Selling Murder House

Chapter 8 (Continued)

Throughout the interview, we worked in the kitchen in silence. Neither of us could focus, I knew, because Stassi had abandoned her emails on her laptop in favor of her phone, then abandoned the phone as well. Eventually, we both just sat there, eavesdropping, without even the pretense of working.

Tom started them off, introducing Paul and giving a short summary of the Madsen murder case. His voice was strong, not your classic radio voice, but soothing and captivating all the same.

"Hi Crime Beasts. We're back with a very special episode. Today, our guest will be sharing a story of a tragedy, one that you won't hear anywhere else. The story takes place in a beautiful, affluent, historic neighborhood, a neighborhood where nothing bad ever happens . . ." he paused for dramatic effect. "Until one day, it did."

Suddenly, I realized this was going to be bigger than I ever realized. I hoped Paul knew what he had signed up for.

"So Paul, what's it like living in the house where this tragedy happened?" Tom asked.

"Oh, no, I don't live here," Tom said, to my surprise. "I have my own place, thankfully. It has been a little . . . morbid, I suppose, spending so much time here."

I hadn't known Paul had his own place, but I suppose it made sense. He hadn't planned to inherit Henry Madsen's house, after all. It struck me though, simply because I had never seen him leave, besides the one time he went house-hunting with Stassi.

"Paul," Tom interjected. "Remember what I said about re-stating my questions in your answers, so the listeners have context? They won't be hearing my questions. I want this to feel like a natural flow from you. Try again."

I rolled my eyes, then closed them when I remembered who I was sitting next to. The conversation continued.

"I heard that you may have cleaned up the crime scene yourself?" Tom asked. "Is that true? Can you describe what that was like for you?"

I cringed as I realized I was the one who had betrayed that bit of information. Out of everyone in the house, I was Paul's ally. I needed to be better about what I let slip, I reminded myself. Paul, thankfully, didn't seem caught off-guard by the question, though the worry stuck with me.

"When I heard about what Henry had done to his family, it didn't feel real," Paul said. "Even after the investigation ended, I still felt like I was about to wake up from a bad dream. I felt the absence, and the gravity of the situation from everything I'd heard but... it's one of those things you never prepare for. The human mind, I think, it's made to comprehend a tragedy like this."

For the first time, I could hear the emotion in his voice, I could hear the tightness of his throat. My throat, I realized then, felt tight too.

"So when the investigation ended, and I found out Henry had left me the house in his will, it was more than I could handle. I didn't feel like I deserved it. I hadn't mourned the loss, not yet, I hadn't been able to cry," he said. "So when I saw the state of the house, I don't know, I can't really explain it. I felt like I needed to do it myself. Maybe it was my way of seeing the reality."

I blinked, and tears fell from my eyes in two great rivers. I wiped them away quickly, shocked by the rush of emotion.

"So you were surprised, then, that your cousin Henry chose you as a beneficiary in his will?" Tom asked.

"I was surprised that Henry left me his house," Paul stated. "The house has been in the Madsen family for generations, and I'm so thankful to him for that. And I'm sorry, too, for my decision to sell the house. It was a tough decision for me and my family, but we ultimately decided it's the best decision for our family. The Madsens loved this house for many, many years, but our time here has come to an end. It holds too many memories for us. The house deserves a new start, with a new family. A new family to make new memories."

"Do you believe this house is haunted?" Tom asked.

"Right now, this house is haunted. It's haunted by the pain and fear that was felt here," Paul said.

Stassi glanced at me then, her face panic-stricken. This certainly wouldn't be good for the listing, I thought.

"Those kinds of feelings, I think, they linger," Paul continued. "I can feel it when I'm here, seeping through every wall. It's healing, though. Like our family is healing."

***

Paul was quieter that night when we got together to continue painting. We worked in silence to finish up the sitting room, then moved on to the office, speaking only to address the task at hand. I wondered if he was angry with me for telling people about the crime scene cleanup, or if he was just emotionally-exhausted from the interview. I knew I was.

After the interview was finished, Tom had driven Stassi and me to the Larson Group office to work. Since then, I'd been dwelling on Tom's words, unable to keep them out of my head. I hadn't expected the raw emotion, the vulnerability, and it stirred up a confusing swirl of emotions in me. Since the day I met Paul, I'd profiled him as a hard, uncrackable man, prone to moodiness and secrecy. Every interaction we'd have since then only seemed to confirm my idea of him. But this, this interview I'd overheard, it turned it all upside-down. I didn't know Paul, I realized, I didn't know him at all. Why had I ever thought I had?

It wounded me, I realized, with a mix of shame and self-loathing, that Paul had chosen to show his vulnerability to Tom, and not to me. And then another wave of guilt hit me when I realized I had further betrayed Paul's trust by eavesdropping in on a conversation that was clearly not meant for me. Because after all, if Paul had wanted to talk to me about it, he had had ample opportunity.

Instead, there we were, painting the office in suffocating silence.