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Back Door

Chris Allen

    Matt had been obsessed with Susan for over seven years. Now, at the age of 20, he never believed that he would be walking up Susan’s front walk, up the thirty-six steps that went up a hill that connected to her front porch, and to see Susan herself.
    It was an affair, though Susan wasn’t married – she was engaged – but Matt still considered it to be an affair. No, Susan was engaged to Eric; a bastard to his rotten core. He had raped Susan one night, but Susan didn’t consider what had happened was rape but rather a joke that quickly turned to sexual desire. Matt knew exactly what it was: rape.
    Music is your only friend until the end. This is exactly what Matt would discover during his passionate visits with Susan; or at least one of his visits.
    It was madness now. Complete madness that Matt was stuck inside of. The worst part being that he wasn’t sure how he could escape or if he even wanted. He loved Susan, but he never told himself this. Whenever love crossed his mind, that he could be in love with Susan, he just through the idea away and thought only of lust and his sexual – strong sexual – desire towards Susan. Oh how the madness butchered his mentality. The complete need to get away but not knowing where to go, and the depression that would come when he would no longer be able to see Susan; he just wasn’t ready for it.
    It wasn’t so much of leaving Susan that he was worried about as the summer evenings grew, but about being caught. About their third week of their intimacy, Susan’s grandparents had stopped by for a surprise visit. Coming, Matt would begin to believe, was the best and worst part of everything. It was the best feeling you could ever have, but once you start you can’t stop, no matter how bad of a situation you’re in. The day Susan’s grandparent’s showed up, Matt was just beginning to ejaculate. There was a knock at Susan’s bedroom door. It sent Matt’s heart racing and forcing his ejaculation out at a speed; he was soothed and overly worried at the same time. “Who is it?” Susan said in a nervous voice that sounded like a woman who was experiencing an orgasm.
    “It’s your grandfather and grandmother, Suse,” said Susan’s grandfather.
    “I’m sorry, let me turn this music down. I can’t hear very well.”
    Matt was off of her now and was wrapping the condom in tissues and stuffing them into Susan’s wastebasket while Susan was putting on her gym shorts and motioning frantically for Matt to turn down the radio which was playing “Kashmir” by Led Zeppelin very loudly. Immediately after Matt turned the radio down, he ran across her room and hid in the closet. There he could hear the muffled voices of Susan and her grandparents. Things like: What were you doing? Oh nothing, just catching some sleep. I don’t see how anyone could sleep with that racket. Then silence.
    Matt ended up staying inside of Susan’s closet for over four hours, three of which he slept through. It was the best time, he thought, not to have driven to Susan’s house but let her pick him up from work and bring him over for their intimacy.
    Matt was on Susan’s porch now. The porch was somewhat wide, made of cement, held a swing that hung to Matt’s left, and if you turned around you would see the dirt road that the house over looked and the small two car driveway that was about twelve feet from the steps that led to the front porch. Matt knocked on the door, there was no response. He rang the doorbell and a minute later the door opened, and there stood Susan, wearing a pink night gown that was open but still covered her breasts. He stepped through and barely had time to say anything, Susan through her arms around him and she gave him a squeeze like she had just been saved from a life threatening situation.
    Coming in through the front door of Susan’s house led you right into the living room. From the living room you could see the kitchen, at least part of it; you caught mostly a glimpse of the stove and the left side of the refrigerator. The living room was set up so that when you walked in the fifty inch HD TV could be seen to your right, on the wall over the fireplace, the sectional sofa with its back to the door but the right part of the sofa was pushed up against the wall. To the left of the sofa was a loveseat, and in the middle, between the fireplace, the sectional sofa, and love seat, stood a wooden coffee table on top of a Persian rug. Directly from the left of the front door was the stairway that led to the second floor which held four bedrooms and a bathroom, and Susan’s parent’s bathroom in the master bedroom.
    Matt had seen these rooms many times before, but he barely paid any attention to it, especially with Susan always there to greet him. She always seemed to have a different look about her when he saw her, and each time he loved her more and more. This time Susan had her hair down over her shoulders, and it somewhat wet, making her red hair darker, like a reddish brown.
    “You’re staring,” she said.
    “I know I am. How can you expect me not to? You’re beautiful,” Matt said, putting an arm around Susan’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss. And how amazingly she kissed.
    “You always know what to say and what moves to deliver.”
    “No, no. It’s personality and style.” This was true, but Matt had a way of delivering words in a musical style. Like the way a guitarist can play the guitar and produce music with such ease and fluid motion, but what looks easy and sounds so clean, can be completely lost to someone who doesn’t know what they are doing.
    “Well, it doesn’t matter, I’m just glad that you’re here now. Come on. Lay me down on sheets of linen.” Susan turned away began walking up the steps, shaking her hips in a sexy way working on Matt’s imagination.
    Matt followed her down the hallway at two step distance. She entered the room and shut the door on Matt, and the suddenness of her action made Matt stumble back a little bit. He frowned then smiled. Susan always gave little taunts like this and it worked; it always gave Matt jolts of anxiety. He knocked on the door.
    “Come in,” said Susan in her taunting welcoming matter.
    He opened the door and there she sat on her bed under the window surrounded in hazy sunlight. Susan’s room seemed to always catch her in a way that reminded Matt of a Persian setting, and in her pink robe, Susan had the appearance of a belly dancer. The room also had the smell of Jasmine incense, and indeed there they were, atop Susan’s bedside table burning, adding more of a Middle Eastern setting to the room. Yes, the room indeed was Middle Eastern inspired; the walls were deep purple in color, her curtains were maroon, and her bed contained many foreign style pillows.
    Matt walked to Susan and sat down on her bed beside her. She leaned back and lay on her back. Matt opened up her robe revealing everything, her teenage breasts that were meant for sexual pleasure and not ready for a child, her lean abdomen, and her pubic region which was shaved except for her light red landing strip. He took it all in and then he kissed her, starting at her lips and making his way down to her vagina. He gave her oral pleasure until he was sure she was at her peak, and then he let himself inside of her heat. He would thrust until he was sure he couldn’t hold out; he would turn and try to find something – usually the small waste receptacle – and ejaculate into that.
    He then would crawl back into Susan’s bed and spoon with her. It was one of his favorite moments to just lay behind her, holding her in his arms and breathing in her sweet aroma. He took in a deep breath, kissed her neck, and then fell asleep.
    He woke up with his arm still wrapped around Susan. She was breathing shallowly but not the type of breathing that indicates sleep; she was awake.
    “Play me a song, please,” Susan said, still on her side.
    Matt sat up rubbing his eyes, letting his legs hang over the bed, looking around the hazy room for Susan’s acoustic. He spied it under some of Susan’s clothes; the neck was the only thing to give it away. He stood up and walked over to the Epiphone EL-00 and picked it up by its neck letting the clothes slide off of it like ice slides off of a slanted roof on a warming winter day.
    He turned and faced Susan, who was now sitting on her bed with her legs crossed, staring at him with anticipation. Seeing her face, Matt tapped the acoustic with the palm of his hand, giving it a hollow bass sound. He then began to strum the chords to “Dear Prudence” by the Beatles, and it instantly brought a smile to Susan’s face. He walked over to, still strumming the guitar, and sat down on the floor below Susan looking up at her. It looked like something out of a medieval story; a young prince looking up to the princess in her tower while he played a love song to win her over.
    “Dear Prudence,” Matt sang, “won’t you come out to play”
    “Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day
    The sun is up, the sky is blue
    It’s beautiful and so are you
    Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play

    Dear Prudence open up your eyes
    Dear Prudence see the sunny skies
    The wind is low the birds will sing
    That you are part of everything
    Dear Prudence won’t you open up your eyes?

    Look around round round
    Look around round round
    Oh look around

    Dear Prudence let me see you smile
    Dear Prudence like a little child
    The clouds will be a daisy chain
    So let me see you smile again
    Dear Prudence won’t you let me see you smile?”
    He ended up forgetting a bit of the last verse and finished playing out the song’s instrumental part, but skipping the lyrics.
    “I love the way you play,” she said, “it sounds just like a recording.”
    Matt gave a little laugh and looked down at the guitar, blushing a little. “I think it’s your guitar that sounds like the recording. My voice isn’t nearly as good as Lennon’s was.”
    “You’re being too humble.”
    “Possibly, but why would I want to be anything else?”
    Somewhere down below a door slammed. It was a faint kind of thunder when it closed; it sent shivers down the spines’ of the two lovers. Their eyes met and the fear could easily be seen on their faces and in their eyes. Both hearts were racing and both mouths were dry. Matt sat below Susan with his head tilted up; listening to the sounds of whomever was down below. There was another sound of a bag being dropped and footsteps. The person was now in the kitchen. Matt gave Susan a stern look. Not a look like he was mad at her or that she had forgotten to tell him something important, nothing like that, but it was a look that said, “what the hell are we going to?” or more correctly: “what the hell am I supposed to do?”
    “I think that’s Eric,” she said, “he usually let himself in and if I’m not down stairs or whatever, he comes up here and wakes me up.”
    “Doesn’t he have baseball practice or- how long did we sleep?”
    Susan leaned over her bed and looked at her alarm clock. “It’s seven-thirty-seven,” she said, not looking at Matt but still looking at the clock. She sat it back down and looked over at Matt who was now pacing the floor and looking down trying to think of a plan. Matt stopped pacing and listened. There were footsteps coming up the stairs.
    “The window!” Susan said in a hushed and frantic voice. “Go out the window and then climb across the roof, jump down on top of the kitchen and from there it should only about a ten to eleven foot drop.” She was at the window and opening it. She turned to Matt and started to wave him over. “Go. Climb up from here.”
    Matt was up and out of the window just as Eric opened Susan’s bedroom door. Matt was sure that his left foot was still on the windowsill and that Eric had seen him or at least caught a glimpse of his foot. He was on the roof now and he lay on his back listening to the muffled voices from inside.
    “Hey, babe, what are you doing at the window?” Eric asked.
    “I’m getting ready to roll a joint. I don’t want to leave any residue behind that someone might be able to see. Also, if my parents show up, I can just drop it from here.”
    “They’ll be able to see it when they go outside.”
    “No, nobody ever is on this side of the house unless they are cleaning the yard or mowing grass. I’ll go out and grab it after they’re asleep.”
    “Yeah. Hey, did you know there is car in your driveway?”
    Susan stared at him, her face blank yet filled with some concern.
    “It’s a tan Hyundai. XG 300 model, I believe.”
    “Did it, uhmm, look broken down or anything? Maybe someone stopped by and...”
    “Did someone stop by saying that they had car trouble?”
    “No, but I did go to sleep earlier.”
    “Anyway, you’re pretty much the only house out here. Why would someone drive out here unless they were coming here? The plates aren’t from out of state; they couldn’t have been someone who got lost.”
    “It could have been someone wanting to buy the house. It’s not for sale, no, but occasionally someone comes by wanting to look at it or offer money for it.”
    Matt listened only for a moment. He wanted to make sure that there wasn’t any mention of seeing someone outside of the window. But if Eric was clever he would have pretended not to notice and try to catch Susan up in a lie. No time for that now, all Matt had to do was gently drop from the lowest point of the house, slide down the hill toward his car, and then drive away. Did situations like this ever turn out that simple? They seemed to in the past, maybe not that simple, but they seemed to turn out in a way that wasn’t horrible.
    He moved across the roof on his stomach. When he reached the point where the roof formed a triangular angle, he reached both arms over, arched his back a little, just enough to get his chest and stomach over, then he let his body lower and his hips hit the triangular point then he slid forward a little. His knees were over, his shins were over, then his feet. He hurt a little after this, and his body ached from the slow movement, but he had to be silent, he didn’t want Eric to hear anything at all.
    Matt, still on his chest, overlooked the part of the house where the second floor ended and the roof of the first floor began. It was at least a five and half foot drop from here, but could someone drop from this and not make a sound? Well, he was going to have to do something because waiting around would only make things worse. He pushed himself up and let his legs dangle over the edge. From there he eased himself down, his back pushing up against the shingles. His shoulders were pushed up against his neck and his elbows were flaring out. He was now three feet from the ground floor’s roof, he slipped, and his right elbow caught part of the gutter, knocking it loose. Matt made contact landing flat on his back with a thud.
    He was paralyzed. Not by the fall, no, his back was still intact. The fear he felt, it gripped him like a cold hard cast. He was afraid to breathe. The slightest movement would open a hole in the roof and he would be back inside to face his demons. A little bit of breath. That’s all he would be able to take in even though he wanted more. The fall had knocked the wind out of him and his head was spinning. He opened his mouth and sucked in a heavy, wheezing breath, and the air was so cold. It was like breathing in winter air and not the humid and sticky air of mid August.
    Never mind the fear. It was time to get off the roof and out the house’s vicinity.
    He was up and wobbling to the edge of the house. He was over the kitchen now and would soon be on the ground. Matt paused for a second, looked out at the lawn, and listened. Nothing. Either Susan or Eric didn’t hear Matt hit the roof or Susan somehow had kept Eric from going outside to investigate. Oh well. Matt looked down, took in a breath, and dropped. It was an eleven foot drop from here and Matt felt it in his knees, his right knee, especially. Pain shot through his right knee and Matt gave out a short raspy cough when he landed and his knee gave out.
    A door opened and slammed. It was the back door. The door that Matt had Matt had used so many times for his escape. He was a true back door man, but not this time. Now he was just an injured man trying to escape without any confrontation.
    The woods. It entered Matt’s mind like an apparition. They weren’t far from the house but he would be very visible running to the woods.
    The pain in his knees was forgotten instantly, the adrenaline fueling him and numbing him. He ran in a way that a drunk would, with his right leg always straight and never bending.
    Matt was gaining on the woods but he was unaware that Eric had gained on him, and in Eric’s hands, was an aluminum baseball bat. Eric swung at Matt’s legs, breaking his left shin and putting Matt back on the ground.
    “Son of a bitch,” Eric said. Then he brought the baseball bat down on Matt’s grimacing face. The first whack gave out the sound of an apple hitting the floor, but the fourth whack to Matt’s skull gave out a sound as if a pumpkin, three weeks after Halloween, had been busted. And there Matt lay, a broken down bum who tried to secure some form of wealth, and like those who think they are doing good, he was broken by a jealous criminal; dead, with a face smashed to a bloody pulp.

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