The Blood Orange Moon

They were only forty-five minutes out when Mark finally gave words to what had been troubling Roberts all day.

"So how're we gonna play this?"

"Confront her. Both of us, just come straight out and insist she check into a hospital."

Mark chuckled. "It's going to be ten thirty or later before we get there, you know."

"And?"

"We do this in broad daylight after her afternoon nap with a couple of snifters of brandy down her gullet and she's liable to tell us to go to hell. Wake her up in the middle of the night and just go after her? I mean, you're kidding, right? You have to know this is gonna fail."

"I've already got that taken care of."

"How?"

"I called that poor girl back," he said. "Belinda Wasserstein. She took my call, and I asked her to help."

"And?"

"So long as I can keep her name out of the papers, she said she would."

"So how does she help?"

"Judge Thompkins will be staying up late tonight," Roberts said, turning to look at the clouds darkening the night sky and seeing a flash of lightning off in the distance. How had it come to this? he wondered.

"You're going to have her involuntarily committed?" Mark asked with amazement in his voice.

"Paperwork's already drafted. Fess Stuart's got it all written up and ready to go, and he's waitin' for our phone call to get it over to Thompkins. Thompkins doesn't know about all of it, just knows it's a favor being called in from an old friend. If he knew, he'd probably already have the police there."

"She's gonna cut your nuts off, Dad. You know what you're doing here?" He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "You'll never be able to keep this quiet. It'll come out."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Still, Thompkins has already said he'd do everything in his powers to keep that girl's name outta the papers."

"She'll sell her story," Mark said. "You'll . . . you may have to resign over this."

"Already drafted," he said.

"You're quitting?"

"Uh huh."

"Why?"

He thought about it for a moment, then said, "I'm not really sure when it happened, Mark. Believe it or not, I used to be just like you. That's why we were always so much closer back then--at least as close as my schedule allowed. Not really sure when it all changed, tell you the truth. Or why. It just did, I guess. Gradually, before I even knew it."

He went silent, thinking about it.

"Go on," Mark urged after a moment.

"Couple of days ago, Cameron from Pennsylvania asked if I was going to be stepping down early. They all knew I wasn't gonna run again, but now they wanted to know if I was gonna just step aside in time for them to take advantage and make sure they kept the seat."

"You weren't going to run again?"

Roberts ignored him, lost in his own thoughts. "I told him I'd let them know, then tried to figure out how to take advantage of it. Know what I mean? Right up to the very end, I was tryin' to take advantage, exert the maximum influence. Then I came back here. I talked with Clarice, saw you and Sandy."

"What's that got to do with-- "

"I lay in bed all last night, just staring at that ceiling. And I thought back on what I'd just seen and heard and it just came to me. Came to me like it still hadn't before, not even last year when . . . when it all went bad with you. It was that little extra bit of influence I was lookin' for back then, both with you and with Clarice and Sandy and Stevie and all of it. Just that little bit more."

Mark stayed silent now, just driving on and keeping his eyes on the road.

Roberts drew a breath, exhaled, and said, "I went into all of this to do good. Not by me, but for everyone. I'm not sure when that changed, but it did. Sure, your mom had a lot to do with it, but I'm still a man, y'know? I'm responsible for my own goddamned actions. And looking back on it all--at least the last ten or twelve years of it--well, I just didn't like what I was seeing. What I'd become."

He turned and looked at Mark. "I'm doing this to help some poor little girl I've never met, and to make sure there are no other little girls like her. I'm doing this to get help for the woman I once loved so much it hurt, regardless of what she's become or why she ever did any of it. I'm doing it because, like you once told me, it's the right thing to do, and that's just gonna have to be good enough."

He could hear the sad humor in Mark's voice. "You're a boy scout."

"Guilty as charged."

Fifteen minutes out, the clouds broke and cleared away and they saw the moon up ahead.

"Jesus," Mark said, his eyes going from the road to the big full moon.

It was enormous and orange, a harvest moon. But unlike all of the harvest moons of his childhood, Roberts saw that this one was streaked with splashes of burnt red. And this one was hanging in the direction of their house, as if suspended there to guide them the rest of the way home.

"Appropriate, wouldn't you say?" Mark said, his voice filled with wonder.

"How so?" Roberts said, his eyes fixed.

"It's Halloween, Dad. You didn't know?"

He said nothing in response.

He just stared at the blood orange moon leading them home.

CHAPTER FIVE

Amanda tried to stay awake, but she couldn't. She felt it weighing her down, collapsing her eyelids as she fought to keep them open.

When had she done it? Amanda had watched her the whole time. She'd have never drunk that tea if she'd have seen anything even remotely out of the ordinary.

But she knew. Amanda knew she'd been drugged.

And she knew that the boy in the room across the hallway would be calling on her again.

She was helpless and terrified, wishing she could will her legs to respond and take her away from here before she succumbed to the darkness.

Amidst her horror, it all went black.

* * * * *

"You there, Fess?" Mark heard his dad say into the cell phone. "And it's all set up? Good. Do me a favor, give Sheriff Farley a call, will ya? No, don't tell him anything yet, but give him a heads up to have someone waiting. No, I don't really know what you should say, but I'm sure you'll figure out something."

He hung up as Mark pulled up to the guard shack and came to a stop, rolling down the window.

"That you, Mark Roberts?"

"Yeah, Jimbo, it's me," he said, trying to smile and look at the old man leaning out the window. He couldn't, though. His eyes were locked on their big stone house at the top of the hill, that sinister disk blowing in the sky above it. He shuddered.

"You okay?" the guard said.

He finally turned to the guard and managed a weak smile. "We're just droppin' by to see Mom."

His father leaned across the front seat and said, "Hey, Jim, is she in?"

"Evenin', Senator. Yeah, she's up there. Got back about eight."

"She alone?"

"Just her and the housekeeper."

Roberts sat back, looking at his son, then at the house. His lips were tight, and his face was a tense mask of fear and anticipation.

Then, as Mark's eyes followed the gate as it lifted, he saw what his father was looking at.

The house was dark save one room.

Stevie's room was ablaze with light.

He hit the gas and sped up the hill.

* * * * *

He was back again, and this time Amanda was scared. She could see the maroon jacket and the hat, but she could see the face, too. It wasn't Clint. She couldn't make out the features; they kept moving and blurring in and out, but it definitely wasn't Clint.

"Does this feel good?" he said, brushing the back of his knuckles over her t-shirt.

"Please don't," she mumbled. "You're not him. You're not Clint."

"Of course I'm not, honey," he said, finding humor in her realization.

"But you said you were," she tried to argue, willing her limbs to move.

"I know. What can I say? I lied."

Her limbs were leaden, just splayed out where he'd placed them. She concentrated as hard as she could, trying to just twitch her fingers to see if she could get them to respond.

"There's nothing you can do," he taunted. "Nothing, y'hear?"

"But I don't want this," she said, feeling the tears well up and blind her vision even further.

"They all say that," he snapped, getting angry. "All of 'em. And they're all just like you. They're lying little skanks. You wanted it sure enough last night, though, didn't you? And the night before, too. You were begging me to lick that precious little pussy of yours. But you know what?"

"What?" she said.

"Now it's my turn. Now you get to take care of me for a change."

"Please," she pleaded, hearing it come out in slow motion.

He stood above her and she saw it. She saw his excitement bobbing out in front of him, enormous and grotesque. She knew he'd rip her apart, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

* * * * *

They both bolted from the car and sprinted to the front door. Roberts fumbled with his keys, finally finding the right one and opening it.

"Where?" Mark asked, looking around the darkened rooms.

"You check my bedroom; I'll check Stevie's."

Mark was half way up the stairs before Roberts had finished speaking.

Roberts chased up after him, turning right down the long hallway just as Mark threw open his bedroom door to the left and flipped on the light switch.

"She's not here," he hissed.

Roberts kept going, stopping outside Stevie's door while Mark was still twenty feet behind him. Steeling himself with a breath, Roberts unlocked the door and pushed it open, rushing inside.

But it was empty.

Turning back and almost running into Mark, he wondered where the girl could be.

That's when they heard the scream.

* * * * *

Her eyes never left the bouncing phallus as it drew nearer and nearer to her spread legs. The whole time, she kept reserving her energy and focusing her mind, hoping against hope that she'd be able to at least get someone's attention. A neighbor. The guard. Anyone.

Then she felt it, the cold, spongy tip pressing against her.

"Too bad you didn't want it," he leered. "I'd have taken the time to get you ready. As it is, you'd better just hope you adjust before I rip it all up down there."

With a final breath, she bit her lip.

Then, just as he gave her one final vicious smile, she opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth.

And to her amazement, the sound came out.

* * * * *

Mark didn't even hesitate. He lowered his shoulder and charged the door, splintering the doorknob and flinging the door backward.

His father was right behind him, flipping on the switch.

When Mark looked up, though, he froze; disbelief masked his face.

It was Stevie, alive again.

And then it wasn't.

* * * * *

"How dare you!" Barbara thundered, her head turning to look at him.

She was hovering above the prostate form lying spread eagle on the bed, dressed in Stevie's old high school letterman's jacket, his baseball cap on her head. The girl's eyes were filled with terror, her face pleading with Roberts to save her. Between them, hovering from a harness strapped around Barbara's waist, was an enormous dildo.

Before he could move or respond, Mark screamed at her from behind him. "Get the fuck off of her! Now! Get the fuck off her, you fucking cunt!"

Then he was around Roberts and standing beside the bed, pushing Barbara onto the floor before sweeping the girl up in his arms and turning back to Roberts.

"I'm calling the police," Mark said, his face daring Roberts to challenge the decision.

Roberts just nodded, his eyes falling on the girl in Mark's arms. He reached out and brushed a tear off her cheek, but that just brought a flood of new tears. Tears of relief.

"Oh how delightful," Barbara sneered at him. "The two of you drop by to save the day."

He turned and watched as she clawed her way to a kneeling position, then pulled herself up to her feet.

"How could you?"

"How could I what, you sniveling little shit?"

"How could you do this to her?" he asked, trying to find an answer. "To them?"

Her face looked at him in a mask of contempt. "Because Stevie wanted it, that's how. What? You think I liked this?"

"But Stevie's dead."

It started with a smile, turned to laughter, and soon she was hysterical. Tears and laughter and anguish all mixed with one. "He came back to me," she kept saying. "He did. He came back and asked me to do this or he'd leave again. Don't you see?"

But try as he might, Roberts didn't see. He could only watch as this woman who had once been his wife suffered a complete meltdown in front of him. Naked save for a hat, a jacket, and that...that weapon bobbing obscenely in contrapuntal movement to her own.

She's gone, he realized.

Completely, totally gone.

Replaced by this sybaritic nightmare now shrieking before him.

CHAPTER SIX

They all stood outside the room, the doctor's voice both sympathetic at their plight while also eager about his new subject.

"It's way too early, you understand," he said.

Mark nodded, but his father only stared at the floor and waited.

"From what you've told us--and from what we've observed for the past fourteen hours or so--it's pretty clear that the death of your son was the start of it all. She couldn't cope with it, so she brought him back."

"But this?" the deputy behind him said. "How d'you explain this?"

"Stevie died shortly after raping a young woman," the doctor explained to him.

"Really?" he said, eyes wide. Then he shot an embarrassed look at Senator Roberts before looking down and mumbling, "So what's that have to do with this?"

"She convinced herself that that's what he wanted. What he was like. So, thinking she had to give him what he wanted, she brought the girls in and re-enacted that night. The night he died."

"I still don't get it," the deputy complained.

"It may have been the only way she could cope with what he'd done," the doctor explained. "By re-enacting that last night, she came to accept what no woman would otherwise accept, even in their own son. She provided her own answers for why he did it by telling herself that it wasn't really nonconsensual. That they liked it."

"But they didn't. They kept runnin' off."

He shook his head. "She overlooked that, thinking it was something else in the seduction that went wrong."

"Don't call it that," Mark finally snapped. "This wasn't a seduction. It was a fucking rape. She raped all those poor women, and you're tryin' to explain it away like it's just some stupid fucking coping mechanism."

The doctor gave a patronizing smile, but the deputy seemed to agree with him.

"Objectively, what she did was wrong," the doctor said. "Of course it was wrong. But subjectively--in her own mind--this was what she needed to cope with the trauma of your brother's death and what he did that night."

"Wrong," his father said, looking up and looking Mark straight in the eyes. "She did it because she thought it would keep Stevie with her. She didn't do it to explain his actions away or to somehow make them better. She did it to keep him here for her own goddamned, selfish reasons. That's why she did it, and it was wrong no matter how loony you say she is."

The doctor pursed his lips, but Roberts just walked away.

After a moment, Mark turned to follow him.

When he caught up to his father near a vending machine, he said, "It's not your fault."

"Some of it is."

"No one coulda seen this coming. Not this."

He looked at Mark, sipping his coffee. "Y'know what?"

"What?"

"You had it right. Back there in that room, you hit the nail right on the head."

"How's that?"

He smiled. "She's a fucking cunt. Always has been, always will be."

Mark smiled in return and said, "Yeah, I guess you'd know."

"Only too well," he replied, turning to walk down the hall. "Let's get the hell outta here. Get us some breakfast."

"You buyin?"

"S'pose it's the least I can do."

"Then I'm in."

* * * * *

When they got out of the car in his driveway, the door flew open. Sandy ran to him, her face full of fear and anticipation and happiness and just about every other emotion under the sun. She threw herself into his arms, nearly knocking him over.

"Whoa up there, girlie," he said, pulling her in tight. "Jesus, we just spoke a couple hours ago."

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm . . . ."

And just like that, she let it all go.

"You been takin' care of my little baby girl here?" he whispered in her ear while stroking her swollen belly.

"Yeah," she sniffled, not letting him go.

"Good. Let's all go into the house."

She leaned back, looking at Mark before looking at his father.

"All of us," Mark said, answering her unspoken question.

Senator Roberts gave a tired smile before trudging to the door.

Once they were all settled inside, Mark and his father took turns telling the whole sad story. From beginning to end.

When they were finished, Sandy reached her hand across the love seat and squeezed Mark's hand.

"You saved her. Both of you. If you hadn't gone down there . . . ."

She just let it linger. Mark said nothing, preferring to sip his bourbon and thank God he wouldn't have to live with the what ifs.

"The girl," Sandy said.

"She's fine," Roberts answered. "She's with your folks."

"My folks?"

Roberts nodded. "They took her in after she got out of the hospital. Not as a maid. Least not yet. Just as a favor to an old friend. Your father personally went to the hospital and picked her up."

Sandy smiled, then her lips tightened and she looked at Roberts.

"You resigned. It was all over the news channels this afternoon."

He nodded. "It's time."

She couldn't think of what to say in response. After a moment, she turned to Mark, her face sad.

"I want you to call your folks," Mark said. "Maybe make some plans to get together with them."

A brief cloud of anger swept over her face, and Mark was sadly happy that she was still angry with them. The anger was soon replaced with hesitation, and that hesitant look robbed Mark of his momentary glee and made him feel ashamed of himself.

"This is no trick," he said. "I'm not testing you, babe. Really I'm not. As a matter of fact, I'm going to have to insist."

Her eyes searched his face, trying to discern his motives.

"It's been long enough," Mark said, looking over at his father as he continued speaking. "I like the Mark that I used to be way better than the Mark I am now. And the Mark I used to be--the one you really fell in love with--he needs to come back to stay."

"But they'll interfere," she said, her voice low.

He turned back to her and smiled. "Probably. But it'll be doting grandparent interference, not let's go out and ruin their lives interference."

"But how do you know that?"

"I don't. But we've both learned our lessons, right?"

Her look was confused, and he explained. "Remember and learn, Sandy. That's what we agreed, right? Remember and learn. That doesn't mean hate and punish. At least not anymore it doesn't."

Her smile was of relief, and she leaned in and hugged him. "Maybe tomorrow," she whispered into his ear. "I've got other plans until then."

Mark heard his dad stand. "I'll take this as my cue to leave."

With a last gentle squeeze, Mark broke his hug with Sandy and stood. "Speak to you outside for a moment?"

His dad's eyes narrowed, and he nodded.

Once outside, his father leaned against the car while Mark looked at him.

"What?" his dad prodded.

"What did you see?" Mark said.

The look on his father's face told Mark that he'd seen it, too.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What did you see when we slammed into that room? Who was that above that poor woman?"

His father's lips pressed together. With narrowed eyes, he said, "Your mother. In that . . . that costume."

"But that's not the face you saw when we first busted in there, was it?"

Roberts's lips pressed together yet more.

"Was it?" Mark said again.