Dark Keys of Uncomplacency

Chapter 8: Connor Faulkner

Last night was not at all kind to Connor. He lied on his lumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan while it churned the cool wind coming from his open window. With the A/C out, all he could do was keep shedding layers of clothing. He hadn't worn actual pajamas since early June. What was left to do, once you're stripped down to your boxers, at the mercy of an intermittent, summer cross breeze?

Anne, his grandmother, did everything she could to provide for her only grandchild; assuming a paid utility bill, a fridge full of mostly condiments, and a stuffy attic bedroom was all a growing boy needed to feel at-home. She didn't do much these days though, besides lay in bed and occasionally hobble over to her study to jot down snippets of poetry that she had uttered in her sleep.

Connor had become the man of the house at an early age. Now 17, he could still remember the night his parents didn't come home. According to the cops, his father lost control of the car, sending it through the guardrails and into the New Croton Reservoir.

"Grandma, do you know where I left my lens?"

"Ich weiß es nicht", replied in German. "I don't know where you leave your brain sometimes, Connor". Anne was a frail old woman, with shaky hands and knees the size of softballs. "I can't keep track of your photography tools any longer—"

"I found it! Right between the couch cushions where I left them", Connor chuckled.

Anne shook her head, brushed her dark grey hair to the side, and took a sip from her coffee. She had grown accustomed to quiet mornings, with the sun beaming through the living room windows. She designated that time to pray and meditate; Connor joined her every now and then, with a pot of dark coffee between them.

"Did you take your pills last night?"

"Verpiss dich! In holocaust they did not treat us with such conditions. I live through Auschwitz, so I live through anything".

Connor, unphased by his grandma's remark, jogged right passed her and into the wood-panelled kitchen. He opened up the top cabinet right above the sink and out came 3 different orange pill bottles.

Anne scowled when she heard her meds rattling in the other room. "Wie kann man mit so vielen Medikamenten leben? No one live with so many medications" she spouted. She imagined herself escaping to her bedroom, but her knees wouldn't have it and the rest of her body was content against their lentil green, leather couch.

"Here you go. And no hiding them under your tongue". He spilled 3 assorted pills into one of her hands and held out a cold glass of water for her other hand.

"Danke", she replied. She proceeded to swallow her meds, one-by-one.

The rest of the house was gray—shaded from the sun outside. The curtains stayed drawn for most of the day to keep it as cool as possible. The A/C had gone out around mid-July, and unlike their new neighbors, the Faulkners didn't have central air. Like most unrenovated houses in New Castle, theirs was full of antiquated pipe radiators, covered by poorly painted grills in the corner of every room.

The door to the basement, which sat next to the refrigerator, stayed open during the day to bring the cool air into the rest of the house, but only when Connor's grandmother was napping. Ever since his parents died, she loathed the basement—staring at the black void in horror and then proceeding to mutter prayer after prayer in incomprensible German. Connor hadn't ventured into the basement, even when his parents were alive; but now, since his grandmother was not as mobile anymore, he had to. Whenever he did laundry, he stared at the uninviting darkness leading into the basement, struggling with a full basket of dirty clothes. Entering the void that was the Faulkner's basement came with a sense that the stale air and was not of this world. What he saw made his skin crawl every time.