'Well, we don't have one here, Lincoln,' Thom said.
'Online. Find me a Bible online. You're on to something, rookie.
'
'I am?'
CHAPTER 59
Leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, Billy watched his aunt Harriet - his mother's sister - add soap to the washer.
She asked, 'Did you see anybody in the lobby? I was worried the police were watching me. I felt something.'
'No. I checked. Carefully. I've been up there for an hour.'
'I didn't see you.'
'I was watching,' Billy said. 'Not being watched.'
She lowered the lid and he glanced at her breasts, her legs, her neck. Memories ...
He always wondered if his uncle knew about their time in the Oleander Room.
In one way it seemed impossible that Uncle Matthew had been oblivious to their affair, or whatever you wanted to call it. How could he miss that the two would disappear for several hours in the afternoon on the days when she wasn't homeschooling neighborhood children?
And there had to be shared smells, smells of each other's bodies and of perfume and deodorant.
The smell of the blood too, even though they would shower meticulously after every afternoon liaison.
All the blood ...
The American Families First Council had a religious component. The tenets didn't allow members to use birth control any more than they sanctioned abortion and so Harriet 'invited' Billy to the studio above the garage only at that time of month when they could be absolutely certain there'd be no pregnancy. Billy could control his repulsion, and, for some reason, the sight of the crimson smears inflamed Harriet all the more. Oleander and blood were forever joined in Billy Haven's mind.
Uncle Matthew might not even have known about that aspect of women's bodies. Wouldn't surprise Billy.
Then too, when it came to what she wanted, Harriet Stanton could look you in the eye and make you believe just about anything. Billy didn't doubt that whatever story she spun for her husband he bought pretty much as-is.
'This will be your art studio,' she'd told thirteen-year-old Billy, showing him for the first time the room she'd decorated above the detached garage of their compound in Southern Illinois. On the wall was a watercolor he'd done for her of an oleander - her favorite flower (a poisonous one, of course). 'That's my favorite picture of yours. We'll call this the Oleander Room. Our Oleander Room.'
And she'd tugged at his belt. Playfully but with unyielding determination.
'Wait, no, Aunt Harriet. What're you doing?' He'd looked up at her with horror; not only was there a strong resemblance to his mother, Harriet's sister, but Harriet and Matthew were his de facto foster parents. Billy's mother and father had died violently, if heroically. Orphaned, the boy had been taken in by the Stantons.
'Uhm, I don't think I want to, you know, do that,' the boy had said.
But it was as if he hadn't even spoken.
The belt had come off.
And so the bloody years of the Oleander Room began.
On the trip here to New York, there'd been one liaison between the two of them: the day of Billy's escape from the hospital - where he'd gone not to mod another victim but simply to visit his aunt, ailing uncle and cousin Josh. Billy had hardly been in the mood to satisfy her. (Which is what sex with Aunt Harriet was all about.) But she'd insisted he come to the hotel - Matthew was still in the hospital and she'd sent Joshua out to run some errands. Josh always did what Mommy asked.
Now, with the washer chugging rhythmically, Billy asked, 'How is he? Josh said he looks pretty good. Just a little pale.'
'Damn it,' Harriet said bitterly. 'Matthew's going to be fine. He couldn't be courteous and just die.'
'Would have been convenient,' the young man agreed. 'But it'll be better the way you planned it originally.'