by N. M. Brown
“Well, needless to say, I wanted to take a breather. The grounds are so lovely here, I normally wander the balcony out the back and if it’s a nice night, down through the rose garden. But its winter, so there are no roses, so I thought I’d see the autumn colours by the water side. That’s’ where-… that’s where I found them.”
A retching sob bubbled from Sydney’s lips along with stifled gasps and snorting. It was like a dying pig Echo though to herself, while allowing her eyebrows to droop in sympathy for Sydney’s tears.
Suddenly a soft white handkerchief fluttered across the table in front of Sydney which she scooped up, dabbing her face of the waterworks. “It can be shocking to come face to face with death.” McQueen said softly to her. It was said in such earnestthough; Echo could sense there was back-story there. Real heartbreak and grief. That was another boil she’d love to poke. “I can imagine it was awful.”
“Oh, it was.” Sydney almost wailed. “Oh, poor Mr Farrows. Strung up like that.” She blew her nose loudly.
“You knew the victims?” Hale interrupted, even raising his voice to be heard over the flying mucus.
“Yes.” Sydney answered suddenly, full of new vigour as once again she had their attention. “Yes, I knew Mr Farrows. A kind man always tipped when he could. Never spoke down to me. Never one to raise his voice.” Sydney nodded enthusiastically, as if painting a serene picture of the man would wipe away the horrors that had been done to him.
“Did you know Mr. Farrows?” Echo found the question directed suddenly at her. It caused Sydney to scoot forward in her seat, peering at her.
“Only by reputation.” Echo answered not stiffly, but she didn’t want to elaborate. This was moving for dead bodies on the grounds, to getting precariously close to what went on in the House. “Kind. Polite. A soft regular. This House was his… treat.”
Hale scribbled down Echo’s words. “And the other? The boy?”
“I didn’t know him.” Sydney chimed in as fast as she could, the usefulness of the information be damned.
Echo, however, took a slower approach. She didn’t want the two Detectives to think they were welcome to question them anytime, that wouldn’t do. But then to be stand-offish and defensive would only attract them more. Pigs to honey or some shit. “Do you have a photograph?”
Hale frowned. “No, this is just a preliminary. The boy is young, late teens. He-,”
“He’s pale,” Sydney jumped right in moving her mouth a mile a minute. “But not as pale as you Echo, and had soft hair, that’s almost bleached in colour. He has blue eyes that were just angelic, really popped and when he put that dark coal around his eyes….” Echo thought Sydney almost drooled. “He was so warm, always laughing; friends with everyone. I remember him with a customer last week, but he was here yesterday, with a different man.” Sydney’s fond smile frowned slightly, though it shouldn’t have. It was no secret what Dwight did, but give it to peppy Sydney to be clueless. “Tall-ish, but skinny. He always wore low slung jeans, no underwear and a baggy tank-top. It showed off his nipples.” Sydney. blushed. “I never learnt his name, but he could get any guy to buy him a Manhattan like that.” Sydney snapped her fingers. Echo looked at her with disbelief which mirror Detective Hales expression.
"Yes…" Detective Hale answered looking bewildered. No doubt a living description was better than a dead one, but people weren't normally so helpful. Or pleasant while describing a dead person. Echo sighed. Should she act upset? They might expect that? Normal people tended to cry over the dead who they didn’t even know personally.
“Dwight.” Echo said with a sigh on her lips. Such a passing was devastating to the House. Dwight could fuck the socks of a Monk. “He was a regular when he could get a ride here from the local city. He was-, friendly with everyone.” Echo chose her words wisely.
“And does Dwight have a second name?”
“No idea.” She answered truthfully. For once, Sydney didn’t chime in with useless nonsense.
“You don’t know his second name?” Hale asked in disbelief. He was squarely facing her now, as if he could gain the upper hand by over shadowing her. Little did he know she’d been overshadowed by bigger and meaning things that a beat cop with a shiny badge. “Are you friends with so many of your clients that you don’t remember their second name?”
Echo slowly licked the edge of her teeth while a wicked, cunning smile lurked underneath. “I’m not friends with Dwight, Detective. I’m not friends with a lot of people. If I make an acquaintance, it's normally fleeting and the angelic boy was much that: a brief point where our paths crossed and I send him onwards in the direction he wanted. Besides, for Dwight in particular, his tastes didn’t run along my gender line.” Shaking off the growing taste of superiority, Echo breathed. Getting too big-headed could lead to a world of hurt. “He worked his nights here, though we certainly didn’t pay him.”
“The boy was gay?” McQueen asked, sounding almost shock, but by the time Echo narrowed her eyes to his, his face was completely natural. She was either getting slow, or he was quick at hiding his emotions.
Hale didn’t even twitch. “So, Dwight was gay?” Echo didn’t bother that with a response, so the Detective moved on. “And he often had customer buying him-… Manhattan’s? Was that it, Ms. Summers?” Sydney nodded eagerly. “So, you often open your doors to prostitutes here Ms. Headly?” Hale rolled his shoulders back like a crowning champion waiting for his shiny medal.
“Prostitutes?” Sydney cried in outrage, sniffing her grotty nose. Serves her right for putting on the water works. Her tears were gone but her red blotchy skin around her eyes was inflamed and she looked awful. “No, Dwight was a-… was a sweet kid. He couldn’t have been over sixteen. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t do that. His family…” But Sydney’s protests slowly died as Echo did nothing to disclaim them.
“To run a brothel is illegal Ms. Headly. I can have you and your family arrested tonight.” Hale stated. Echo could almost see the cogs turning in his little head: get leverage and through slight pressure have this place bending to the Police’s every need. “Is that what you use this House as? A hot-bed of illicit exploits for the rich?”
Echo curled her lip. “With a vocabulary like that Detective, you should run for mayor. But if your campaign was based on rooting out the nefarious ‘exploits’ throughout this fair county, you’d be sadly disappointed.” She continued to say, mockingly.
“And how so?”
“What the customers do here, Detective, is of their own volition. If they should bring a guest who they later enjoy the soft flesh of, it isn’t to me to police them. If they bring a guest; a skinny, angelic boy shall we say, who makes good on his favour, to then be allowed to wander these halls freely, well, again, that is not up to me to track.”
“So, you are condoning prostitution here?”
Echo’s temper flared. This Detective Hale was a one-track guard dog, all bite, and no brains. “I said Detective, Dwight did as he pleased. He got a drink when he wanted a drink. If he had to trade if for a blowjob, hand-job or rimming, that was his decision. What you would class him as, I wouldn’t say. Besides, he’s dead. Are you going to charge a dead boy for solicitation?”
Hale’s body had inflated as Echo talked, like his ego, anger and suspicion where building ready to explode. Lucky for him, McQueen who had been silently taking note since they’d began, stepped in. “No, Ms. Headly. We wouldn’t and unless we had definitive proof, there is nothing pointing to anyone in this establishment being a Night-Walker.”
That settled Detective Hale down though Echo had no doubt there was a fire still burning in him somewhere. He was a bitter man. Something, not too long ago, broke him and he wasn’t over it. A cracked soul. “It there anything you can tell us about Mr Farrows or Dwight?” There was no apology and Echo didn’t expect one, not when Detective Hale seemed to think the whole world owed him an apology. Why…? Well that would be an interesting secret to uncover. “Anything at all?”
&
nbsp; “Anything Detective?” Echo paused, her smile becoming deadly as if she just couldn’t help herself. “Dwight was… popular. He had a way about him; a way that few other… people of his stature would lower themselves too. He would pander to a clientele that-… how would you say …liked living in the closet but were very much accepting visitation. Especially if it was their first time.” Hale didn’t even blink as he jotted down what she said. However, Detective McQueen had to loosen is collar slightly; a prude and uncomfortable around homosexuals… interesting. Echo continued. “He -, helped, the closet cases, the married man, even those who are just so desperate they’d take anything tight and wet. He had regular clients and he had drop in’s. He never spoke of family, nor friends. He would come in for one drink every now and again and if he was lucky, he never paid. He would smile, flirt and leave. He was a good customer.”
“You don’t sound upset Ms. Headly?” Detective McQueen chimed in.
Echo kept her face neutral and looked at the Detective as he looked at her. There was something about him… she couldn’t quiet peg it. There was no anger behind his question; no distaste like you would expect, but one of a middle curiosity. Echo decided she might test the waters; see what beasts, if any lurked underneath. “Because Detective, we all die in the end. Some are closer to death than others, but we are all welcomed into his embrace eventually. It’s inevitable, and we all end up in the same place in the end anyway.”
The Detective gave her a sad smile while his fingers reached for a small gold cross that jumped above his shirt collar, “Aye that we do.” He answered, betraying some Irish roots. “God take us, and may we be graced by his presence,”
Echo allowed but a heartbeat to follow before speaking. She’d been raised through school in a Catholic Monastery, some responses just came instinctively. “How chummy, but we all end up as worm food, Detective.”
Stormy eyes flickered to hers and Echo dared the Detective, dare him to say something. There was no pastime she adored more that confronting the biblical inclined. It was like pure crack to her. However, this time it was Hales turn to settle them down. “Did Mr Farrow’s or Dwight have any enemy’s that you knew of Ms. Summers? Any other unhappy customers displeased with having to ‘share’ Dwight?”
And so, it continued. Questions after pointless questions and after being able to get a small rise out of both of them, neither Detective seemed willing to engage with Echo again which made the whole process dreadfully boring. In the end, Hale and McQueen left, questions answered but with little progress than what they had before. Echo knew they’d be back. Every good cop with a nose knew that Cardinal House was more than it seemed, but sadly for them, they’d never find out what.
✽ ✽ ✽
Watching the last of the cop cars leave in the mid-morning light, Echo smiled at the soft haze of the sun that hid behind thin clouds, as light kisses ghosted up her neck. The lovely, handsome Officer she’d plucked from a heap in the Summer Annexearlier was well over due his commendation, but Echo wanted a few more minutes. Flicking a finger, indicating he should go back inside, she watched the grounds and listened to the sound of twittering birds. She was out on her balcony leant against the stone railing of her attic apartment. It was small, barely three feet by five feet and you climbed out of the window to get there, but it was quiet a view. She had lived in the spacious, open planned attic since she could remember, first sharing it with her brother and now claimed it all for herself.
It was a small place- two rooms - with one sloped ceiling to the left and back of the house, while to the right you were greeted with an amazing glass wall. It was built like a greenhouse, allowing all the natural light to flood the room. Echo only had a few pieces of furniture to call her own. A large king size bed which she had facing the great window, sat in the centre of the room, with a few high back chairs in front of it. Two bookcases stood in one corner with no books, just a blanket here and a vase there. There was a couch pushed against one side, and the walls were draped in a variety of beautiful coloured fabrics. The only other room was through a tiny sliding door, which leads to a basic bathroom with the basic facilities. Essentially, whenever her family decided to ‘re-vamp’, Echo grabbed what she could, touching up her place as she saw fit. She didn't care much for what her place looked like, but she didn’t want to live like a hobo. It just had to serve its purpose: sleep here, fuck there, shit here, and not be an embarrassment to the family.
Outside, Echo watched the show below, the large expanse of green in front of her, only to be marred by little men in black. They stomped over the ground like tiny ants, looking for scraps and crumbs. Every now and again, one would lift its head, as if sniffing the air and would look to the House, the grand red bricks rising to the sky above them. How pitiful they looked, running around like lost ants. Echo wouldn’t be surprised if any number of them came back here, knocking on the door begging. Rumours would have spread by now: three men and one woman fell by one lover. A temptress. Turning back, Echo slinked back through the window like a graceful sphinx, swinging her hips and running a nail over her naked chest, temping the poor morsel that gaped at her from the bed.
“Oh yer, girl.” He breathed. “Come to Daddy.” Echo rolled her eyes at his awful porn interpretation but forgave him for his pretty face. She only wanted to fuck him anyway. She couldn’t recall even asking for a name, so maybe Daddy would have to do. But before she could slip a knee either side of his waist, three light taps connected with her door, like a timid rabbit. Echo groaned with annoyance and cursed whoever was at the door, especially when Daddy latched plump lips around her exposed chest.She chose to ignore it, until three sharper knocks hit the door. Echo ripped herself away, rage burning in her veins.
Opening the door, Echo curled her fist in annoyance. "Sydney." She spat. The tiny girl stood in her doorway shuffling foot to foot looking half sad, half terrified. Echo was pleased to see she scared the poor thing.
"Hi." Sydney said timidly, glancing to Echo’s bare chest before zipping away. Echo didn’t open the door any further only continued to wait with half a sneer on her face. The awkward silence grew before Sydney broke it. "I wondered if you wanted some company?" She smiled nervously.
"Why would I want your company?" Echo didn’t mention she already had some great company. With or without the hot piece of ass behind her, she still wouldn’t invite Sydney in.
Sydney blanched. "Well... with the murders and all..." she trailed off.
Echo raised an eyebrow, having perfected the 'are-you-shitting-me' look when she was seven. "What about the murders?" Echo laughed as Sydney grew more uncomfortable. A blush had crept from her cheeks down her neck. "You thought what? You’d come here to cry on my shoulder? That we'd cry together over the cruelty of the world?" Echo snorted.
"No." Sydney protested weakly. "But the whole thing has been so ghastly I thought...and with it being Dwight…" but again Sydney didn’t finish.
"They’re dead Sydney. They’re just meat and bone now. Worm food, soon to be worm shit.” Tears glistened on the girl’s cheek and she lost all dignity in Echo’s eyes. “For Hell’s sake, go sob to someone else. I can promise you’ll they’ll still be dead when you’re done, and it will still be a cruel, cruel world." And with that, Echo slammed the door in her face, smiling at the silence that followed. Walking back to her awaiting stud, Echo relaxed into his hot breath and wandering tongue, while her mind skipped away.
Two murders in the grounds, Echo smiled as she crawled deeper onto parted thighs. She could imagine the flailed skin, the glowing white bones and the dripping blood that fell with the rain. Archer was going to be so pleased. A good murder always drummed up business.
III
It was late evening by the time McQueen returned to the station from his morning in that fowl place. After collecting the last of the witness statements, which was Mr. Smith, Ms. …Sandi, Ms. Summers and Ms. Headly, he was pleased to be far away. He’d met unreligious people before: Atheists, Scientologists, all
the sorts, but never had he had the misfortune of meeting people so… dismissive. And that Ms. Headly, she was so… So unethical. He said as much to Hale.
“Don’t be getting your choir knickers in a twist. I dare say she’ll be the least unethical person there.” Hale hadn’t said a word since they’d driven away from the crime scene. Bodies gone, evidence collected, they wouldn’t return unless necessary. McQueen hoped he’d never have to step near that place again, but again he couldn’t shake the feeling he would have to, one way or another.
“Yes,” McQueen agreed, “That woman… with the red hair and pale skin, Sam. How did she convinced that Officer’s… I mean- Troy, he got married not three months ago!” McQueen hadn’t been here at that point, but many times Troy’s wife,Helainehad brought them all home baked goods.
Hale just let out an unsatisfactory hum, “I’d heard rumours of that House… never thought I’d be crazy enough to believe them…”
McQueen waited for Hale to elaborate, but when he didn’t, the blonde sat at his desk and got to work. Most of the detective work was sadly done in paper or electronically, so sifting through reams of information was what they did best. Hale got up after a stint to get more coffee, something McQueen wasn’t a fan of, but he was too lazy to flick the kettle on.
