Haunting at Remington House. Laura V. Keegan
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joyous union Tom thought would last a lifetime was short lived. For three of the eight-years of their marriage, Elise seemed genuinely in love with him. Then something changed. Perhaps Elise simply grew up, tired of her life, tired of Tom.
But Tom would not, could not, let her go. Instead, he became obsessed with her. How could he live with a woman who didn’t love him? It was simple. He thought he could make her love him again. Instead—he made her hate him.
Elise’s loathing for Tom grew. He refused to see the reality of her abhorrence for him. He decided her unhappiness had little to do with him but with her inability to get pregnant.
“I have absolutely no desire to have a child—yours, or anyone else’s,” she told him one night when he tried to make love to her, telling her he wanted her to carry his child. “I’ve been on birth control since we married. Do you understand now?” She’d pulled away from him as he tried to hold her. Breaking free, she ran to her room and locked the door.
Heartbroken and betrayed, Tom created ways to ignore and twist the truth; his descent into a world of delusions began. He carefully constructed a life of lies, denying the inevitable, refusing to see that one day his world would fall apart. The house of cards would come tumbling down. Elise’s life, and his carefully planned future with her, would end.
One drizzly, spring afternoon, Elise found Tom in his office reading a contract. “Tom, I had a call from my friend, Catherine. She’s going through a difficult time right now. I told her I’d go and stay with her for a while. She desperately needs a friend to lean on right now.”
Putting his paperwork down, Tom stared incredulously at her. “No, I need you here.”
“Don’t say that. And don’t look at me like that!” Elise said, her shaking voice giving away her frustration. “Some time apart would be good for both of us. Why don’t you go see Cassie? You could use some time away from here, too. It’s been a long time since you’ve been anywhere other than for business.” Seeing the wall go up, she spat her words at Tom. “I need to get away! This house is beginning to feel like a prison.”
The inevitable happened. The flash of revulsion in her eyes was painful. Tom looked away. The seeds of doubt were sprouting and growing, spreading like a malignancy. He knew he could no longer trust her.
“Please, Tom, let me go. I’ll only be gone three or four weeks. I promise I’ll call you every day. Let me go.”
Tom refused, knowing if she left, she might never come back to him. He cut off her credit making sure she had no money or access to money. He made certain she couldn’t afford to leave him. He intercepted her mail and monitored her phone calls. He did, for all practical purposes, in fact make her a prisoner. If she did leave the house, he was at her side, watching her every move, orchestrating her every outing. He let her know, if she left him, he would make sure she was penniless. “I control you, dear. That’s how it is. Wealth, after all, has its advantages,” he told her.
How could he do this to her? He was making her hate him more every day. Why didn’t he let her go? But somehow, Tom could not, would not. He convinced himself that she would learn to love him again, given time.
And so Elise came to believe the only way to free herself from Tom’s control was through death. Her own. But her hatred for him would not die so easily, would tie her to this earth.
Chapter 23
Tom paced the veranda, a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand. Wind blew the rain sideways into the porch, soaking through his heavy fisherman’s sweater. Silently he pleaded for forgiveness for what he had done to Elise, though he knew in his heart, it was not to be. He had punished Elise for not loving him, and now she would punish him for destroying her.
As a flash of lightening lit the night sky, Elise appeared in the doorway, pale and fragile, wisps of golden hair gently blowing across her face. She smiled sweetly at Tom.
Her smile melted his heart. Slowly, not taking his eyes off her delicate form, Tom began walking toward her, reaching out to take her in his arms. He pulled her to him—his arms met empty air. Behind him, shrill peals of laughter cut through the air. He whirled around. There was no one there. “Elise!” he screamed. “Elise!” Her laughter echoed, chilled his soul.
Tom ran into the darkened house, trying to escape her maniacal laughter. In the corner of the room, he saw her. She sat at the piano. Softly she began playing Beethoven’s Für Elise, repeating the same refrain again and again, each note a mockery of their love. All the while she watched him, staring unblinking into his eyes, smiling gently, sweetly beckoning him to her side. But he did not go to her. He stood frozen, unable to move. Elise threw her head back and howled; then she was gone. Silence filled the room. Tom could see his breath, like puffs of moisture, ballooning out in the frigid, dark room.
The phone rang, jarred him back to his senses. With a shaking hand, he lifted the receiver.
“Tom? It’s Sara. Hello? . . . Are you there?”
“Sara?” he whispered.
“Yes. Is something wrong? I can barely hear you.”
“I need you. Come right away,” Tom said and hung up. The second he placed the receiver on the cradle, the phone rang again. He didn’t answer it.
Tom waited for Sara on the front steps. It was raining harder now, the temperature was dropping rapidly. But Tom didn’t feel the cold. On this stormy night, Tom, finally—without a doubt— knew his enemy. And more importantly—he knew he no longer loved Elise—was no longer willing to love her. He also recognized, with an inevitable sense of horror, that Elise would make him pay for his change of heart. Go ahead and try. I’ve done my suffering. I’ve paid the price for loving you. It must end. Damn you, Elise, it will end!
Sara—out of breath, soaked, hair plastered to her head—ran up the porch stairs to Tom. Inside the house the telephone continued ringing. Sara’s hand trembled as she reached to touch Tom’s face. He said nothing, closing his eyes at the gentle touch of her hand. “What is it? What’s wrong, Tom?”
He took her hand, led her into the living room and guided her to the couch. They sat for a moment looking at each other. The phone continued ringing, the sound shrill and eruptive in the dark, lonely night. There were no lights; the only illumination came from the glowing coals in the fire. The phone stopped ringing.
Tom awkwardly fumbled with the buttons of Sara’s wet coat. Taking it off, he dropped it carelessly onto the floor. He took a bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet. Removing the glass stopper, he took a long swig and then offered it to Sara. “Glass?” She shook her head, took the decanter from him. They passed it back and forth several times. The alcohol began to warm Tom as it spread though his body, to his arms and neck. Gradually, he started to relax. The phone rang again. Tom had no intention of answering it.
“Tom, aren’t you going to answer it? It must be important if whoever it is keeps calling. It might be Vivian. I left without telling her where I was going.” Realizing Tom was not going to pick up the phone, Sara did. “Hello?” There was no one there.
As soon as Sara hung up, it rang again. This time Tom picked it up. The sound of shrill laughter resounded from the receiver. After a moment, the recorded voice of the operator could be heard saying, “If you would like to make a call, please hang up and place your call again.” Tom replaced the receiver.
“Tom, I‘m waiting for an explanation. You scared me to death tonight. What’s going on?” Sara demanded.
He took another drink of brandy while he decided what to say. The last thing Tom wanted to do was make her angry.
Sara watched him, pursing her lips and twisting her hair around her finger, her foot tapped impatiently on the floor. “Well?”
Tom took a deep breath and said, “Sara, I know we haven’t known each other very long. It seems unbelievable, because it feels like I’ve known you for a very long time. There’s a connection I feel with you that I’ve never had with anyone before.”