Chapter 4
"Allright," Denise started as she threw an extra pillow on the bed, "let's get things straight right now. I don't want to go over this again tonight, got it?" Richie nodded in agreement as he remained seated on the trunk beside the bed. "Good," Denise added, "you'll be staying in this room, Jeremy's room is right across from here, and I'll be downstairs on the couch tonight. And try to stay in your own bed, I don't want to find any unwanted company in the morning."
"What about Mason?" Richie asked.
"Let him find his own bed, he's got three floors in his house, there's got to be at least one somewhere in that place," Denise said in response.
"I mean, what are we going to do about him?" Richie asked.
"Stay away from him for the time being," Denise told him, "That's what we've been doing, isn't that right, Jeremy?"
"Right," Jeremy's voice trailed across the hall.
"I just don't get it," Richie started, "Mac seems to think this guy's allright, he's known him for five years, how long has Mason lived in that house?"
"A couple of years, so if your warden knew him before he moved there, I guess he would think he's fine. No one really knew about him until he moved in, and then he had a label: Insane. What I don't get is why your warden doesn't question anything, like this why this hardly comes out of his house, or why nobody's seen his wife," Jeremy said as he came into the room.
"Mac also said that he hasn't seen the guy in a while, he didn't exactly specify how long," Richie added.
"So it could be that your warden is defending a man he doesn't know," Jeremy said.
"I guess he could," Richie thought.
"Also could be he knows something and is defending him still," Denise added.
"Well – that's possible too," Richie realized.
"And here we are going on like a bunch of paranoid idiots," Denise sighed, "Richie, I don't know who's been screwing around with your mind, but just forget it. Mason is just a weird guy who is best left alone, so just forget it, forget him. You came here to get away from your warden and to have a good time—"
"Yeah but Denise—"
"Richie, what I would like to know is why you're letting a man, who you have never officially met and know next to nothing about, become such a disturbance to you," Denise said.
"I don't know, I don't know why I'm letting him do this to me but I am, there is something about him that I don't like and if I could find out what it is—" Richie sighed in frustration, "I don't know, because of him, my life is a wreck; my nerves are shot, I can't think straight, I can't eat, I can't sleep—"
"Yeah," Jeremy said, "your warden told us all about that."
"And if you heard the BS I had to give to him to convince him to still let you come here, you'd know you'd better learn to unwind before Friday," Denise said, "now drop it before I wrap my hands around your neck and turn you blue."
Richie knew well enough by now that it was an empty threat, but still he decided to take her advice. They'd obviously gone through some trouble to guarantee his visit so it was probably the least he could do.
Jeremy looked out the window and through the heavy rain saw the Buick in Mason's driveway, "He's still there, his car's still in the drive."
"No – shit," Denise said, "I told you, he'll be gone soon."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because he's got a job teaching now, he has for a couple of months."
"But he never comes back at the same time," Jeremy told her.
"He teaches different classes different days, sometimes he works at night, sometimes he works at night. Sometimes he teaches Algebra, other times the works of Amadeus, sometimes he has to work with slow students, they take up more time than anything," Denise replied, "now shut up, I don't want Richie getting paranoid again."
"Well," Jeremy said as he drew the curtains, "whatever he saw in this guy, it must've been pretty bad."
"Why is that?" Denise asked as she took a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of a drawer in the desk in the living room.
"I woke up today at about one in the morning, and he was out in the hall looking out the window," Jeremy explained to his sister, "he kind of seemed catatonic, he just sat there, watching, I went over to him, I tapped him on the shoulder, I asked him if he was coming back to bed and he didn't do anything. I don't know if he went back to sleep after that," Jeremy said.
"Dammit!" Denise exclaimed as she put away her lighter.
"Burn yourself again, sis?"
"I was hoping that sedative I put in his drink would work," Denise said.
"What'd Richie have to drink last night?" Jeremy asked.
"That Bedtime Bliss tea, it's supposed to help you sleep, make you calm, relax your nerves—"
"I thought that's what heroin was for," Jeremy commented.
"That too, matter of fact—" Denise exhaled a ring of smoke, "I wouldn't be surprised if that's one of the key ingredients. Anyway I figured it'd help if he had an extra sedative to make sure he slept, but apparently it didn't work."
They heard a door open upstairs, followed by the noise of Richie jumping down the stairs and into the hall, and into the den. Denise and Jeremy turned around and saw that he looked a wreck. His eyes were red and half closed, his hair was mussed up and he didn't seem to be quite all there.
"Morning, Richie, sleep well?" Jeremy asked.
Richie grumbled something incoherent, and walked in the room.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" Denise asked, guessing what his response would be.
"Screw the tea, it doesn't work," Richie replied.
"Didn't you sleep last night?" Denise asked.
"Oh I got about an hour's worth, at least as far as I can recall," Richie answered, "and you? Did you sleep well?"
"Richie, let me give you some advice if you want to see your next birthday, never ask someone who sleeps on the couch, if they slept well," Denise said.
"Allright, if it bothers you so much, why don't you move back into your room?" Richie asked.
"I can't, someone has to stay down here and keep guard," Denise said, "especially when our parents are out."
"Why can't Jeremy?" Richie asked.
"Have you forgotten already?" Denise asked, "Jeremy can sleep through a tornado. I'm more of a light sleeper."
"Yeah, she got like that after three years of having junkies, pimps, hookers, dealers, and robbers coming in all hours of the night," Jeremy explained.
"So Richie," Denise said, "what've you got planned for today?"
"You kidding, Denise? In this weather the only thing that comes to mind is learning the breaststroke," Richie bitterly replied.
"I was thinking we could go somewhere, like the pool hall."
"I don't play pool."
"How about bowling?" Jeremy asked.
"I don't bowl."
"Then what do you do?" Denise asked.
"Not a lot since I moved in with Mac," Richie realized.
"Keep it up and you'll be exactly like him," Denise said, "come on frizz, there must be something you've got planned."
"Nope."
After a minute of silence, the phone rang, Denise picked it up from the kitchen while the boys listened from the phone in the den. "Hello? –Hey Mister MacLeod, what's going on? –Nothing, we're just getting up and around, and you? –oh yeah, Richie? Slept like a rock, never even turned over—how's your floo—I mean your girlfriend? – So how's Seattle? – We got rain here –Richie? I can't get him right now, he's taking a shower – no, I can't do that either – see our hot water hasn't been in too good a supply, so you have to get a hot shower when you can, by the time he got back the water would be cold – allright, I'll tell him you called, good-bye."
Denise hung up the phone and came back into the den, "See frizz, that's how you talk to your warden to keep him from getting his do-well arse back over here."
"Great, but why didn't you just answer the phone from here?" Richie asked.
"Because of a little thing called common knowledge, see," Denise picked up the cellular phone and hung it back up, "anyone with half a brain knows that if you talk on a cell phone, anybody who has a police scanner within the next block can hear your conversation."
"Really?" Richie asked.
"Of course, any simpleton who knows about electronics – not to mention actually owns a police scanner – knows that's how it is," Denise explained.
"Well, we've got Richie's warden off our back for the day, now what?" Jeremy asked.
"I don't know but I say while we're thinking of something to do, we all cram into the truck and pick up some things from the market," Denise said, "I have to refill the wine rack anyway."
Denise slammed the door shut on the truck as they scurried into the store to get out of the rain.
"Dammit, it's really coming down out there," Jeremy said.
"No shit," Denise replied, "if this keeps up we'll have to tread water just to get out the door – Jeremy."
"Yeah?"
"Go get a cart," Denise said as she took a grocery list out of her pocket.
Richie looked out the doors and stared the continuing rain, "Man, I've never seen the weather get this bad before."
"I know, if there'd been a sun today, it would've been blood red I'm guessing," Denise said, "come on, frizz, help me pick out a watermelon."
"How do you know which ones are ripe?" Richie asked.
"You don't, you just reach in the box, grab one and hope it's good," Denise explained.
Richie leaned over the large box and picked up a dark green watermelon that was about the shape of a beach ball, "Look any good?"
"Makes no difference to me," Denise said.
Jeremy stopped the cart just as it started into the watermelons, "Jeremy," Denise said, "make yourself useful and go get two bottles of Calvert."
"You got it."
Jeremy took off down the isle where the bottled water and the alcoholic beverages were kept.
"Can you get that stuff?" Richie asked.
"Don't worry about it, frizz, I got it covered," Denise said, "besides, I figure you could use some alcohol, I bet it still helps you sleep, and that's something you could use."
"How about I just take a vicodin?" Richie asked.
"How about a shot of vodka to go with a vicodin?" Denise asked, "that helps anyone sleep, it helps my father."
"What about your mother?" Richie asked.
"Stick her at the foot of the bed with the television and the lights on and her lights are out for the night," she explained, "You know, frizz, I'm glad when your warden comes over our parents aren't home."
"Why's that?" Richie asked.
"Because he'd never let you come over if he saw what we really have to put up with," Denise replied.
"No, Mister MacLeod, he doesn't have a problem with that – okay I'll tell him when he comes in," Denise hung up the phone in the living room where the men were seated.
"Well?"
"The rain in Seattle has really picked up in the last eight hours and they probably won't be able to get back here for another day or two," Denise said.
Denise took the receiver back off the hook and dialed another number and waited a few seconds, "Hello, dad? Yeah, well Richie's going to be spending the night here. – No!" Denise said cynically, "he's not drunk. Mister MacLeod repainted the upstairs of their home and the paint's taking forever to dry, and it makes Richie sick so they asked if he could stay over while they stay in a motel? – They didn't take him with them because he's banned from it – no not for that, - because when he was twelve and he was staying there, a lady accused him of taking her watch. Of course he didn't but even after they acknowledged that, she still accused him of stealing her watch, so they won't let him back in, that's why. Yeah, well probably just for the night, we think so, well the rain's gotten a bit strong up here, so it might not be till tomorrow afternoon when he leaves –yeah, okay, goodbye dad." Denise hung the phone up and said, "Sucker."
"I take it you've gotten good at bullshitting people," Richie thought.
"I'm an expert at bullshitting them, don't kid yourself," Denise said.
"So now what do we do?" Jeremy asked.
"I ordered a couple of pizzas for dinner and I got a movie for afterwards," Denise said as she reached under the couch.
"Great, what is it this time?" Richie dryly asked, "Carrie? Horror Hospital? Oh wait – don't tell me, Little Shop of Horrors."
"No, this isn't some cheap horror movie," Denise said.
"Oh, then what is it?" Richie asked.
Denise pulled up a tape in a transparent clamshell and handed it to Richie, "Simple old Airplane!"
"Well in that case, remind me not to order anchovies on my pizza," Richie dryly responded. "Denise."
"Yeah, frizz?"
"Don't you think your parents are going to find out where you keep your movies?" Richie asked.
"Give me a break," Denise replied, "my mother is hardly here long enough to get a shower and a change of clothes, you really think she's going to be noticing them?"
"Rich, if you're going to be hanging around here, then you have GOT to learn the basics," Jeremy said.
"But we'll get around to that, another time," Denise said, "right now you're here as a guest and you should enjoy your stay."
"And I have been, every last minute of it," Richie said.
"Richie," Jeremy said.
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember that guy we used to know—Trent Nickelson?"
"Remember? Jeremy, you shitting me? I used to live with that bastard," Richie said.
"Well he's dead now, so it's safe to assume he's getting everything he had coming to him," Denise added.
Richie turned around and looked at Denise, "Dead? When'd he die?"
"A couple of days ago, he had a heart attack, but that wasn't what killed him, no," Denise said, "his ex-wife came to see him and it seemed to be an instant attraction all over again, but then she found out that he was still married to his second wife, finally she realized what he was setting her up for and went to the hospital with a gun in her purse."
"She killed him," Richie assumed.
"No," Denise replied, "he was already dead when she got there, his current wife killed him."
"She shot him?" Richie asked.
"No, she had been poisoning him, putting arsenic in his hospital food. He never complained about being sick so no one noticed, the doctor didn't even notice the white lines in his nails. So—it's anyone's guess as to whether or not it was a painful death for him, but at least no one has to worry about him anymore."
"Yippy, there's a piece of good news," Richie said flatly.
Denise slipped off of the sofa, stood up and said, "I'm going to take a shower, let me know when the pizza comes."
Three and a half hours later the three of them had finished off half of one pizza and two thirds of the other.
"You know, frizz," Denise said as she put the plates in the sink, "we should do this more often."
"Yeah, if only Mac had to go out of town more often," Richie thought.
"Yeah, you know that's not a bad idea, I've been wondering, does your warden know a guy named Connor MacLeod?"
"Co—" Richie thought for a minute, "Connor MacLeod?"
"That's right," Denise said.
"I—I—" Richie wasn't sure how to answer. He at least hoped they were both thinking of a different person, "I'm not sure."
"Well let's see if this refreshes your memory," Denise said, "he's about six feet tall, short blonde hair, always wears a trench coat, from New York."
Bingo, it was obviously the same man. "Yeah, he knows him."
"Well—maybe next time we can arrange it so your warden has to go to New York to visit him," Denise said.
"How do you even know Connor?" Richie asked.
"Well it was a few years ago, he got into a fight with someone and we were there when the fight was over," Jeremy said.
Richie swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, "What kind of fight?"
"Domestic violence really, he needed his jaw put back into place but the other guy needed 200 stitches just in his head," Denise replied.
Richie felt like he was going to have a heart attack, how in hell did Denise and Jeremy find out about Connor MacLeod and not "Russell Nash"? And if they knew about him, did they also know about Immortals?
"So what all do you know about him?" Richie asked.
"Enough to know he's a lot more lively than your warden, he could take lessons from him," Denise said.
"I thought they might be related since they share the same last name," Jeremy said, "is that right, Rich?"
"Uh—wouldn't have a clue," Richie quickly lied.
"Oh well, next time he calls, I'll ask," Denise said.
"You know Richie," Jeremy said, quickly changing the subject, "there's going to be a marathon on tonight of the National Lampoon movies on tonight."
"Sweet, I haven't seen those in so long—"
"Allright you little demons, continue this ruckus upstairs in your own room," Denise said.
"What's your problem?" Jeremy asked.
"I'm exhausted, I've been on my feet for 36 hours and would like to turn in now," Denise said.
"Allright, allright, no need to bite our heads off," Jeremy said, "Come on, Richie."
"Right behind you."
It was going on 2:30 in the morning, everything was still dark. Denise was on the couch sleeping peacefully, laid straight out with one arm raised slightly above her head. The front door slammed and the lights in the dining room came on, and Denise woke to a sudden force shaking her as she heard someone calling her. She woke up and turned on the light beside her and saw Richie staring at her, panty heavily.
"Richie, what's the matter?" Denise asked.
"Denise," Richie gasped, "you gotta get up, quick!"
Denise sat up on the couch and saw that Richie looked like a hysterical wreck. "What's going on, Richie?"
"Denise, it was horrible, he killed her!" Richie screamed.