The Shut-Ins: First Draft
“Oh yes, their feet will slide in due time. Oh yes.” she said in a hushed toned, fearing that someone might have heard her outside. Those damn little children were rumbling with each other’s oversized flannel shirts on the lawn diagonal from her home, ruining the meditative process. Loud screams mixed with giggles distracted the veiled woman from her meticulous observation of the peaceful, pink sky settling for the night. Going outside was so dangerous: what if that murderous arsonist thought she would make good tinder, or what if he saw she was alone? She closed her shutters and rested her weary head on a pillow.
It wasn’t just the thought of encountering crime that scared her, it was the idea of even leaving her house that did. Outside was too crisply cold in the winter, and too sloppily hot in the summer: heatstroke, hypothermia, mononucleosis, tetanus, and so many other illnesses were all acquired through outside elements that Mary Tinsley did not plan to acquire any time soon.
Many regarded her as the 21st century version of the lonely cat lady. Instead of cats, she had technology: two 45 inch Insignia LCDs in the living room, one 12 inch Panasonic in the kitchen, and two tablets, along with one Mac book under her only couch in the house. In the suburban community of Springdale she was an urban legend; as the community grew exponentially in the 90’s, so did her reputation as the neighborhood pariah.
Springdale was in the surrounding suburbia of Richmond, Virginia in the county of Chesterfield, located in the community of Midlothian, Virginia. Mary Tinsley moved to Midlothian in the 90’s right when Springdale opened, and also when a great migration towards from the frigid North East Coast began. In the fray of building the perfect suburbia was the mysterious Mrs. Tinsley: trying to find a new life, and trying to forget her own sanity in the process.
When she moved to Springdale she had successfully established a reputation for herself within the first few months. From refusing to meet the neighbors since she moved in to blasting MacGyver in the middle of the night, she left everyone in the neighborhood with questions. The sympathetic minority thought of her as mentally ill while the pessimistic majority regarded her as a misanthropic cancer and bad influence for children. Paranoid parents thought she encouraged children to stay up late, and children made a new urban legend about her every day.
In reality, she existed benignly for years, opening the door only for groceries from the burly UPS guy she would pay to shop for her.
Children would ask the man what she looked like, if it was true that she was blind, or if she was allergic to outside air. Myriad questions and myriad rumors grow over the years, but nothing changed. The UPS man would always say, “Just a little different, that’s all. She just like you and me, move on now.”
Mary had loved that everyone hated her. Most nuclear families hated single women, it was a fact. They would wonder “Where is the husband?” or maybe say, “I bet you she’s a junkie.” Those were the thoughts that went through their heads she knew, so she enjoyed playing the part. Knowing things was easy, but knowing people was hard for her now. Being a mystery was fun for her, and for years it was that way. All she needed was four walls, a roof, Netflix, and some groceries. It worked out very well until the memories from the North came back recently. For weeks they had plagued her and grew worse
Now it was today, and today was terrible. The corrupting thoughts of her loneliness erupted like puss every other day. Walls got tighter the more she was alone, and the rising heat in her head kept her nights sleepless. Even not having someone around that you hated was sickening. Time had done weird things to her head whereas a day felt like a month, and the nights felt like a year.
To remedy her pain, Mary had decided to rent out a spare room on Craig’s List, not knowing what she threw herself into. She felt apprehensive about it first, where she began posting and deleting constantly every day. Eventually she inebriated herself on some Yellow Tail one weekend, and mustered the strength to not erase it.
2
He knocked on the door with a bit of trepidation, hoping she would be perfect. Not perfect because no one is perfect, but perfect for him. He realized how stupidly redundant that thought was, and cussed under his breath.
No one answered on the first or second knock, so he took a brief respite to observe the neighborhood. One basketball hoop in the cul-de-sac, a Toyota Sienna parked in the street to the left and a blue Ford F-150 to the right. He saw tornadoes of leaves dancing in the street, and cookie cutter houses with all rotting, white paneled wood exteriors. Jamie felt exposed, and wanted to get inside quickly.
His swelling fears were relieved when he heard the sound of clumsy socked feet thumping down the stairs. He attempted peaking inside, but before he could do so, the door sprang open and a musty smell of her house hit him with a punch.
The first thing he thought was Medusa when he saw her charcoal hair in a loose bun, and wild strands of hair poking out.
She curtsied, and said, “Come in, please Jake.”
He noticed she was wearing a faded rose pleated collar with dirty laces; it looked like some artifact she dug up in her backyard to wear. In terms of looks and personality, she fit the bill so far as a modern day Bertha Mason.
Jamie smiled at her mistake. “My name isn’t Jake, mam.”
“Oh I know Jamie, just making sure you’re not an imposter. Oh I know.”
Mary waved her right hand forward, grabbing him tersely with her left. He smelled something very pungent and sweet on her like cheap perfume, probably Courture La La, but an overwhelming miasma of her body odor clogged his nostrils to be able to really tell. She stared back at him, grinning her plaque stained teeth with gaps large enough to hide El Chapo.
She thought he looked like white trash. She imagined huge tattoos underneath his oversized Billy Idol shirt, and held back the urge to gag. Those red chinos looked so tacky, and his blue moccasins were an abhorrent complement. At least he wasn’t ugly, but his face deed seem a bit too angular. Everything about him was angular: no butt, skinny calves, and meagre arms. Ironically, she still felt an attraction to him. There was something off about the boy though, she didn’t understand why he seemed to have a stump up his butt already.
The house looked clean enough to Jamie, but the smell was overwhelmingly organic to put it lightly. As they walked down the hall, the smell was beginning to nauseate him, and he began theorizing that she probably had dead bodies buried somewhere under the house.
Regret began to sink in, and his stomach juices began churning violently; it felt like battery acid were leaking through his lower extremities now. He wasn’t going to the let the attacks come back, but that was as long as he had Zoloft or Xanax for back up. Did he take it today, or yesterday? This wasn’t a good time to make a scene he knew, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it now. With a wave of relief, he remembered now that he took two pills of each this morning, and immediately felt the heaviness slough off his shoulders.
She beckoned him to sit down on a torn up Lazy Boy, bringing out Ritz crackers and salami, but the spidery veins and emerging brown spots turned off his appetite. Jamie grimaced, thinking about how old she looked for supposedly being in her fifties.
Mary turned an eye under her greasy strands of grey, aware of his disgust.
“I implore you to have some salami.” She cut a slice with an intricate sterling butter knife, and squeezed the piece between her fingers, making white juices bubble out languorously.
“Not hungry, but thank-you. Had something before coming here.”
She put her hands on her bony hips. “Oh, are your manners somewhere in those pants? I think I see them between your thighs in those little tights.” She squinted and smiled, eating the slice waiting for his reaction.
Jamie’s face become splotchy red, and he instinctively put his hands over his crotch. He breathlessly said, “I-I-I- I’m not into that, I have a girlfriend.”
“Sure, heh. I’m just teasing you. I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Say, I did need you to help me with some things though.”
“Like what?” He hated that sound of that, things were already getting too closer for his liking. The living room already was home, besides the odd odors, and it vaguely felt like visiting Grandma’s house. A great grandfather clock stood between the two windows outside, ebony shelves of dusty books were packed tightly resembling the color spectrum, and the carpet was assiduously white. Besides the smell, the place pleasantly transfixed him. Jamie noticed splotches of bleach after looking for a while, and he began counting them even though someone was distracting him. The murmurs became louder, and louder, but he didn’t care. Then a punch landing on his shoulder snapped him out of it.
“Did you get all of that, idiot?”
“Uh-yes-I mean no-Yes I mean?”
She rolled her eyes and slouched back in her chair, “Let me just be more concise: Shop for me every two weeks, and I cut your rent by 25 percent. Deal?”
Jamie was incredulous, he asked “Why? Are you disabled or something? Did your license get suspended? If so, I know how to get around that. My cousin actually-”
“Shush” she interjected, “I get anxiety on Hull Street. Lots of traffic. Please just do it.”
Jamie thought it sounded easy enough and he agreed. Mary impetuously stared at him with a neutral expression, as if she was begging him so say something. In an awkward gesture he got out his phone, and stared at the bright screen for a little while, typing gibberish on his notepad app. He wasn’t sure whether to make more conversation, or to just ask when he can move in and leave. The thoughts of what he was going to do with the valise in the car without him there began to bother him, but he didn’t want to strike her as odd by leaving so soon.
He weakly started the conversation again. “I bet you’re wondering about me.” He tried to convey a pleasant smile, but she wasn’t impressed.
“Sure.” She leaned back on the couch, and caressed her thigh.
“I work at Target as shift manager, and I have a year left of community college under my belt. Although, due to issues in communication between my professor and me, I have decided to take a break for the fall and make some more money. I thought moving out of my parents’ house would be the right direction in establishing my independence and to find some direction.”
Mary laughed and wiped some crumbs off the corner of her lips, resting her elbows on the coffee table to address him.
“Didn’t you tell me before we met that you live only two neighborhoods away from me in e-mail or something?”
He looked down, and murmured in embarrassed agreement.
Mary smirked and said, “Yes, You’re really branching out, heh. Anyways, you can move in tonight if you’d like.”
She paused for a moment to remember something, and told him to park in the driveway because it blocks her view of the neighborhood.
“Sounds great.” He sprang up, and shook her hand, eager to get the bag.
“Oh no, dear. Not yet. Oh no, your feet start sliding when you do those things. Clean before hugging me.” Jamie just mumbled in agreement, forgetting the odd remark, and ran outside to go get his belongings.
3
A week or two had gone by living in peaceful coexistence with Mary, and Jamie began to feel it again. He didn’t want to tell Mary why he really left, nor did he want to make her a victim of his problems. No one knew about him yet, so that was good. Sure, they knew that the people died and the stuff had been taken, but they don’t know who. Jamie was so careful in cleaning everything up, he knew that it had to be that way. He prized himself on the improvisational clean up: Clorox wipes, garden gloves, kerosene and barbeque lighter.
Although it didn’t burn all the way down, there was no way he left anything. Once this whole debacle passed over, he would move to Panama to sell cheaply made, overpriced cabanas to the one percenters who stayed there for the winter.
Jamie had a big problem tonight: he didn’t have any Xanax or Zoloft to ease the worries. To substitute this, he popped a funny looking blue pill from medicine cabinet in the hallway bathroom.
In bed, the thoughts flew through his head: he started wondering if it was too soon to feel good already. Thoughts of Chitré, Colón, and Gatun Lake kept getting punctuated by thoughts of having missed something in the cleanup. He incinerated the place, and wiped down everything but was there something else? Did someone see him? What if there was something left in the parts that didn’t burn?
He counted the questions, and began sweating in bed. He looked outside at the moon and counted its chancres, crevasses, and spots as best he could to distract himself. Soon, the white globe became an alabaster face, smiling down on him with dark coal eyes. The face stared under his bed at the space where his prized possessions lay. Jamie kept reassuring himself there was no way it could know was in the bag. It laughed silently and he started cussing at it, sweating.
After a ten minute frenzy of silently yelling at the moon, he heard police sirens outside his small window. The lights were becoming brighter and he couldn’t take it, he had to leave now. He didn’t know how to flip a switch or in his elevated state, and ran feverishly in the dark hallway with his loot.
Mary in the adjacent bedroom heard a large thud and ran out of bed to go retrieve the Ginsu knife hidden on her closet shelf. After rummaging through piles of moth eaten cardigans, she found it and tip toed to the door silently. She pressed her head lightly against the door and heard little feet pattering outside the hall.
Those footsteps were familiar: the left foot always slid a little bit behind his right. Mary regretted not fixing that, and she felt an overwhelming desire to hold him again. She thought about his little body snuggling against her like a puppy need for attention. Even on bad nights he would make her read Goodnight Moon, so they could both laugh and imagine that the family was them. His troubled breathing still left a warm impression on her chest, and she began to sob. The footsteps stopped, and she snapped out of her hallucination.
She rubbed her worn eyes, and fear replaced her sadness. Slowly, she creaked the door and peered outside in the hallway. Jamie was collapsed near the radiator in front his room. She saw miscellaneous objects on the floor, shining in the ghostly moonlight, inviting her over now.
“Damn.” She whispered as she rummaged through the Monica Rich Kosan lockets, Michael Kors watches, Cultured Pearls, and other treasure. She didn’t believe in coincidence and knew it was him who killed those people. Mary wasn’t going to call the police, or be scared. Instead, she gathered up the belongings and dragged him into bed with much effort. He probably got into the medical cabinet in the hall: she knew from the different arrangement of her pill bottles the next morning.
She lay the valise beside him, and went to bed. Mary felt purpose again for once in her life.
4
The next day, Mary woke up for once without feeling drowsy. She was morbidly excited to see him, and she didn’t know why. Hopefully, he would be smart enough to know that she wasn’t going to rat him out. Maybe they could even split it now. She felt in control for once in her life, and even had the faint glow of happiness inside herself.
The next morning, Jamie was still thinking about where he could have gone wrong: the demonic, dark valise just lay there vertically like it walked out from under his bed last night. He popped a dusty Xanax that he dropped a while back on the floor, and sat his head back against the flimsy bed frame. Did he take it out last night while he was high? Did Mary sneak in, and snoop around? Is there anything missing? She might not have even made the connection, but he knew she was pretty smart: weird, but smart.
His mind slowed after a little bit from the pill, and he began to bask in the autumn sun shining through his window, thinking about how he would confront her. Maybe just act normal, make conversation, and talk to her about her life. She never tells him anything about that anyways.
While he was contemplating, the depressant kicked in, and he fell into a deep sleep.
Meanwhile, Mary was waiting in the kitchen thinking what she was going to say: she laid out omelets, waffles smothered in blueberries, homemade Danish pastries, and scrambled eggs. There was no fruit, she forget that she was running low, but knew he would be happy with this anyways. He had mentioned briefly once that breakfast his favorite meal.
She was surprised the smells hadn’t waken up, but gave him time. Sure, he’s probably scared but the police weren’t called though. While she stewed in her thoughts, the grandfather clock chimed six times throughout the day. The dying light grabbed her attention, and she snapped out of her trance. It had felt like six minutes, she couldn’t believe it.
Then, as if on cue, she heard his lanky footsteps descending the moaning wood stairs.
Jamie was amazed and grateful for the meal, thanking her vigorously, but telling her he had no appetite. She was disappointed, but understood and told him to come watch television with her. They both tensely entered the living room, and Mary felt the overwhelming urge to break the silence after 10 minutes of an uneasy silence.
“People think I’m Boo Radley of this neighborhood.” Mary got up and began to press her dress, feeling his anxieties.
Jamie said, “No, no, no.” He looked down at his knees and picked a stray thread with shaking fingers.
He looked up and revised himself. “Well- I can’t say. Only been a little while.”
Mary began to pace back and forth in the living room, grabbing books and putting them back. Jamie noticed her movements became more jolted, and less sanguine, feeling like she knew.
“Oh no, I haven’t vacuumed in a month.” She was now picking up bread crumbs from the floor.
Jamie was reclining in the chair watching, “Who wants to be A Millionaire” but he couldn’t focus on anything except Regis Kelly’s face, something inside him became fixated upon the screen. He felt like host was waiting for him to say something, and he knew Mary was anxious about something. Jamie still wasn’t sure if she found out, but he felt the echoes of paranoia stewing inside him. He scratched the worn, leather armrest and felt gas building up.
The thoughts invaded his mind again after the lazy high wore off. They didn’t deserve it, but no one will miss them. Loud sounds, squeals, begging: at least there weren’t any children. That would have really bothered the hell out of him. He distracted himself with empty questions.
“Hey, how do you make your money?”
“Inheritance, and a nice pension from Sarah Lawrence.”
“Rich family, nice. You were a professor?”
“Not a rich family, no. And yes, I taught English.” She felt like he was interrogating her, and left the room to heat up some food.
Mary found some old Banquet meals and heated up one for herself. She knew Jamie wasn’t hungry by the way he was acting.
At least she was happily distracted now with someone. No more thinking about her boyfriend kicking in the Tabby cat with his Cool Haans. No more thinking about the little boy who would cry so much that she couldn’t take it. No more crazy Nor’easters and no more nosy neighborhoods. It was good to be free, free from those things that slobbered, sweated, and sexualized the person you were. “Touchy Tinsley”-his whispers were still warm on her ear. They were just skeletons in the closet now.
Mary snapped out of her trance by a car headlight in the kitchen window, and resumed her preparation of the convenient dinner. Life was good now, yes, very good.
She walked in on Jamie reading an H.P. Lovecraft Anthology, deeply entrenched in pages. Mary snuck a smile, and crinkled her noise in embarrassment. He put the book down and smirked at her.
“This guy kicks Poe’s ***. Stephen King totally ripped Lovecraft off.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh no, influence and mimicry are different things. Different things.”
“Hmmm- okay English professor.” He kept flipping through the thick book, glancing at pictures of the Cthulhu, and other monster every so often.
Jamie could feel the tension building again as he flipped through the thick book. His fingers felt ticklish, and they started perpetrating lightly. Mary was not staring at the television, the floor, or even her tablet: she simply sat on her favorite paisley couch, and watched him in the corner. His eyes kept wondering over to her, and soon he felt his tendons aching. A dull, hungry, burning pain poked at the back of his eyeball now and his senses became heightened.
The great grandfather clock loomed over him in the dark like a disapproving specter. He looked at the clock and saw the arms had stopped, and that it no longer was ticking. Frantically searching in his pocket, he checked the time and saw it was 7:23 P: M. A sigh of relief escaped his chest, and when he observed the clock again, the arms were moving to a one second beat.
Mary wanted to be subtle about it, but couldn’t think of a way. She turned off the television, and asked him, “What are you looking at?”
He jolted, and spoke in disjointedly, “The clock. Wasn’t working. Did you see it stop? It stopped. Tell me. You saw that?”
She squinted at the clock and said, “No, now sit down. You’re weirding me the hell out.”
“Okay. Okay. Anything on your mind?” He started pulling at his nails, causing a slight trickle of blood to run down his bony hands. From the way she was looking at him, he knew she knew.
She stared at the bleach spotted carpet and flat out said it.
“I know you did it, Jamie. There’s no other way around it, I looked through that bag last night. The black valise? You were high as kite, tweaking the hell out. What did I tell you about my medicine cabinet?”
All Jamie did was sigh, and drop his shaved head. He looked out of the window and she could tell he was thinking about at least two different ways to go about this. She hoped to God he picked the right choice.
“I-I-I didn’t mean to. It was so easy, and I guess I got cocky. I had it all set up: sneak out at night, so I could say I was asleep for my alibi. Always try to go for older people. Always plan your path. Always wear dark clothes. I did this for years, and it was so easy.”
He sighed, attempting to withhold tears, but he continued.
“These people were such light sleepers, damn it. I didn’t count on that; I swear to God, they only woke up because I stepped on one creaky board. One. That was it, and it was all over. The husband caught me right there in the bathroom, and I freaked. It was all a blur.”
Mary looked more sad than horrified. She finally said,
“Well, I won’t tell anyone.”
Fear and anger erupted within his panicked grey eyes, and he said, “I don’t know about that. You really shouldn’t have done that, if only you respected my privacy.” Jamie’s face became splotchy, and he eyed a fire poker glistening under her mantle.
With a quick leap, he ran for it and edged near her. He didn’t want to take chances, there were too many things that could go wrong now. When he pointed it at her, Mary didn’t even look scared, her amber eyes looked so innocent now. He had no idea what to do.
“We are in this together now. Beforehand, I never had anybody to live for, but you’re different. I don’t care what you did.”
Jamie thought about her, and didn’t like the prospect of having to do it. Could he really trust her? She didn’t call the police after all, so maybe he could. Maybe she wanted a cut though.
“Did you want to blackmail me or something? Make me give you half?” He clenched the loose handle, ready again to hit her. The urge was overwhelming and her next answer decided what he would do.
Mary just smiled at him, and said “You and I aren’t too different. We both did things we regret, and we both want more out of this life. I did things before moving here that made me lose my mind for a while. I neglected, I abused, I used, and the list goes on and on.”
She now stood up, standing boldly, and edged towards him to finish her statement.
“I just wanted purpose, and when I lost myself looking for it I slid back into something I didn’t want to be. You give me worth now, and I have nothing to lose. Death doesn’t scare me, and neither does getting caught. I feel confident enough to actually go outside, to be someone, and to help you. Let’s fake it together, and be who we are here. We are both cut from the same dirty cloth.”
She paused and looked down at her hands. “Just remember, my prints are on the jewelry now. I’m an accessory, so my stakes are with you.”
He believed her, and started sobbing uncontrollably. Mary edged towards him, and slid her arm around his bony shoulders. She finally felt normal and fulfilled by the warmness of his body, and time stood still. For once in her life, Mary looked forward to tomorrow.
