A Handshake with Rollo (a short story) Part C-final

Dr Burrows didn’t mention Mellonsville once. He wasn’t like anyone I’ve met before or since. A large man, though not particularly masculine. Not even in the same galaxy as Mr Green. But I liked that. I’ve never been friends with a doctor. Right there in the kitchen, I started fantasising about the conversations we might have; the acquaintances he may introduce me to.

I had no doubt he’d find me fascinating as well. You know? Given my background, given my journey. I can’t imagine he knows too many ex-bare-foot kids from the bay! And once he hears how far I’ve come! It would be like a trip to the circus for him.

Of course, it was another glass of wine that ran us into our first hiccup. After I’d already poured him a drop of Merlot, the mortifying fear that he may not drink rattled through me. What a pig-headed assumption? Way to show your class! But he took the glass with a grin and “cheersed” me with a clink before hitting the Chica-Raindrop.

Like Rollo, the cushion’s function was lost on Dr Burrows, but I forgave him. The hiccup I’m referring to was both literal and figurative. A badly timed swallow was rejected by my throat just as the doctor began explaining his role as a domestic abuse expert. I may as well have broken wind at a funeral!

He stopped mid-sentence and from there on out all his movements become surgeon-slow. He crossed one jean clad leg over his thigh and clutched his knee, raising his nose to the sky like a hunter catching as scent. “Women who have suffered abuse in the past wear the effects years after the incident. Did you know that?”

This really set off the latch-key jitters in me. I had to put down my wine glass for fear of spilling it. I chuckled and fought the urge to undo my top button. Can you believe that? Chuckled!

The doctor pouted his lips and rocked forward. “Some husbands think they’ve beaten the rap after the wounds have healed and the bruises have faded.” He raised a finger, crusted with an oddly eclectic set of rings for a doctor and explained, “But I can spot it from a mile away. There’s no running from my expert eye.” He lowered his voice. “In some cases, I don’t even need to meet the wife to identify an abusive husband.”

I risked the bad visual of my shaking fingers, just so I could get some alcohol in my system. I even let a fleck of red wine lay unaddressed on Prim’s upholstery for the sake of calming my nerves. We’d planned for the doctor to stick around until Prim got home so we could all get to know one and other as a house-unit, but the physician’s stare proved too much for me.

I gulped down my Merlot, collected both of our glasses, and sighed. “Well, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely wife?” he asked, with only a thin attempt to mask his contempt.

“I think I’ll be able to communicate how this went fairly well on my own. Thank you.”

***

 Rollo’s fingers swallowed up the whole pen. I heard a creak of plastic under his grip as he scrawled his signature. Noticing how hard he was pressing, I prepared myself to have to print off another tenancy agreement. After adding the childish detail of teeth and horns to the “O” at the end of his name, Rollo looked up at me and winked.

Prim’s eyes were downcast. Arms folded. She’d visibly spotted the droplet of red wine. Stared deep into its molecular structure as though I’d personally left it there for her as a tasteful embellishment on the rest of this swirling terror. But even that horror wasn’t enough to supersede what she must have been feeling.

“Hey, don’t look so glum,” offered Rollo. His voice taking on a sincere lift. “Try to think about what I must be going through to end up here!”

The sound that escaped Prim’s lips was something close to a cat’s hiss. She appealed to me as though expecting me to step in—and say what exactly? —before storming through to the kitchen. I followed her red-faced across the tiles. She waited with hands pinning back her hair, eyes popped and her foot literally tapping.

Rather than taking the bait, I poured myself a fresh glass of Merlot, washed out Dr Burrow’s one--still waiting in the sink—and filled up a fresh drop for Rollo.

“Come on buddy.” He said in a man-to-man tone. “Did she think leaving Mellonsville was gonna do the trick? She knows the deal…”

I almost felt sorry for Rollo as he passed his wine glass from one hand to the other. He’d downed its contents in one gulp and now sat rocking at the edge of the couch. He stared into the sheepskin carpet for half a dozen passes of that glass. Left, right. A pause. Left, right and so on. Before placing it on the ground and drawing his hands into a prayer gesture as he appealed to me.

“I’ve done everything they asked me to do on the Reddit forum. I spent my last dollar to track you guys down and get myself here.” With each sentence Rollo’s voice lost a layer of texture. It grew higher, more desperate. “Whether she likes it or not, your Prim is going to become the Banshee of the Solstice one more time.” He pauses. “It’s her choice whether that is public knowledge or not.”

As I stood before him as the gatekeeper to the worst of all things, this man’s Rasputin eyes seemed to anoint me with an authority I would never have asked for. Yet, a strange tingling in my fingers emerged as I felt the power. Of course, just like all the other dreams, Prim stole this from me.

“Well, it won’t cost you anything to get out of my house and step in front of a bus you fucking coward!” her voice echoed from the kitchen.

I instinctively turned to hold Prim back, but she’d stopped her advance at the doorway. Shaking me off, her scowl—a look which had taken three years for me to see for the first time, but now was very familiar—twisted her soft features into something comparable to a goblin.

It’s easy to see these guys who keep entering our humble life, as aggressors. I know Prim does exclusively at this point. But the way they take the blows never fails to remind me why they’re really here. This is the hardest part for me. The gut shot I feel when those words land. When Prim’s unsympathetic slurs cut through whatever vestige of strength these poor souls have had to mortgage in order to get to this place, and launch their devil’s bargain at our poor family.

Rollo bows his head and shrugs. He glances at the tenancy agreement, his forehead one big crease. He tries to talk, but it’s evident he’s struggling. He sinks back instead and stares out through our mesh curtain. Outside the orange glow of street lights have just come on.

I throw an arm around Prim and rub her freckled far arm. Her skin is cold. She leans into me and I lead her over to the couch where the three of us sit—staring out into the street.

I release a sigh and look at the fleck of wine on the fabric between my legs. “Look, we’re all trapped in this thing, we may as well discuss the game plan.” I turn to Rollo. “How long do you need to prepare and where do you want her to perform the act?”  

Rollo presses his lips together with a bow—appreciative that we’re finally getting down to business. He raises his eyes to the ceiling gathering his thoughts.

Before he can answer however, Prim seems to have been reminded of her plight. “No fuck this. Fuck your Banshee label. Fuck you Reddit nerds. I didn’t choose this. I’d never associate with you monsters. I’m not taking part in this anymore!”

“You’d be in a cell right now if it weren’t for those monsters.”

I tighten my grip around Prim as I feel her muscles tighten. She leans past me and speaks with a guttural tone. “You don’t know what that man did to me on a nightly basis. It was a decade of abuse that put that kitchen knife in my hand and I’d do it a thousand times over if given the choice!”

Rollo nodded as though he’d just listened to the description of a newly planted flower bed. “I’ve got no doubt about that. I saw the photo. You on your knees, out there on your old front porch, the puddle of blood, knife sticking out of your hubby’s chest as you appealed to the eclipsing moon.” He glanced towards me as if to assess my take on this. When I stared blankly, he resumed, shrugging. “I’ve got no doubt you were ready to wear your life sentence that night, but when those “Reddit Nerds” as you call them, offered to clean up the mess for yoy; offered to make it all go away. You weren’t exactly protesting them were you?”

“I was clearly in a vulnerable state—they didn’t explain the catch.”  

Rollo rolled his eyes. “I’m not here to argue with you about what’s fair lady…life isn’t fair…it’s a fucking nightmare. That’s why I want out!” A extra layer of pain I didn’t believe possible spread on top of Rollo’s already heavily distressed face as his breathed in for his final appeal. “You’re either gonna help me exit this nightmare at the hands of the Solstice Banshee—” he waved his hands like a magician. “Once again, nothing will link back to you, no one will come looking. Or—”

Another familiar feeling. The verbal articulation of the locked door that keeps us trapped inside this Sisyphean crucible. Constantly running from the next suicidal fetishist who wants to end it all in a way that will let their twisted, sick mind realise some sliver of meaning.

“Or, you decline and turn me into the guy who has uncovered the most prolific serial killer our small country has ever witnessed.” The twinkle that entered his eye as he added this detail sapped out any residual sympathy for him. “Because, you know our friends on Reddit have kept a verrry long paper trail…”

He didn’t need to say that last line. We knew the terms. Prim shared them with me on the night of our engagement and ever since then we’ve shared the burden of this twisted internet game reserved for the most disturbed minds I’ve ever encountered.

***

As I did with the rest of them, as I’ll do for the line of suicide seekers to come, I gripped Rollo’s hand in my own. Enduring his grateful smile as he lay face up on our small porch. The moon eclipsing. The most surreal shade of red.

Prim loomed above, blade in hand.

It felt like the three of us were the only ones left in the world that night, but I know that’s not true. I know all too well that there were eyes watching us. Waiting to cover this up. Waiting to put the gears in place should we attempt to run from it. Whether they be physical or cyber. The eyes that will direct the next leg of our game as we move to a new city. Staying under wraps, trying to live a normal life, though always shadowed by our past. Always shadowed by the next Rollo. An unholy eclipser. Both a victim and a hunter.

Rollo gave me one last squeeze as the blade pierced his heart. His tattooed fingers gained a burst of strength, his head rose and for a moment it seemed like he was trying to sit up. Then they weakened and fell limp. My handshake with Rollo was over, but it will not be my last of this kind.