Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  Great, there would be enough time for her to get home, shower, and address the bloody scrapes on her back and sides. David would kill her if he knew what she’d been up to, and how she almost died, again. Thankfully Theresa made a great partner in crime; she didn’t seem as worried about Mariska’s wellbeing. Mariska needed to meet with her but wasn’t sure how to contact her. There was no telling who was monitoring her phone calls and text messages.

  The secret code word.

  Mariska sent Theresa a text message: Preservation. Tomorrow at noon.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mariska squinted against the bright lights that shown into her eyes. The midnight-blue truck had turned its headlights on, right as they’d pulled into the parking space in front of it.

  “I’m really surprised you decided to go out for dinner. I kind of expected us to eat at my place. I even chilled some wine,” Mariska said.

  David turned to her. “What? A guy can’t take a beautiful woman, who also happens to be his best friend, to dinner? It’s been a while since we’ve gone for a swanky, night out.”

  They got out of the car and started toward the restaurant. Preston’s was a steakhouse with flare. It showcased water features, illuminated art pieces along the walls, and even a professional violinist that brought beautiful music to each and every table. When David had asked if she’d been there, she told him no. It was very expensive, and she knew he couldn’t really afford to go in the past. She wondered what’d changed. Her family, of course, had been invited to its opening night and she’d gone a few more times since then.

  “It’s got great reviews online,” Mariska said. “But it’s marked as the highest average price according to the ratings.”

  “Money is just money. Right?” David took her by the hand and led her to the entrance.

  The line was long, and Mariska’s stomach growled. This was going to be a long wait. Maybe a waitress would drop a piece of bread on the floor as they passed by. She wasn’t above diving to the floor and eating right there in front of everyone. They approached the haughty-looking hostess.

  She gave David a look of disdain and said, “Without a reservation, you’ll be waiting three hours.”

  “Dr. Beaumont, party of two. We’ve made reservations for seven o’clock.” He turned to Mariska and smiled. “Look at me, all grown up and planning ahead.”

  Mariska was dressed in an elegant light blue dress with a white satin shawl that helped hide the bruising she’d received the past couple days. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his shoulder. He’d dressed in a nice black suit. It wasn’t expensive, but it fit him well. He really was a good guy. Going out of his comfort zone to show her a good time. The hostess brought them to their table and handed them menus without prices on them. Mariska asked for a bottle of wine to start things off, and the hostess offered a nod and walked away. It was going to be sticker-shock when the bill came, but she brought a credit card, just in case.

  “So, what made you decide to take us here, to Preston’s? It couldn’t have been on the spur of the moment since you made reservations.”

  He took a sip of the wine that’d been brought to the table. “I had something important I wanted to share with you.”

  David looked nervous. He wasn’t making eye contact, and that made Mariska’s tummy tighten. She picked up her glass of wine and gulped it down. Not the entire glass, she was a lady after all.

  “Do tell.” Mariska tried to seem nonchalant.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small box. Mariska’s heart began to race. Had he gone and lost his mind? David couldn’t possibly be proposing. Fighting the need to dive for the nearest fire alarm, pull it, and run into traffic, she swallowed hard.

  “What’s that?” Mariska pointed to the box.

  “Open, it.” He pushed it across the table to her.

  She looked down at it for a moment, wishing this moment had never happened. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the top off and looked inside. It wasn’t a ring. With a sigh of relief, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at her near panic attack. Clearly, there were some issues she would need to discuss with her therapist…once she got one.

  “Can I touch it?” Mariska asked.

  He tossed her a pair of purple, latex gloves. “Sure.” He was smiling from ear to ear, and his mood became contagious.

  Mariska picked up the delicate toe bone of a dire wolf. She’d seen thousands of these, but this one was bigger than the rest. Significantly bigger, when comparing the averages from the six thousand partial to full Dire Wolf skeletons, that had already been found at the Tar Pits.

  “When did you find this?” She slipped on the gloves and picked up the bone to examine.

  “A month ago,” David said, his tone sheepish.

  The bone wouldn’t look all the impressive to the layperson, but to Mariska it was marvelous. Many of the toe-bones she’d excavated, cataloged, and studied were about four inches in length, marginally smaller for females. She turned her hand over and placed the bone along her middle finger. The tip of the bone stuck out past the end of her finger, making it roughly four and a quarter to four and half inches. Relatively huge in comparison. Her tummy tightened with excitement. She rolled the bone around in the palm of her hand, looking at it from every angle. This was a magnificent find. Then, it struck her, the timing of this find.

  “I was still active at the museum when you found this.” She handed the bone back to him. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I shared everything with you.”

  He looked away for a moment, putting the bone back into the protective box and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. “I didn’t want to share it with you until…” Again, he broke eye contact.

  “Until, what?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to do this here. Not, now.”

  She leaned forward and forced eye contact. When she had his full attention, she said, “Until, what?”

  “Until…I found out the IRB awarded me the research grant to study the remains.” David looked away, but Mariska’s glare could still burn holes into him.

  “How could you?” Mariska’s voice broke as emotion welled up inside. “The Page only award one grant per year. Sometimes, only one grant every two or three years, depending on the size of it.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But what? You decided that my research subject was missing, so why the hell not? You knew I was going to get her back…and when I do the money for my grant won’t be there anymore.”

  “What? It’s not like I’m stealing your grant money? I thought you would have been happy for me. I’m finally getting the chance to head a research team and make a name for myself.” David’s face quivered as he talked and fought to keep his composure.

  Mariska slid her chair back and stood. “You’re right. I’m just upset right now. This is another nail in my research coffin.”

  He looked up at her. His eyes begged her to sit back down. “Please, Mariska. I swear…I never meant to hurt you. They came to me. The museum came to me.”

  She knew she was being overly emotional, but it didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Right or wrong, she felt betrayed by her best friend. Marching out of the restaurant, she ordered a ride from an app on her phone and left David sitting at the table alone. When she saw him next time, she’d offer to pay for half the bill, but for now she just wanted to tell him to shove the wine up his ass. The driver pulled up moments later and she got into the backseat. The ride home started off with her pissed and ended with her feeling like a complete bitch. With each passing mile, the realization sunk in a bit further. His words kept echoing in her mind, “They came to me.”

  Of course they did. The IRB had multiple proposals for the grant money. She’d been the original winner and lost it when the body went missing. David must have been the runner-up. He probably didn’t even say anything before because he didn’t want to seem like he was competing against her. Mariska tipped the dri
ver, got out of the car, and climbed the stairs to her apartment. By the time she fished the keys from her purse and worked them into the lock, she felt sick with guilt. How could she have treated her best friend so terribly?

  The doorknob turned without the key. It hadn’t been locked? She pushed the door open and entered the apartment. On the kitchen table by the entrance, sat three huge designer department store bags. Jane must have dropped them off. Leah had mentioned she was going to have her drop them off for Mariska. Her mom always wanted the best for her, and she always wanted it to be exclusive…or at least expensive.

  Mariska decided to call and apologize to David later. It’d give them both time to calm down, and she wanted to make sure she said all the right things. In the meantime, she could spend some much-needed one-on-one time with the person who’s always made her feel good about herself. Jane was like a second mom to her, and she could use a hug right now.

  “Jane?” Mariska called out as she put her keys on the table.

  No response. Was she still here?

  “Jane? Where are you?” She slipped the white shawl off from around her shoulders and hung it on the back of the kitchen chair. “Jane?”

  Mariska went through the kitchen and into the living room. With each passing step, the rock in the pit of her stomach grew heavier and more unsettling. An unfamiliar smell hung in the air, and it too seemed to grow stronger and thicker in the air as she advanced through the apartment.

  “Jane?” Mariska stopped in the doorway between the living room and the hallway that lead to the bedrooms. “Are you here, Jane?”

  The master bedroom was fifteen feet away, but the journey seemed insurmountable. One foot in front of the other, she crept toward the door at the end of the hallway. The door was ajar. All she had to do was push it open. With a shaky hand, Mariska opened the door.

  On the far side of the room, Jane lay on the floor, partially propped up against the wall. Blood was everywhere. Red splatters covered the wall behind her. From floor to ceiling, sprays of death ran in trails. Mariska unleashed a guttural scream that tore through her throat and soul like a blowtorch of pain. She threw herself forward, stumbling over an overturned lamp and landed face down a few feet from Jane.

  She pushed herself up and crawled across the saturated carpet. Mariska’s fingers sank into the fibers, hands submerged in the beloved woman’s ichor. The woman lay supine, her legs spread wide with arms flopped out to the side. Jane’s dress was torn and slashed but covered the deep wounds Mariska knew were there. She reached for Jane’s neck to check for a pulse, hoping and pleading with the universe to give her a miracle, but jerked her hand away. Her throat had been slashed.

  Mariska began to sob. Over and over again, she cried out to the woman, “Jane.”

  She tried to stand but felt too weak, incapable. So, she kneeled next to her precious friend. Jane hadn’t deserved any of this. Had Mariska heeded her father’s advice to stop pursuing the La Brea Woman, she would still be alive. And Mariska wouldn’t be covered in her gore.

  “Jane, I’m so sorry.” Mariska wanted to look away. Never see the horror splayed out in front of her, again. But she couldn’t stop. Sobs came once again, wracking her body before she collapsed next to the slaughtered woman who once read her bedtime stories.

  A few moments passed, and she knew she needed to call for help. It was too late for Jane, but maybe the detective could find her killer. She forced herself to stand. Mariska took one last long look at Jane when a squeak of the floor made her freeze in place.

  On the floor, next to Jane was a phone. She must have tried to call for help before she was killed. Mariska started to go for it, but thick, muscular arms wrapped around her waist and neck. He squeezed and her airway closed. Frantic kicking and clawing at the killer’s limbs did nothing to loosen his grip. She tried to pull free, lifted her legs off the ground for leverage, but nothing worked. The man was stronger than her, bigger than her, and she couldn’t even turn her head to look him in the eye.

  The seconds passed with agonizing slowness. Mariska tried to blink away her fading vision, needing to remain conscious. She had to continue to fight, but her arms and legs grew heavy, and the tingling in her face began to intensify. Unable to take in a breath, her vision started to tunnel, and she felt her eyes grow wide with desperation to see. That’s when the message became clear. Written above Jane in her own blood, scrawled across the wall in the killer’s own hand, were the words of warning she’d been given the night before at the diner.

  I TOLD YOU IT WOULD HURT.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Mariska woke up, face down, in a congealing pool of her own blood. The pain on the top of her head, no doubt from a scalp wound that bled profusely. Judging by the lack of fresh blood, the bleeding had stopped, and she’d live. Or, at least not die from exsanguination. She tried to push herself up from the floor, but her hands had been tied together, and she was lying on them.

  A quick check of her legs, she was able to bend them at the knees, but they too were tied at the ankles. A sound from the other room made her stop her struggle. She held her breath and tried to listen. The man who grabbed her must have still been in the house. From what she could tell he was in the living room, pacing back and forth. Her mom’s words rang in her ears: It’s better to die at the scene fighting than to be taken alive.

  Rolling to her side, hurt, but she used all her might to push up from the floor into a sitting position. Her back to the wall, she could see the entire room. She was now in the spare room. The image of Jane, propped against the wall, blood soaking into the carpet and dripping from the walls made her sick. Whatever was in her belly, exited her mouth on the floor next to her. She used her bound wrists to wipe the bile from her lips, and she spat the rest from her mouth.

  Mariska needed to get out of her restraints, or she had no chance for escape. She thought back to the many stories her mom had told her at bedtime. How to escape zip-ties had been one of them. She glanced at her wrists; the locking mechanism was facing her. Her mom had always said that was the weakest part, right? What was the first step? Another sound from the living room brought out new urgency. The man was now talking to someone. His mumbled voice was the only one she heard so he must have been on the phone. But with whom? Probably whoever he reported to. Was he determining her fate?

  Break the ties, she thought. You’ve got to break the ties. The remaining portion of the tie was sticking straight up toward her, and she brought it to her mouth. Biting down on the tie she pulled it tighter. With her back against the fall, she braced herself from her feet and pushed up against the wall. Using all the strength she had in her legs, she pushed herself up into standing and hopped twice away from the wall. Bringing her hands up over her head, she took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists. With an exhalation, she brought her fists down as hard and fast as she could, into her stomach. Flaring out her elbows at the same time, the ties snapped.

  Now to free her legs. Looking around the room, she spotted the hiding place for the knife her mom had insisted she stash. Three short hops and she lowered herself to the floor and slid her hand under the dresser in search of the knife. Her fingers closed around the handle and with a quick flick of the wrist, she cut the ties away. There was no way she would be able to escape out the front door. The giant in the living room would be unstoppable, even with the small knife she wielded. Per, Los Angeles fire codes, the apartment had a second exit, but she’d never used it. For all she knew, it wasn’t even a real door. Located in the back of the master bedroom’s walk-in closet, she’d have to move fast if she had any chance of making out alive.

  Another noise from the living room, this time angry words from her captor. He said, “I have to kill her. She’s seen my face.”

  Definitely the foul breath, man she’d encountered at the diner. Whoever he was talking to must have wanted her alive, for some reason. Mariska was sure it wasn’t for her own safety. Whoever wanted her alive, could have wanted to kill her hi
mself…or worse. The things her mother had told her happened to kidnap victims had provided many sleepless nights growing up, but it’d proven to be a valuable lesson tonight.

  Mariska tiptoed to the doorway, put her back to the wall, and clenched the knife in her hand. Listening for signs that the man was coming, she found herself holding her breath. Letting it out, she snuck a peek around the corner. The hallway was empty, but the man’s shadow was visible at the end of the hallway. The shadow grew larger and then smaller as he paced inside the living room. She stole one more look into the hallway. It was still clear. Now or never.

  Rolling around the corner of the doorway, she stepped into the hallway. Her body felt like it was vibrating. The adrenaline that coursed through her body, making her heart race and her breathing shallow and fast, pushed her forward despite the crippling fear she tried to suppress. Mariska’s feet felt light on the ground, but her movements seemed clumsy and exaggerated. The fight or flight response wasn’t there for precision movements; it was there to make you stronger, faster, and able to escape the clutches of death.

  A quick glance over her shoulder, she hugged the wall and side-stepped into her room. The smell of Jane’s death accosted her. The woman’s bowels had spilled out the bottom of her dress and mixed with the blood the saturated the room. Mariska reached for the door to close it but hesitated. Would he notice the door was closed? Did the door make a creak when it moved? She couldn’t remember. If she didn’t close it, she couldn’t lock it. One less barrier between her and death. She hurried across the room and entered the walk-in closet. It was jam-packed full of all the shit she’d accumulated over the years. Boxes with Christmas decorations stood between her and the exit.

  One by one, Mariska pulled the heavy boxes away from the door at the back of the closet. She wiggled her way around the rest of the boxes and inspected the latch that kept the door locked. Rusty, and metal, it was going to make noise. She knew it. Somehow, she was going to need to put enough obstacles between herself and the man in the living room to give her time to escape. A plan formulated and she went back to the bedroom door. Mariska took the door in hand and slowly, and with much effort, closed the door without making a sound. She then locked it. Step one, complete. There wouldn’t be much time, so she hurried back to the closet and closed that door. Stacking the heavy boxes against the door, she completed the second barrier, without making a sound.