mission.”
Morgan chuckles and says, “I told you I had Wheaties.” Melissa
stops and laughs. Soon Morgan joins her with his own laughter.
The unexpected ringing of the phone interrupts their comical
moment.
“Hello? I’m sorry, they aren’t here. They’ll be out of town for a
while. Well, I’m sorry they didn’t tell you, Mrs. LaSalle, but I’ll be
sure to give them the message as soon as I speak to them. Sure,
Mrs. LaSalle, will do, bye-bye.”
“Looking for your grandparents?” asks Melissa.
“Yep, they go out of town so much no one can ever keep up
with them. Now, how about those Wheaties?”
With a small snicker of laughter, Melissa answers, “Sure.”

Melissa no longer looks like the street dweller she is used
to being. Now she looks like a beautiful young woman. Her hair
nicely styled, her face clean and healthy. She is a captivating sight.
Because she stays in the house all day, she occupies her time by
keeping the place neat and sometimes venturing out into the garden to prune the bushes and tend to the flowers. Reading Time
Life books on gardening, she picks up the tricks of the trade quite
quickly. Even though Morgan and she haven’t even kissed, she
feels like his wife, taking care of all the shopping and household
needs. Melissa often thinks about the people she left behind at the
mission, but she understands fully that she has to move on with
her life.

She often wonders why such a handsome man doesn’t even
have visitors. When he answers the phone, he only stays on for a
few moments. His whole attitude is that of seclusion and hermitlike behavior.

Morgan remains gone most of the time because of his work
with the department; if he’s not fighting a blaze somewhere, he’s
fast asleep at the station. Each time he comes home, no matter
how exhausting the day has been, he always finds a kind smile and
gentle words for Melissa.

On his days off, they take walks along the large lake in the shallow woodland behind the house. Their conversations often drift
into personal aspects of Morgan’s life, but as soon as the spotlight turns to Melissa, she quickly quiets. Morgan never pushes the
issue, he just continues along another train of thought.

Melissa, feeling obligated to give Morgan some type of payment for his hospitality, often mentions going to get a job. Mor-
gan, however, explains to her that she shouldn’t get just any ole
job. She should wait until the job fair next month, and he will
talk to some of his old colleagues for her. That way she will be
able to stay off the streets for good and possibly raise a family. Melissa often hopes that when he mentions a family, he will
turn and look at her with that special smile, but it never happens.

One early afternoon, Melissa rests quietly, watching her daily
soap operas, when a commercial comes on that directs her into
serious thought. The commercial only lasts thirty seconds, but
Melissa’s puzzled look lasts much longer.

She stands slowly from the plush chair and walks dazedly
through the room, toward the bathroom. Once in the bathroom,
she turns on the water and begins splashing her face. After a few
moments, she lifts her head from the sink and silences the running water. Looking at her drenched face in the mirror, she begins
knocking herself on the head, trying to force herself to remember
some important fact. Her hair clings to the sides of her head and
face, her skin color begins to withdraw. Her eyes grow wide, her
lips wrench into an angry sneer.

Melissa snatches one of the thick blue towels from the towel
bar and begins rubbing her face fiercely. Visibly distraught, she
tries to calm herself by burying her head into the towel. “Please
no,” she begs from within the towel. Her soul suddenly stings
in agony, her stomach churns, her skin becomes flush with pure
anguish, and she almost passes out. Dropping the towel, she grabs
onto the towel rack to maintain her balance. Slowing her rapid
breathing, Melissa calms herself.

With little haste, she runs out of the bathroom and quickly
grabs the small duffel bag that doubles as her purse. Slamming the
door behind her, she hurries down the street.

Exhausted from her hasty walk, Melissa gathers her senses as
she walks through the electronic doors of Epstein’s Food and
Drug. Holding her duffel bag tightly, she strolls past each aisle.
As if she has committed a crime, she avoids eye contact with the
other patrons. When an inquisitive employee asks if she needs any
help, she just shakes her head and continues. Once at the aisle she
seeks, Melissa takes a brief pause.

ometime later that afternoon, Morgan pulls up to the house.
Walking up the steps onto the front porch, he hears a slight
sniffling sound. Opening the screen door, the slight snif-

fling amplifies into a muffled cry. Feeling a sense of urgency, he
quickly locates the sound coming from the bathroom. Rushing in,
he finds Melissa huddled in the tub with a small pool of blood
next to her hands. The bathroom mirror is smashed and pieces of
glass fill the sink and decorate the floor. Morgan sees where the
blood trail starts. He notices one particular sharp edged piece of
glass. Its tip is covered with blood droplets surround it trailing to
the tub.

“Melissa!” he screams. Melissa, still crying, doesn’t respond.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Morgan’s tone becomes angry,
then strangely fright fills his eyes. He quickly turns, looking out
the bathroom as if to watch for someone or something. His heart
races, praying she hasn’t seriously hurt herself. “Shit, you’re going
to be the death of me, girl,” he says as he checks her arms. Seeing
that her cuts look much worse than they actually are, he wraps her
arms in a towel, then lifts her from the tub.

Before Morgan leaves the bathroom carrying Melissa, he
observes a small, white, slender object sitting in the sink amongst
the glass and blood. Curious, he steps over to it. It isn’t long before
he sees the blue plus sign at the end and realizes it is a home pregnancy test. “Damn.” Becoming even more jittery and nervous, he
races Melissa upstairs to tend to her wounds.

Melissa whimpers as he lays her upon the soft bed. Morgan
uses his emergency medicine techniques to dress and clean her
arms. His soothing touch puts her mind at ease. Never opening
her eyes, she drifts off to sleep.

Morgan smells a slight aroma of vodka.
“Been in grandpa’s cupboard, huh?” Morgan is still uncharac-
teristically shaken and nervous. Even though this situation would
make most people nervous, it seems like there is more, that something else is scaring him. His thoughts are drifting well beyond this
room and past Melissa’s well-being, into somewhere else, to an
unknown place.

Melissa quickly falls fast asleep. Her body now seems to float,
as if it’s weightless. Her wrists no longer throb. The vodka no
longer burns her throat, but instead soothes her body with graceful warmth. Her pregnancy scares and angers her, but the alcohol
calms her rage. She wants to cry more but feels she will continue
later.

A full-sized picture of Sarah develops on the backs of her eyelids. It’s a picture so vivid that Melissa believes she can reach out
and touch her dear friend. Sarah looks more alive than ever, her
whole body wholesome, skin unblemished, eyes white and clear,
hair still short and braided. The image stuns Melissa — it’s a depic-
tion of Sarah she’s never seen. Maybe this is the real Sarah, she
thinks. Maybe it’s the Sarah who became lost somewhere along
the line, like Melissa. The Sarah that Melissa never knew.

The picture of Sarah quickly dissolves into nothingness. The
blackness then takes over Melissa, sending her off to a quiet, natural suspension of unconsciousness, giving her body the tranquility
necessary to heal itself.