Gothic Rose
Ben Patton was born in the seaside town of Tranquil Cove, a small New England village that, like most small towns across the country, offered little in the way of entertainment for teenagers. The nearest movie theater was more than ten miles away and the closest mall required a forty-five-minute drive. Whenever Ben and his friend Nick Brannigan had nothing better to do, which was most evenings, they went down to the abandoned lighthouse at Widow's Point where they and other bored youngsters would toss back a couple of beers, smoke a few cigarettes and try to impress members of the opposite sex with their feigned sophistication.
On many occasions, Nick would entertain the group by playing his guitar and singing songs he had written himself. None of the teenagers doubted that he would someday leave Tranquil Cove and become a famous musician. Ben was sure that, of them all, Nick would be the one to escape the invisible shackles that bound the rest of them to the sleepy New England hamlet.
Across the bay from Tranquil Cove was Harmony Island. There were few houses on Harmony, but those that were there were all large and expensive. Most residents of Tranquil Cove had never set foot on Harmony Island, despite its close proximity. Those who had ventured into the sanctity of the rich and famous did so as cooks, maids, groundskeepers and other manual laborers. It was quite a surprise then when Nick received an invitation to attend a party at Ocean's Gate, one of the largest and most beautiful homes on the island.
"It says here that I'm allowed to bring a friend along," Nick announced after he read the invitation. "Wanna come?"
"I don't know," Ben replied, looking across the bay at the imposing homes that faced the mainland. "What would I do over there? I'm just a fisherman's kid. I'd fit in like a flea-bitten mongrel at the Westminster Dog Show."
"Stop being so hard on yourself. You're good company when you relax and mellow out."
"You mean after I've had a few beers, don't you?"
Nick laughed and shook his head.
"There's a big world beyond the boundaries of Tranquil Cove, Massachusetts. You and I may never get the chance to see much of it. We'll probably never travel to Europe, the Orient or South America. Hell, we may never even get to see California, but here's our opportunity to rub elbows with the Harmony Island crowd, and I, for one, am not going to pass it up."
* * *
On the night of the party, a boat was sent to meet the two young men at the wharf on Salem Street. When it docked on Harmony Island, they entered a world far different from their own, one of privilege and prosperity where wealthy mothers handed their crying babies to nannies and where menial tasks such as cooking, cleaning and driving were left to paid servants.
"I feel like Dorothy when she landed in Oz," Ben laughed nervously as he and Nick walked up the long driveway leading to Ocean's Gate.
"Don't worry. You're still in Kansas."
Nick was about to ring the bell when a beautiful young woman opened the door.
"You must be Nick Brannigan," she declared. "I've heard a lot about you. Don't you have your guitar with you?"
Ben smiled wryly. It seemed that his friend was not so much a guest at the party as he was a source of free entertainment.
"Sorry. I didn't know I was supposed to bring it," Nick apologized.
"It doesn't matter. I'm sure we have one around here somewhere. Come in. Welcome to our humble little abode where art is not only appreciated but heartily encouraged."
The two friends crossed the threshold and stood in awe of the opulence that surrounded them. Ben knew practically nothing about art. He couldn't tell a painting by Manet from one by Monet. To him, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael were the names of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, not great Renaissance artists. Yet even he could appreciate the magnificence of the paintings that adorned the walls and the sculptures that graced the foyer of the mansion.
As he and Nick stood ogling the posh décor of Ocean's Gate, a second young woman, every bit as beautiful as the first, came out of the huge ballroom to greet them.
"You must be Nick and his friend, Ben. Come in, and I'll introduce you to everyone. I'm Callie. I see you've met my sister Cleo. My other sisters are somewhere around here."
For the next two hours, the two men from Tranquil Cove were led through the rooms of the immense house and introduced to a varied cast of characters, including a Harvard-educated historian, an aspiring stand-up comic, a Juilliard-bound ballerina, a British astronomer and a large number of assorted musicians and artists. To Ben, the most interesting person at the party was a melancholy young woman, dressed all in black, who sat quietly by herself in a dark, secluded corner of the formal dining room.
"Who's that?" he asked one of the party's pretty hostesses.
"That's my sister Mel, the wallflower; she has a little trouble fitting in. Why don't you go talk to her? She won't bite."
Despite a feeling of insecurity, Ben walked over to the attractive young woman and sat down beside her. When she turned to face him, he noticed a small black rose tattooed high on her cheek.
"You're staring at my rose," she said. "Haven't you ever seen a tattoo before?"
"Are you kidding? I come from Tranquil Cove. The only people who sport tattoos are the old men who once served in the Navy."
"Ah! You're one of those culturally impaired youths whose idea of art is the graffiti painted on derelict buildings."
His anger quickly surfaced and he retorted, "Now I know why you're sitting here by yourself. You think you're better than everyone else, don't you, Miss Gothic Rose?"
Her face was instantly transformed by a dazzling smile.
Damn! She's gorgeous! Ben thought.
"I'm sorry if I sounded like an insufferable snob. I'm really not one. I certainly didn't mean to offend you. I just have a black sense of humor."
"It matches your outfit," he laughed, trying to show her he bore no grudge. "So, you're another of Callie's sisters?"
"We come from a large family. There's Callie, Cleo, Terry, Lia and Raina—here tonight at least. My other sisters are somewhere in Europe."
For a few minutes, they sat quietly on the sidelines, listening to snippets of conversation from people passing by.
"A garret in Paris?" one young man declared. "What a dull cliché! My studio is in Pennsylvania where I've got a great view of Three Mile Island."
"Can you believe that my voice coach suggested I audition for Broadway?" a young woman asked indignantly. "Imagine a talent like mine wasted on some cheesy musical comedy. If I wanted to commit artistic suicide, I'd try out for American Idol."
Ben rolled his eyes. He couldn't take much more of this pretentious, artsy crowd. Mel sympathized.
"Want to get out of here, and go somewhere a little less bohemian?" she asked.
Without saying goodbye to any of the guests, Mel and Ben left Ocean's Gate and took a boat across the bay to Widow's Point.
* * *
"Imagine that many good-looking women in one family," Nick observed the following day. "I can't decide who is the prettiest, but I know which one I'd like to go out with: Callie."
"You don't honestly think you stand a chance of dating any of the girls from the party last night!"
"Why not?" Nick asked defensively.
"Because girls like that are culture junkies," Ben explained. "Can you see yourself in an art gallery in Paris or attending the opera in Venice?"
"What about that gothic chick you were with last night?"
"What about her?"
It was Ben's turn to be on the defensive.
"You two seemed pretty cozy."
Ben shrugged his shoulders, not bothering to answer. He didn't want to discuss Mel with Nick. Although he hated to admit it, he was already half in love with the dark, mysterious young woman.
"She must be the black sheep of that family," Nick laughed, not letting the matter drop.
"What kind of crack is that?"
"Lighten up. It's just a joke. Even though she's not classy or elegant like her sisters, she does have a certain je ne sais quoi."
Ben bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. After one evening with that avant-garde crowd, Nick was talking like a dilettante.
"Are you going down to Widow's Point later?" Ben asked once the moment of humor passed.
"No, I'm going to borrow my uncle's boat and go over to Harmony Island."
"Did one of the girls invite you to come back?"
"Not exactly," Nick admitted sheepishly, "but Callie said she really wanted to hear my songs, so I thought I'd go over there and play some for her. Want to come with me?"
Ben's initial reaction was to say no. Mel and her sisters were rich, beautiful and popular; what would they want with two guys from Tranquil Bay? But a strange longing, born of a desire to see Gothic Rose again, urged him to accompany Nick.
They docked on the far side of the island, within a few yards of Ocean's Gate. Nick and Ben then walked around to the front of the house. All was quiet and still, in stark contrast to the night before when the house had been alive with music and laughter. They walked up to the front door and rang the bell; there was no answer.
"I wonder where everyone is."
The tone of Nick's voice conveyed his keen disappointment.
"Perhaps they're just sleeping it off," Ben suggested.
Nick's face brightened.
"You must be right," he said, ringing the bell again.
When there was still no reply, the boys walked around to the back of the house and looked in through the glass doors.
"What the hell?" Nick exclaimed.
There was no sign of the beautiful sisters, their servants or the guests, and the furniture had been carefully draped with dust covers as though the house had been closed up for the season.
"Where do you suppose everyone went?" Nick asked.
"The guests most likely went home, and the girls—maybe they've gone away. Mel said something about having other sisters somewhere in Europe."
Ben tried to make light of the matter, but the truth was that he was as disappointed by the empty house as Nick was.
* * *
That June the boys graduated high school, and in the autumn, Nick went off to college to study music. As Ben had always suspected, his best friend's post-school life was full and rewarding. Ben's own life was turning out just as he'd imagined, too: the week after graduation he got a job pumping gas and changing oil at Walt's Garage.
On weekends Ben still went to Widow's Point to hang out with the local crowd, although without Nick it wasn't nearly as much fun. One night he sat alone by the lighthouse, staring out at the vast Atlantic.
"Isn't it wonderful to have the beach to yourself?"
He turned quickly and saw the familiar ebony hair, the soft gray eyes and the small rose tattoo.
"Mel!" he cried with surprise.
"Mel is such a boring name. I much prefer it when you call me Gothic Rose."
He smiled, and she sat down on the rock beside him.
"When did you get back?" he asked.
"I'm not really back. It's hard to explain, but I don't stay in any one place very long, a day or two here and I'm off again."
"You're a real jet-setter, huh? I've heard of people like you, but I've never met any."
The remainder of their conversation was equally mundane. What Ben felt in his heart, what he was dying to scream at the top of his lungs, he kept buried deep inside.
Finally, Gothic Rose stood to leave.
"You're not going so soon?" he asked, sounding like a pathetic, lovesick adolescent.
"I have things to do," she said cryptically.
"Places to go, people to see," he added sadly. "Unlike me. I haven't anywhere to go, no one to see and nothing to do."
A poignant smile appeared on the young woman's face.
"I'll see you again," she whispered, and then she kissed him softly on the lips and left.
* * *
Christmas arrived and Nick came back to Tranquil Cove for the school break, bringing his girlfriend with him. While Romy was not as rich, well-dressed or beautiful as the sisters from Ocean's Gate, she was every bit as charming and vivacious. Yet for all her boundless energy and good humor, Romy was an intelligent young woman who took her studies seriously. Ben could see why Nick adored her.
"What do you want to do when you finish school?" he asked Romy.
"I want to be the leading expert on folklore and mythology. I plan to write several dozen books and tour the world, giving lectures on the subject."
"Is there much money in that?"
The young student glared at Ben as though he had offended her.
"Who cares? I'm not into material things. I don't want a four-bedroom house in an upscale suburban neighborhood with a late-model SUV parked in my three-car garage. I want to live out of a duffel bag, eat in fast food restaurants and go from one inexpensive hotel to another as I research my books. Maybe I'll even backpack across Europe as I learn about fairies, monsters, pagan deities and other Old World legends."
"It sounds like a lot of fun."
Drowning in self-pity, he turned his head away and stared out the window at the small, rundown houses that lined the pothole-ridden road. As usual, he felt like a spectator in life while everyone else was playing the game. There would be no backpacking across Europe for him; he was destined to spend his days in Tranquil Cove.
* * *
Thankfully, Romy was not a possessive, clinging girl and didn't mind Nick spending time with Ben.
"Don't be silly. It's been months since you've been home. It's only natural you want to spend time with your friends. Don't worry about me," she laughed, taking a large volume of Greek mythology out of her suitcase, "I'll catch up on my studying."
Later, while Ben waited for Nick to shower and shave, he idly thumbed through Romy's thick mythology textbook.
"You plan on reading this entire book during your Christmas vacation?"
"No, but I want to get a head start on my next semester's class. After all, I have several centuries of folklore to catch up on."
"At least there are a lot of pictures," he said, feeling foolish the moment the words left his mouth. "I suppose you think I'm an ignorant hick."
Romy smiled warmly. She was clearly no snob.
"I don't think that at all. From what Nick has told me, you're a wonderful person and a great friend."
Suddenly, Ben glanced at a photograph in Romy's book and felt as though everything around him ceased to exist.
"Who are these women?" he asked excitedly, picking up the heavy book and putting it in front of Romy.
She leaned over, looked at the picture of a famous Renaissance painting and read the caption.
"They're the muses," she replied.
"Muses?"
"The muses are Greek goddesses who preside over the arts and sciences. They also inspire men to do great work."
"I've seen these women before."
Romy laughed, believing that Ben was joking.
"I'm serious. Nick has seen them, too. They have a house over on Harmony Island. This past summer they invited us to a party at their mansion."
Romy tilted her head, squinted her eyes and stared at him, as though waiting for the punch line of a joke.
A moment later Nick came down the stairs and announced, "I'm almost ready."
"Come here and look at this picture," Ben said.
Nick, too, recognized the young women from Ocean's Gate.
"It's Callie and her sisters."
"You couldn't have met the models who posed for this painting," Romy declared logically. "The artist has been dead for close to five hundred years."
"I tell you, I know these women, especially this one," Ben said adamantly, pointing to a sad-faced beauty with raven hair and gray eyes. Even though the girl in the painting had no tattoo on her cheek, there was no doubt in his mind that it was Mel, his Gothic Rose.
The coincidence was too great. Not only were the likenesses unmistakable, but also the names were closely related. The one who looked like Callie was identified as Calliope, the muse of poetry. Cleo was Clio, the muse of history; Terry, Terpsichore, the muse of dance; Lia, Thalia, the muse of comedy; Raina, Urania, the muse of astrology. Finally, there was his beloved Mel, also known as Melpomene, the muse of tragedy.
Nick, who had been sitting silently in the chair, while Romy and Ben read the information on muses, suddenly spoke.
"We went to the house the following day, and it was closed up. There wasn't a single sign that a party had been held there the night before."
"What are you getting at?" his friend asked.
"Maybe we didn't actually see them, not as real people anyway. Those women might have been muses, and I was probably invited to the house to receive their inspiration. You said yourself they surrounded themselves with poets, artists and scholars. I'm a musician, and I was the one who got the invitation."
"You think we imagined it all?"
"Not exactly. It might have been more like a form of hypnosis."
Ben had never heard of anything so ridiculous. Only two months earlier, he had again seen Mel at Widow's Point. She had kissed him when she said goodbye. He didn't for one moment doubt that Mel and her sisters were real, but he needed tangible proof in order to convince Nick and Romy.
* * *
On Christmas Eve, while Nick and his girlfriend were decorating the Brannigan family tree, Ben rowed out to Harmony Island. He walked undetected to the rear of Ocean's Gate, where he took a large rock from the garden and broke one of the basement windows.
There must be something in the house that would prove the existence of the six sisters, he thought as he snuck into the basement. A photograph hanging on a bedroom wall or an old letter tucked away in a night table drawer.
He was astonished when he walked up the stairs and into the living room and found a fully trimmed Christmas tree in the corner. Presents were placed beneath it, and five stockings hung from the fireplace mantel. His heart leaped with joy. The sisters had come back! He wanted to race up the stairs and call out Mel's name, but he didn't. After all, he was trespassing—a serious crime, regardless of his lack of criminal intent.
As he walked out of the living room into the foyer, there was no sign of the artwork that had previously graced the space. However, he did see a woman's purse lying on an antique Hepplewhite table.
Jackpot! he thought with triumph.
Women often kept their driver's licenses, credit cards and other forms of identification in their handbags. He opened the purse and took out the wallet. Inside was a Massachusetts driver's license belonging to Ivanna Winchell. Disappointed, he was about to put the wallet back in the pocketbook when he heard a noise at the top of the staircase.
What followed was a nightmare. Sam Winchell, the owner of the house, thought Ben was there to commit robbery. He shouted to his wife to phone the police, as he came down the stairs, golf club in hand, to attack the intruder. With great difficulty, Ben managed to disarm the irate homeowner. He would have left the house at that point since he had no desire to hurt those people, but the wife went to her husband's defense. She jumped on Ben's back and tried to scratch his eyes with her long fingernails.
Ben cried out in pain, and Ivanna Winchell screamed in fury. Then the husband went after the terrified young man again, pummeling him with his fists. Outnumbered, Ben picked up the golf club and swung blindly, hitting Sam Winchell squarely on the side of his head.
"I didn't mean to hurt him," he cried when the older man fell down.
"You killed him, you bastard!" the wife screamed and renewed her attack.
Her long nails raked his face, and he swung the club again. Moments later the man and his wife both lay dead on the floor. Ben had watched enough cop shows to realize that a good forensics team would uncover enough clues to send him to jail for life, so he decided his only hope was to burn the house and all the evidence inside. Every year, houses are destroyed by Christmas tree fires. With any luck, the deaths would be ruled accidental.
Ben set fire to the quilted tree skirt and watched until the flames began to spread from the tree to the drapes. Once the living room was ablaze, he ran through the foyer and outside the house. Like Lot's wife, he turned to look back, and for a moment he thought he saw Gothic Rose staring at him from an upstairs window.
* * *
News of the tragedy hit Tranquil Cove late Christmas evening: Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Winchell and their three children had died in a tragic fire on Harmony Island. Ben was devastated. He had murdered five innocent people who had been sleeping peacefully in their beds, awaiting the annual visit from Santa Claus. Thanks to him, those three little girls would never open their presents, never see the New Year and never grow up to be women. When the first rumors began circulating that police suspected arson and murder, Ben could stand the guilt no longer. On December 30, he went to the Tranquil Cove Police Department and confessed his crime.
Although his parents offered to mortgage their house to pay for their son's defense, Ben waived the right to a trial and pleaded guilty. Due to the heinous nature of his crime, he was given life without parole. He never protested, for he honestly believed that he deserved the sentence he got.
Ben had been incarcerated for nearly a month when he received a visit from Nick Brannigan. His old friend was nervous around the inmate and fidgeted constantly.
"I'll understand if you don't want to visit me again," Ben told him.
It was difficult for Nick to speak.
"I can't help feeling responsible. If I hadn't asked you to go with me to that party ...."
"Stop it! None of this was your fault."
After several more unsuccessful attempts at conversation, Nick said goodbye and left. Ben sat in the chair, looking down at his hands. Like Lady Macbeth, he would never be able to cleanse the blood from them.
"Your friend was wrong."
Ben froze at the sound of the voice. He didn't take his eyes off his hands, but he knew if he looked up he would see the black hair, the sad gray eyes and the black rose tattoo on her cheek.
"How did you get in here?" he asked, his mind concentrating on unimportant details.
"I can go anywhere; I'm not bound by the laws of physics."
Ben finally looked up.
"Are you really a muse?"
"Yes. But your friend wasn't the reason you were brought to the island. While my sister was interested in Nick; it was you I wanted."
"Me? I haven't got any talent."
"I am the dark muse, the goddess of tragedy. Unlike my sisters who preside over music, poetry and science, I appeal to the darker nature of man. I have inspired conquerors, dictators, serial killers and even lesser-known murderers like you."
"Why me? Why did you make me a killer? And why that poor family? What have any of us done to deserve your deadly intervention?"
"It's nothing personal. A muse, like Death and the Fates, must perform her duties without question. If it's any consolation to you, I really like you and I'm sorry for the way things turned out."
"You'll forgive me if I take no comfort in that or if I blame you for the deaths of the Winchell family until my dying day."
"You won't though," she said with a bittersweet smile that tore at his heart. "Very soon both you and Nick will forget all about my sisters and me. The party on the island will be completely gone from your memory. You will soon come to believe that you killed the Winchells in a failed robbery attempt. Like da Vinci, Michelangelo, Beethoven, Mozart and so many others, you will forget that a muse ever touched your life."
Then, for the second and final time, Melpomene kissed him and vanished.
"Forget you?" Ben mumbled. "Never!"
He took a felt-tipped pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote her name in large, bold letters on his forearm. By the time the ink faded, however, Ben had long forgotten all about his Gothic Rose.
Salem thinks he's a Greek God. I find that quite a-muse-ing!
