Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 02

Ron Melor lay across the couch, his head in his wife's lap, and sighed. His wife's soft, caring fingers stroked their way through his hair, curling slightly as they moved. As they traveled down the side of his face, they followed the curve of his temple and cheek. Her thumb grazed his jawline each time, at which point she would return the hand to its starting place and began the motion all over again. It was a soothing touch, starting up near his crown (where the bullet that killed Larry had entered) and running fully down the right side of his face (where Tony's wife's eye had hung out from its socket, red and useless). Ron felt Maddy's stomach announce every breath she took. Somewhere, above the formless static of missing thoughts, he counted each completed exhalation like a prayer.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong," her voice slipped down from above. The tone was concerned, tinged with fear. Or maybe, Ron thought, with guilt. He wondered if she had reason to be worried, to think that his unexplained melancholy was the result of something she did. "Was it work? Is that what's bothering you?" Maddy prodded. "Did...something happen?"

Ron closed his eyes. He didn't answer.

"Baby," the concern in her tone swelled. "Please."

"I'm tired," he said dismissively, lying to her now with an ease that he didn't enjoy. There were so many lies, piled one upon the other like corpses to be burnt. What was one more? "That's all."

She sighed. He didn't hear it so much as feel it, her body pushing out against the back of his head and then relaxing again. He knew what it was. It was a sigh of helpless frustration. Now, he thought, we reach a kind of emotional checkmate. We both know that the other is keeping secrets. We're both upset about it. And yet, neither one is prepared to deny the other the option of keeping those secrets for fear we might have to expose ourselves in the process. Whatever else Andro has done or will do, he has succeeded in taking us away from each other in that way. I might as well be alone in this room.

Maddy's hand stopped moving, resting instead atop his head. "Do you think you could be getting sick?" she asked, willingly playing her part in a deception neither believed.

"No," he said. "I just don't feel like talking, right now. But I do like hearing your voice. Tell me about your day."

There was silence. He imagined she was designing new lies to tell, to avoid unpleasant truths. Painting pictures about her day, so that the unflattering photographs could remain tucked away. He almost didn't begrudge her the effort...it was hardly different from what he was doing.

Actually, he hoped that he was being unfair in making that assumption. He hoped she didn't have nearly as much to hide as he suspected she did. He hoped she didn't have as much to hide as he did.

"Well," she said, "work was pretty ordinary. The Szespaniak boy is still going in his pants, so that was unpleasant. He starts kindergarten this fall, but his mom doesn't seem worried about it. I really wonder about that woman sometimes."

Ron grunted. Two prior Szespaniak children had come through the daycare where Maddy worked, and each had given her its own unique reason to bemoan the parenting skills of the mother. The first one bullied and acted out, the second was behind her peers in reading and writing skills, this last one pooped his pants. All of these disappointments were placed, by Maddy and her coworkers, at the feet of the mother. To Ron's knowledge they never said anything at all against the kids' father, although when he asked Maddy about it she admitted that the couple was not divorced and that it was probably unfair to focus all her frustrations on the mom.

For a very long time, Ron suddenly remembered, she had ended each tirade by noting how much better she and Ron would be when it came time to raise their children. Their kids would never bully, or defy adults, or struggle with reading, or refuse to be potty trained. Their kids would be perfect little angels.

She didn't say that now. And he was pretty sure this was not the first time she'd left it out. When had she stopped? When was the last time she'd mentioned the idea of them having kids together? He wasn't sure.

"At least this is the last one, isn't it?" he asked her. "No more Szespaniaks coming through after this one, to shit their pants or pinch the girls or whatever else they all did."

"Thank heaven for small miracles," Maddy acknowledged.

"What did you do after work?"

"Not much," her hand pulled away from his head. "Paula saved her lunch break until I got off so we could go out together. I had a good time talking with her."

"Where did you go?" Ron seriously doubted that it was Paula Maddy had spent her afternoon talking with. Or that talking was all she had done.

"Just to Chico's Grill. Paula loves that place, you know."

"Hmm. Did you remember to put the receipt in the jar?" Since they traditionally hadn't had a lot of room to spare in their budget, the two had long ago started collecting all receipts for nonessentials, or "pleasure purchases," in a glass jar. Any time the total at the end of the month added up to less than two hundred dollars, which was admittedly rare, they would go out to a celebratory dinner at their favorite restaurant: Cibo. It was a sort of reward for living frugally. But Ron wasn't asking because he was interested in the receipt. He was asking because he didn't think there was one.

Maddy paused a half second too long before saying, "Paula paid for my meal. She's still in a celebratory mood from her daughter's wedding, I think."

Ron grunted. He didn't bother asking why Maddy would let her dirt-poor friend pay for her meal, especially when she had just helped pay for a wedding and they were getting a big financial boon from his new job working for Andro. "That was nice of her," he mumbled. Then, on a whim, he said, "We should go to Cibo tomorrow. I know it's not the end of the month, but we're doing really well right now. We can definitely afford it, and it'll be like a special treat...going to our special place."

Maddy's stumbled reply of "Uh, sure, dear. That sounds...lovely," told him everything he needed to know. Maddy loved Cibo, even more than he did. Any other time, the idea would have been met with great enthusiasm and joy. Tonight, she sounded unsure of herself and uncomfortable with the idea.

The only reason he could think of for it was that she must have eaten there very recently.

Like today.

With someone she knew she shouldn't be with.

It was too much. "On the other hand," he snapped, unable to keep the anger out of his voice, "we probably shouldn't." He sat up, pushing up off the couch and heading for the bedroom. "It's too much of a cheat, and I know how much you hate cheating. Once a person starts indulging that kind of behavior, it's really hard to stop." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You know what I mean?"

He was past the bedroom door and shutting it behind him before she ever got a response off. She didn't follow him. Ron didn't know what time Maddy came to bed, but he knew it wasn't before he'd fallen asleep.

Saturday morning was traditionally a time for catching up on chores in the Melor household. Neither spouse was particularly inclined towards the act of cleaning, so this was much like the receipt jar in that it was routinized for the purpose of forcing them into action. It was usually a grumbling affair, but it was almost a relief to the two of them on this particular weekend. They fell into the robotic comfort of routine, letting their unspoken teamwork restrengthen the thin tether of their bond. It affected them, but more like a shot of morphine than a true act of healing.

After spending the three previous days cleaning and doing repair work at the office, Ron felt drained by the very idea of performing his chores. His hands were flaked with dry skin and marred by fresh calluses. He wasn't complaining, though; thoughtless tedium was exactly what he craved right now. The absence of any kind of plot was seductive in its motionlessness. He let the time pass by him, allowing himself the small, cheap escape the chores provided. When his mind rebelled, bringing unwelcomed images or fears out to play, he pushed them back and zeroed in on his work.

But, after a time, questions about his wife refused to be driven out. Instead, they simply took root and grew.

What Maddy might be thinking, Ron couldn't guess. She seemed uncertain herself. One second she might be watching him with a sad, or a yearning expression. The next she might be humming to herself, apparently indifferent to his presence. When she'd first rolled out of bed, she'd tried to start a casual conversation. Nothing more than a "how did you sleep," really. He'd ignored it. Maddy had looked surprised, though he very much believed she knew why he was upset with her. He wondered at that surprise. He just couldn't believe that she might honestly have thought that he would so easily get over it so quickly...but she didn't push him to talk.

That was very telling, he thought. Maddy had a real pet peeve about being ignored. In fact, it pissed her right off. And now here she was, timidly accepting his silence. He was shunning her, and she was playing as though she couldn't imagine why, yet she guiltily allowed it to continue.

She did try again, though. After her shower, she prepared a lunch for the two of them, and took advantage of his sitting across from her at the table to strike up a conversation.

"So," came her reserved opening, accompanied by a nervous glance up from her casserole, "did you want to go anywhere today?"

He was tempted to continue the silent treatment, but he didn't feel like it was getting him anywhere. It felt like too much of a passive aggressive response to him. He knew direct confrontation was not an option...Andro stood invisible between them....but there had to be a better option than to just sulk.

"Not really," he admitted. "Did you?"

"No." A small smile flickered across her face. She pushed her advantage. "I just want to be wherever you are. I didn't realize how much I'd miss you, with you working during the last weeks of summer."

"Well," he said around a mouthful of food, "just so long as you don't go replacing me."

"I could never replace you."

"Huh."

She gave him a deadpan look of annoyance. "What's going on with you, Ron?"

He couldn't help himself. The words flew out, tumbling over each other in a heated rush. "You know damn well what's going on. Better than I do, probably." As soon as it was out, he wished he could take it back.

For a second Maddy just stared at him. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hung slightly open. Then, both eyes and mouth narrowed and she leaned forward. Either that had been something of a last straw, or she had decided that the best defense was a good offense. Setting her fork down on her plate with a little too much pressure, she tilted her head and raised her other hand to point up at the ceiling. The clang from the silverware was like a bell, rung to open the first round of boxing.

"Ronald Melor," she began, "I don't know what your problem is lately, but I am tired of you talking to me like-"

Two punctuated rings of the doorbell cut her off. Ron knew immediately what they meant, and he knew who was responsible for them.

'You will answer,' they said. And: 'I will wait for it to happen.'

He fought the urge to curse. There would be no match between them now. He'd almost welcomed it.

Maddy, caught in the start of her lecture, still had her mouth open and finger in the air. Ron saw a flicker of uncertainty cross her face as she struggled with whether or not to continue. He hoped that she would, that she wouldn't open the door, that the person on the other side would not, in spite of their promise, wait. He tried to think of something, anything, to say that would get her started again.

It was too late. She fell back into her chair with a sigh, giving him a vexed look that promised a return to this discussion at a later date, and then pushed away from the table and went to the foyer.

"Maddy," Ron called after her. "Wait. I-"

He heard the sound of the door opening, and swore under his breath. He pushed his food away, appetite lost, and resigned himself to the journey ahead.

Andro had arrived.

Standing, Ron moved to join the others in the entryway. Then, something made him stop.

At the last second, he moved instead to press himself against the wall and then leaned over to listen in. There'd been no footsteps, just low-level talking, so he knew they were still in the foyer. While they weren't whispering, they were definitely speaking in hushed tones. Their words weren't quite loud enough for him to be able to make them out. The front door was a good twenty feet from where he was standing and the usual low-level household sounds like air conditioner, refrigerator, and dehumidifier were getting in the way of his eavesdropping.

He caught Andro's voice, muttering something in a consoling tone, and then his wife's distinct cry of "Exactly!"

The tall man said something else, maybe three sentences long, and Maddy responded in a quieter voice. She sounded uncertain, or nervous. Andro continued, his words soft and gentle.

Then it fell quiet again.

Ron leaned further, risking exposure by letting his right ear slide just beyond the threshold. Still, he heard nothing. No voices, anything.

What the fuck were they doing?

He decided he had to move. Whatever limits were placed on his actions by Andro's threats, he would not be reduced to an outsider. Just as he was about to leap out, however, he heard a noise.

It was the click of the front door closing.

The silence returned.

He didn't have to look to know, but he looked anyway.

He was alone.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarled. Stepping forward, he tossed off a useless call to his wife in case she was still in the house. He got no more answer than he expected. Reaching the door, he opened it in time to see Andro's black sedan pull out of the driveway. It sped off to the end of the block and turned the corner.

"No," Ron moaned under his breath. She left. He couldn't believe it. After everything, she just left without a word. Cursing, he ran to the phone. He was tempted to jump in his car and follow, but he knew he'd never catch up. And even if he did, so what? What would he do? Hell, what was even the point? It seemed like Maddy was making a very clear choice. She was announcing it in increments, but there was no mystery to it. The lies, the time spent in the company of another man, and now the casualness with which she had abandoned him. Ron wasn't sure if there was anything left to fight for. Even if she hadn't cheated on him yet, in the strictest sense, she was rapidly becoming someone he didn't know or understand. He trusted her less and less, and it seemed like her regard for him sunk lower by the moment.

And then there was Andro.

The mad dog was not only loose, but running the show. He'd killed Larry just to make a point. Or maybe he had killed Larry just to kill him. Ron wasn't totally convinced that the tall man knew why he did the things he did. He may just be completely out of his mind. Sane or not, he was incredibly dangerous.

And he'd warned Ron about upsetting Maddy again.

How had he phrased it? Something about how women and life "often require you to do things that you may not want to do." And when they ask these things of you, these difficult things, then you'd better give them what they want and do it with a smile. "Because if you don't, well..."

And that was when he'd murdered Larry. Easy-going, quick smiling, empathetic Larry.

Give them what they want and do it with a smile. And Maddy, more and more, seemed to want Andro. Did Andro expect Ron to just give her that? To stand back and let it happen? Did he expect him to smile as he did it?

Ron didn't know how to do that.

His mind was folding in on itself. Seeing the woman he loved...the woman he had thought loved him...turned so easily against him. Taken so lazily, so effortlessly, by another man. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit her, to hurt her, to demand that she explain herself. He wanted to see her in pain, full of regret. To hear her begging for forgiveness.

He thought of Tony's wife.

No. He didn't want that.

But he also wanted to live with her and love her, and have none of this in their past. To be what they were, before.

And he wanted to protect her.

He was aware, deep down, that he was still far from knowing the whole truth of what was happening. But he also realized that Maddy knew even less. And what she didn't know could cost her her life.

Even now, as he stood helpless in the hallway of their home, she was out there traveling unprotected in the company of a mad dog.

He stood staring at the phone, hand on the cradle. There was no point in calling Maddy's cell phone, or Andro's. Still, he felt a strong urge to do so. A moment passed while he weighed his options. Then, his brain pulled invisible strings and and an idea formed.

He picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

Andro was, for all his insanity, playing towards a defined goal. He clearly counted on fear to keep Ron in line, and up until now that had worked. Deep in his core, Ron had prayed that this storm would eventually pass over him and be gone. That maybe that this was all just a way of torturing him, enacting a strange protracted revenge for the mistakes of his past.

But last night, Andro had made a critical error. Last night Andro had killed Larry.

And he had killed him for nothing.

In doing so, Andro had defined himself in a way that left Ron with no uncertainties about intentions or endings. This was no violent hurricane, ravaging the terrain for a time and then passing on. No, Andro would be raging against this world long after the people who covered it today were gone. He would hate it until it was a lifeless, blackened hulk. Until all of it was burned. And then, in the final moments of breathable air, when the skies turned endless gray and soot fell like a mourning snow, he would cry out for more.

Ron Melor knew he would not be around to see it happen. His own end would be such a small part of Andro's story, such a flickering lazy afterthought of a moment, that the tall man wouldn't even remember that it had ever happened. He pictured Andro's reflective, handsome face, alone in a world of corpses, looking up to the heavens where angels murmured their disapproval. "Why," he would ask them, "are we still talking about this?"

Fear was still the operative sense. But Ron knew he had to do something, and soon, if he wanted to have any chance at all.

He had to become unpredictable. As unpredictable as Andro himself.

He listened to the dial tone.

Three rings in a booming voice answered. "Hello?" it asked.

"Hey, Mark," said Ron, keeping his voice casual, "what are you up to?"

"Ron? Is that you?" The tone turned amused. "It's still summer, so this can't be about work. I assume you're just calling to tell me what a great guy I am, and what a big fan you are."

After the pressure of the last few days, the joke warmed him like the first sip of whisky. "Actually, it's about that forty bucks I lent you in January," he responded.

"No entiendo. Lo siento. No speak English, wrong number."

"Very funny."

"I know! I keep telling people, really trying to somehow describe to them just how funny I am, but only you ever seem to believe it. What's up for real, though?"

"Well," Ron sighed, "you know that ELMO projector I've got? The one that you've been wanting for the last four years?"

"Shit yeah."

"How open are you to trading favors?"

A laugh. "I did all my experimenting in college, Ron. I'm over it."