chuckled, almost forcing it out. 'So I'll hold them first while you climb up. There'll be a cord to your left as you reach the top, it’s for the lights. Pull it when you feel it. It's pretty long, so it should dangle on your shoulders.'
Elwood ushered her to the stairs with an outstretched arm and secure smile. She took the sides with both hands, treading onto the bottom step lightly, testing the waters. She pulled herself up, moving her hands to the middle of the stairs above her as she climbed. Elwood moved in, gripping and stabilising the shaky stairwell, standing by, ready for her to reach the top. She pulled the cord.
Marilyn pulled herself up into the safe, newly found light, her eyes adjusting soundly. Bailey, the seasoned pro, raced up the steps. It was impressive, considering his age and growing lack of mobility. Marilyn offered a helping hand, he took it. He struggled and shuffled around before finally entering the attic.
SIXTEEN
The attic was a graveyard of the past, where life's great memories went to die, forgotten but lost. Valuable heirlooms, portraits, and unwanted reminders, all buried under nothing but common sheets, unmarked headstones. Marilyn pointed to the back, where the light barely travelled, as if held off by an invisible wall.
'Is that it, the CB radio?'
'Sure is. Let's just pray, for everyone's sake, that it works,' he said, scratching at his head. 'I can't even remember the last time I used it.'
It was a relic, uncovered and dusty. It had its own fold-out table, which was equally as ancient. There were about fifty buttons and knobs and switches. LED lights dotted everywhere, like pin points on a roadmap.
'It's a sturdy damn thing, I'll give it that, and the bastard could withstand a bomb blast.'
Marilyn stood about quietly, she thought about Jack and the man that had taken him, David O'Sullivan. Her restless mind absently scrolling through a list of torturous, score settling ways to hurt that bastard. Nothing was good enough for what he deserved. Why Jack? Why him? He didn't deserve this. She tried to picture the man at the restaurant, his face, what he looked like. He wouldn't show himself, hiding in the shadows of repressed memories.
'How much longer?' she asked, impatiently.
'It's hard to tell,' he said, taking a step back to take everything in. 'To be truthful, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Master electrician, I am not. Hopefully not long. The power's on, I know that much.'
Marilyn didn't respond, it wasn't the answer she was hoping for. Instead, she traipsed around the attic, dragging her muddy shoes across the creaky wooden flooring, looking at the junk. The attic was jammed full of antiques, and expensive memories, covered with dust sheets and old tablecloths. Marilyn ran a finger through the dust, across the shape of a child's bike, leaving a shiny fingerprint trail. The gloomy beams of light acting like the fading halo of a shamed angel bordered what looked to be a cot and boxes of toys.
'How long has all this stuff been here?'
Elwood looked up, sliding his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, he clapped his hands together, freeing the dust and fluff from his fingers and palms.
'Some of it was here when the motel was first built, things of family and people I have never met, I've just kept it here thinking maybe it'll be worth some money in years to come, you never know.' He smiled, but it didn't last. 'The rest of the stuff was...' He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. 'It was June's, my wife, and my son, Robert. Baby stuff, things I should have thrown away, but couldn't bring myself to. It's stupid really.'
'It's not stupid at all, Elwood. It's natural,' she said sweetly, turning to face him. 'I have every toy, every book, every drawing, everything that Jack has ever owned since he was born, down to his baby throws, and even his hospital tag. Believe me, it's not stupid.'
Marilyn began to drag the sheet from the top of the boxes of toys, but
Elwood ushered her to the stairs with an outstretched arm and secure smile. She took the sides with both hands, treading onto the bottom step lightly, testing the waters. She pulled herself up, moving her hands to the middle of the stairs above her as she climbed. Elwood moved in, gripping and stabilising the shaky stairwell, standing by, ready for her to reach the top. She pulled the cord.
Marilyn pulled herself up into the safe, newly found light, her eyes adjusting soundly. Bailey, the seasoned pro, raced up the steps. It was impressive, considering his age and growing lack of mobility. Marilyn offered a helping hand, he took it. He struggled and shuffled around before finally entering the attic.
SIXTEEN
The attic was a graveyard of the past, where life's great memories went to die, forgotten but lost. Valuable heirlooms, portraits, and unwanted reminders, all buried under nothing but common sheets, unmarked headstones. Marilyn pointed to the back, where the light barely travelled, as if held off by an invisible wall.
'Is that it, the CB radio?'
'Sure is. Let's just pray, for everyone's sake, that it works,' he said, scratching at his head. 'I can't even remember the last time I used it.'
It was a relic, uncovered and dusty. It had its own fold-out table, which was equally as ancient. There were about fifty buttons and knobs and switches. LED lights dotted everywhere, like pin points on a roadmap.
'It's a sturdy damn thing, I'll give it that, and the bastard could withstand a bomb blast.'
Marilyn stood about quietly, she thought about Jack and the man that had taken him, David O'Sullivan. Her restless mind absently scrolling through a list of torturous, score settling ways to hurt that bastard. Nothing was good enough for what he deserved. Why Jack? Why him? He didn't deserve this. She tried to picture the man at the restaurant, his face, what he looked like. He wouldn't show himself, hiding in the shadows of repressed memories.
'How much longer?' she asked, impatiently.
'It's hard to tell,' he said, taking a step back to take everything in. 'To be truthful, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Master electrician, I am not. Hopefully not long. The power's on, I know that much.'
Marilyn didn't respond, it wasn't the answer she was hoping for. Instead, she traipsed around the attic, dragging her muddy shoes across the creaky wooden flooring, looking at the junk. The attic was jammed full of antiques, and expensive memories, covered with dust sheets and old tablecloths. Marilyn ran a finger through the dust, across the shape of a child's bike, leaving a shiny fingerprint trail. The gloomy beams of light acting like the fading halo of a shamed angel bordered what looked to be a cot and boxes of toys.
'How long has all this stuff been here?'
Elwood looked up, sliding his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, he clapped his hands together, freeing the dust and fluff from his fingers and palms.
'Some of it was here when the motel was first built, things of family and people I have never met, I've just kept it here thinking maybe it'll be worth some money in years to come, you never know.' He smiled, but it didn't last. 'The rest of the stuff was...' He swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. 'It was June's, my wife, and my son, Robert. Baby stuff, things I should have thrown away, but couldn't bring myself to. It's stupid really.'
'It's not stupid at all, Elwood. It's natural,' she said sweetly, turning to face him. 'I have every toy, every book, every drawing, everything that Jack has ever owned since he was born, down to his baby throws, and even his hospital tag. Believe me, it's not stupid.'
Marilyn began to drag the sheet from the top of the boxes of toys, but
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