Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

I felt my own blood drain down into my feet; a stinging sensation began behind my ears as my strength grew small, and I stared at the woman who seemed a stranger now.
    "I ought to bind you and gag you and just march you down those stairs and throw you into the back of Morton's car and drive you right back to Philip," she spat through her clenched teeth. "Why he could have these people committed to an insane asylum. Yes," she said nodding. "He could.
    "And once I testified to finding you living in sin here with Gavin, no one would believe your story about Philip. With Philip as trustee of the estate in control of everything . . ." She looked around. "He might just give me this place as a reward. Morty and I could tear it all apart and have a hell of a good time here, couldn't we, Morty?"
    "It's got potential," he agreed quickly. I had the feeling he was just as afraid of her as I was.
    "Yes," she said, nodding, "you see? Morty knows about such things and he says it has potential."
    She glared down at me. I shielded my eyes from hers. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought I might faint. The storm of horror she had threatened to burst over me had started. My legs felt as if they were shrinking and I was sinking to the floor.
    "I'd like to hear an apology," she said. "I don't know how many times my brother made me apologize to your mother for one thing or another. Well?"
    I felt trapped, pinned down by her hate and rage. Who knew what terrible things might be done to Charlotte and Luther and even Homer if she carried out her threats.
    "I'm sorry," I muttered.
    "What? I didn't hear you," she said, her hands on her hips.
    "I'm sorry, Aunt Fern," I said loud enough for Morton to hear as well. I knew that was what she wanted.
    "Good," she said, smiling. "Now all can return to normal and we can be friends again. You've been doing so well up to this point, too. Hasn't she, Morty?"
    "She's been a fine host," he said, nodding.
    "Yes, right, a fine host. All right," she said, turning back to me, "now let's just continue it all. Fix up the living room so we can have our party tonight," she concluded. Then she started away.
    "How about another drink?" Morton asked her, holding up his arm for her to put hers through.
    "Good idea. I need one after this. Oh, princess," she said, turning. "You'd better go into that room and sweep up the glass that imbecile made me drop. Be careful. Don't cut yourself," she added. "If something bad happened to you, I could never forgive myself." Her peal of laughter trailed after her and Morton as they went down the corridor, both behaving as if nothing horrible had occurred.
    I should have run away before, I thought. I shouldn't have been so indecisive about it. I should have flown down the driveway and disappeared. If I had, she wouldn't have tormented Aunt Charlotte.
    With my head bowed, my heart feeling as if it had been turned to stone, and my legs moving as if on their own, I followed in Aunt Fern and Morton's wake to begin my work on the living room so she would be pleased. I still clung to the hope that after a while, she would grow bored with these games and move on into oblivion, for I pledged to myself and took an oath on all that was sacred that once she was out of my life, I would never permit her to enter it again, even if she became destitute and was begging on the streets.
    That's how hateful I had become.
    That's how hateful she had made me.
     
    At dinner that night, Aunt Fern and Morton were downright disgusting and obnoxious. Without warning, they would break into these silly games. I think she was just trying to demonstrate to us how much control she had over this poor excuse for a man. She would declare something as if she were his master and he would have to obey.
    "You're a one-year-old-baby," she decided. "You can't feed yourself. Go `ga, ga.' Go on."
    "Ga, ga," he said and tried to look like an infant: his eyes shifted toward the ceiling, his arms at his side and his mouth agape.
    "Hungry, little Morty?" Aunt Fern sang. He nodded quickly. She raised a forkful of mashed potatoes to his lips and when he opened his mouth wide, she pulled the fork away. "No, no, little Morty. Not so fast. Not before you do something nice for Mommy. Here," she said, holding out her other hand. "Lick Mommy's hand. Go on or Mommy won't feed you."
    We all watched him do it. Charlotte was fascinated; Luther was disgusted. Jefferson thought it was all very funny and started to act like a baby, too,