Though Peaches didn’t say it, Ellie knew they only had enough time for one trip to the truck. She stepped over the coat hanger. “You head to the art room. Grab a few paint cans, black, red, and maybe one more. Oh, and the brushes on the paint cart.”
Ellie led him to the art room and pulled open the French doors. Painted on the three back walls was a portrait of Troy, strung up by his wrists with his torso sliced open, just how it had happened in real life. Ellie turned her eyes away. The image made her nauseous even though it was the work of her own hand. While Peaches ran for the paint cans, Ellie backed out of the art room.
“Where are you going?” Peaches asked.
“Getting clothes. Keep grabbing paint supplies, brushes, thinner, anything we can use.” Ellie hustled back into the living room. It opened into the dining room she and Troy never used and the kitchen.
She hiked up the spiral staircase that branched into the loft and then rushed into the master bedroom. She paused for a moment, recalling the nights her and Troy spent together. Ellie ran for the closet and pulled out a small suitcase. She opened the necessities drawer and grabbed a bundle of panties and bras to shove in there. Then she moved down and grabbed another bundle of shirts and pants. She pressed down the clothes in the suitcase with all her might and struggled to get the zipper closed.
Peaches was already heading for the door when Ellie was darting down the spiral staircase. Paint cans hung heavy in the detective’s hands. Brushes of different sizes and cleanliness jutted from the pockets of his jeans.
“Ready?” he asked.
Ellie grabbed a baseball cap off the floor and nodded. She opened the door for him, letting Peaches leave first. Ellie stepped out and locked it behind her. She kept the spare key with her just in case she needed to get in again. They headed for the elevator and hurried inside. Both of them took a deep breath as they watched the floor number decrease. Peaches smiled to himself.
“What’s so funny?” Ellie asked, catching her breath.
“Running from the cops, breaking you out,” Peaches chuckled. “These are the types of stories that stick with you, but you know you’ll never be able to tell anyone.”
The elevator door reached the lobby and dinged open. Just as Ellie was about to step out, Peaches raised his arm, blocking her passage. On the other side of the apartment’s glass front doors, two officers approached.
Ellie and Peaches traded looks before pressing the close-door button as fast as they could. The elevator doors began to shut as soon as the officers stepped inside. Peaches hit the second-floor button.
“Did they see us?” Ellie asked.
Peaches replied. “I don’t know.”
They got off on the second floor and headed for the stairs. They peered into the stairwell and, when they were certain there were no officers coming up, they slipped inside and started down to the first floor. Peaches stopped mid-flight and clenched his eyelids tightly.
“Vertigo,” he replied off of Ellie’s concerned look.
They reached the bottom. Peaches exited first. The lobby was empty again. The officers must be on their way to Ellie’s apartment.
Ellie followed Peaches toward the vehicle. With every hasty step, the paint cans swung on the detective’s hands. Ellie feared that the lid would come off and he’d spill their paint everywhere. They put the supplies in the backseat and floored the accelerator.
“Where to?” Ellie asked as she pulled onto the main road.
“My house,” Peaches replied.
It was a small, single-bedroom house near the edge of town. By its size and shape, it looked like an old person’s home: very clean, very reserved, very homey. Ellie pulled into the driveway. “It’s not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Peaches replied.
“A penthouse suite or something.”
Peaches chuckled.
“What?” Ellie exclaimed. “You’re always wearing pressed suits and concerned with your golden boy facade.”
“Firstly, it’s not a facade, and secondly, I got my house taste from my mother. We were very close.”
“So you were a momma’s boy. Now everything is starting to make sense,” Ellie replied.
They got out of the car. Peaches put the paint cans down at the foot of the door and opened it for Ellie. She stepped inside. It seemed like every room was straight out of a furniture catalog. The small dining table was perfectly set up, the living room had the proper Feng shui, the kitchen had a new stove and fridge. Apart from a few unwashed dishes in the sink, the place was picturesque.
“Were you expecting visitors?” Ellie asked as she set her suitcase on the couch.
“No. Why?” Peaches asked.
“It’s just very clean, that’s all.” Just like Peaches’s fine suit and perfect posture at the workplace. The shady detective’s golden boy facade was almost so perfect it seemed abnormal. “We don’t have a canvas. Where would you like me to settle down at?”
“Living room works,” Peaches replied, locking the door behind him. “Let me give you a hand with the couch.”
Together, they lifted the perfectly spaced-out furnishings and set them against the wall. Even the places where the sofa and TV stand sat had no dust. Ellie wondered if the detective cleaned this place daily. If so, why? OCD? Boredom? Perhaps she’d ask him one day. Peaches and Ellie unfolded a dozen newspapers and laid them out flat on the floor. They taped the various newspapers together, making sure no paint would seep through. Peaches popped off the tops of the paint cans. Most of the cans were already used. Ellie made a line of brushes on the floor, starting from biggest to smallest. They put out a glass of water to dip the brushes in and a few dishrags to keep their hands clean.
Ellie got down on her knees and looked at the newspapers that took up a similar amount of surface area as the concrete floor in the condemned bar’s basement.
Peaches sat at the edge of a dining room chair that he had moved into the room. He set his new phone on his lap, rested his elbows on his knees, and touched the tips of his fingers together, forming a triangle. “No rush. Just ease into hit.”
“No rush?” Ellie retorted. “My brother will die if I screw this up, and that’s only if this portrait gives us clues.”
“You got this, Ellie,” Peaches answered confidently. “I believe in you.”
It sounded cheesy, but it did make Ellie feel a little better. She took a deep breath and shook out her hands, trying to shake of the stress. She dipped her brush into the red paint and outlined the four figures in the death mural: Mom, Dad, Paul, and herself. She’d save herself for last.
Peaches watched as Ellie worked. His eyes traced her every moment, and there was a slight smile on his lips. His attention was on Ellie and Ellie alone. It was like the rest of the world didn’t matter. Ellie tried to act like she didn’t see him looking at her, but felt awkward and uncomfortable. She told herself to focus and to ignore him, but that proved difficult. What was the detective thinking about? Was he concerned for her? Entertained?
Ellie twisted back to him.
“This isn’t working,” Ellie stated.
“Keep trying. It’ll happen,” Peaches replied.
“How do you know,” Ellie asked suspiciously.
“Because it has to,” Peaches replied. “I’ve seen countless people rise to the occasion when the situation is most dire. This is one of those times for you, Ellie. If you fail, everyone you love dies.”
His words terrified her at first, but then they motivated her. Ellie returned her attention back to the mural. She recalled the posture of her murdered parents and brother, though the details were fuzzy. It seemed like each time she tried to recall the blood mural, her mind went to Troy and the slash running down his torso. Ellie felt herself become light-headed. She forced herself to work through the uncomfortable feeling. She dipped her brush in more crimson paint. For a moment, it looked like blood dripping from the brush hairs. The floor seemed to tilt. Ellie turned back to Peaches. He watched
her keenly, like how a coach watches his most valued player. Ellie tried to speak. No words escape her lips. Suddenly, the room became blurry. She put her palm down, trying to steady herself. She tried to blink away the odd sensation, but it only got worse.
She forced her shaking hand to keep painting. She didn’t know if the odd reactions were part of the blackout or if the trauma of the horrific experience was resurfacing. In the corner of her eyes, she could see a dozen copies of the hooded men standing in the dark part of the room, just how they did in the bar’s basement. While her hand painted, she glanced to the hooded men, but they seemed to vanish when she looked at them directly. Her teeth chattered. Her body trembled. She tried to steady herself but couldn’t. The shaking got worse. Ellie stopped fighting it. She embraced it.
Suddenly, Ellie threw back her neck, nearly splitting open the stitches on her jugular. Her body went completely still and her teeth stopped chattering. Her arms fell slack by her side with her palms to the ceiling.
Peaches grabbed his phone and lifted from his seat. He turned on the video camera feature and pressed “record” as he watched Ellie’s eyes roll into the back of her head. Her finger twitched once, then her hand grabbed the brush. Ellie’s head turned back to the mural and she started to paint, moving at triple the speed from before.
Ellie remembered none of it as she recreated the blood mural in perfect detail.
When she opened her eyes, she realized she was looking at the ceiling. Her back was on the floor and her legs were spread out. Her head throbbed. Her pulse raced. She forced herself to sit up, but her whole body felt numb and prickly. Peaches watched her from the edge of his seat. He held two large mugs of the blackest coffee he could brew. Ellie remembered him calling his style of coffee The Sludge. He handed a mug to Ellie. She took a sip from it, searing the tip of her tongue. She turned her glossy gaze to the mural drawn across all twelve newspapers.
“A perfect replica,” Ellie declared.
“It is,” Peaches said with the sense of pride. “And you did it, Ellie. It was all you.”
“How late is it?” Ellie asked. Her vision was still a little blurry.
Peaches replied, “About 12:30.”
Ellie nodded. Whatever symbols were hidden in the mural, she needed to find them fast. “Help me out,” she commanded Peaches.
He got down on his knees as well and ‘walked’ around the other side of the mural. “What am I looking for?”
“Numbers, symbols, faces, anything or anyone that’s not in plain sight,” Ellie said, looking over the painting of her own dead body. She checked the reflection in her eyes, but the creation was all red, just like the blood mural. She looked over her mother’s dead body while Peaches looked over her father.
“Any luck?” Ellie asked.
Peaches shook his head. “Not yet.”
As Ellie searched, she found her mind wandering. Could she turn on the power at will? If so, was there any way she could control it to the point where she could keep her eyes open during the creative process? Ellie didn’t know the answer to these questions, but she theorized that the more she used it, the stronger it would become, just like a muscle.
“Aha,” Peaches said. Ellie walked on her knees to him. They looked at Paul’s portrait. He had his head tilted back and his mouth parted. His eyes were slightly open and looking at the bullet hole that leaked red down the left side of his nose and cheek. Peaches pointed at his right eye.
Ellie squinted at it, taking a few seconds before she saw what he saw. It was the profile of a rabbit. Ellie recognized it from somewhere but couldn’t put her finger on it. She looked to Peaches for guidance.
“At the moment, I have nothing,” he admitted.
Ellie racked her brain, trying to think of a time she saw a rabbit like this, but was coming up short. Think, Ellie. Think. The animal wasn’t photorealistic, so she knew it wasn’t a real rabbit. Was it a symbol? A metaphor? A sign?
Peaches researched similar images on his phone.
Ellie remembered, “I got it.”
As soon as she was about to reveal her great revelation, Peaches turned the phone screen to her. It showed an image of a similar rabbit on a tinted glass window of a local nightclub. It was the place Ellie remembered visiting with Troy once. It was called “The Jackrabbit.”
4
JACKRABBIT
The nightclub was one of many in the downtown area, and despite news of a serial killer lurking the streets, the attendance at such establishments had not dropped. Ellie tried calling Paul again. Voicemail. She’d filled up his inbox by this point and began to fear that the reason why he wasn’t picking up was because he was dead. Ellie drove to a parking meter. As soon as her foot touched down on the pavement, her world spun.
“Ellie?” Peaches asked with concern.
Ellie twisted back to him, faking a smile. “I’m fine.”
She fully exited the vehicle. Her legs were still feeling numb and tingly, like she was floating. She put her hands on the hood of the truck to steady herself. Her heart rate was wonky. One moment it would beat slow and the next it would race. Even her vision was slightly out of focus, like she’d been staring at a white screen for too long. Peaches adjusted his black beanie to hide the burgundy-stained bandage on his forehead. Ellie could tell he was in pain, though he did well to hide it. If the hooded man attacked at this very moment, she wondered what their chances were with Peaches concussed and slightly loopy from pain pills, and Ellie still reeling from the recreation of the death mural.
Peaches partly unzipped his fleece and left his pistol in the car.
“We might need that,” Ellie said.
“It’s either us or the gun. Personally, I’m through with sneaking into places,” Peaches admitted and popped a pain pill.
Ellie hated to go into the place unarmed, but the last thing she needed was to raise suspicions. Nevertheless, she doubted the police would look for her in a nightclub. She had only been to one in over a year, and that was strictly business with a few other artists. Her and Troy had mostly moved past that phase in their life and enjoyed quieter places to spend their evenings. When Ellie thought of him, it felt like some invisible force was pressing down on her chest and constricting her airflow. She trained her thoughts on Paul instead.
Peaches escorted Ellie to the front of the line snaking out of a nightclub. A few of the pedestrians in the line booed them, but were quickly silenced when Detective Peaches flashed his badge. He kept it out all the way to the bouncer and smiled kindly when the burly man at the door glanced over it.
“Homicide, huh?” the bouncer said. “There’s been no murders here, Detective.”
“Yet,” Peaches winked.
The bouncer became alarmed. The light from above the club’s door reflected on his cue-ball head that was starting to sweat.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Peaches reassured him. “We’re going to keep anything like that from happening, but I need you to let my partner and me inside.”
The bouncer gave Ellie a once over. “She doesn’t look like a cop.”
Ellie had traded her hospital garb for darkly shaded casually clothes.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Ellie replied.
The bouncer’s mouth made a line on his face and he nodded. He took a step aside and allowed Ellie and Peaches to enter. As soon as they pushed open the door, they were slammed with a wave of noise and flashing lights.
Peaches allowed Ellie to step through first. The place was two stories tall with multiple bars, a dance floor packed with moving bodies, and a few circular booths at the far corners of the room. The second story had a railing that overlooked the first. During her last visit, Ellie spent most of her time up there until Troy invited her to the dance. It was fun until she accidentally punched his nose. He was too busy laughing and trying to stanch the bleeding to get mad. Ellie wondered if he’d be supportive of her mission to save Paul. She imagined he would be. This wasn’t just some random woman like Kimberly
or Pamela. Paul was family, and family looked out for one another.
Peaches shouted over the noise. “This place and concussions don’t mix well.”
Ellie scanned the crowd of dancers. She didn’t see her little brother, but the green and laser lights bouncing around and strobes flashing made it very hard to distinguish anyone’s face.
Peaches shouted again. “Do you think he’ll be in there?”
“I don’t know,” Ellie shouted back. “We’ll have to see.”
She didn’t know how much Paul was involved in the nightclub scene. Living five hours apart, they didn’t see each very much, nor did they call. Their relational distance wasn’t because of some tragic event, but because they lived in two different places and had different interests. Ellie like hard work. Paul enjoyed getting by with the minimal amount of effort. Ellie liked having her own space. Paul had been living with Mom and Dad all twenty-seven years of his life. He was practical. Ellie was creative. In many ways, Paul and Ellie were night and day.
Peaches guided Ellie toward the mass of people. He shouted over the noise. “What does he look like?”
“Light red hair,” Ellie replied. “Five ten-ish. Skinny.”
Peaches observed the crowd. He pointed at a redhead.
Ellie shook her head. “Too fat.”
They pushed deeper into the dance floor. Elbows battered Ellie, but she didn’t let the small bruises slow her down. Sweaty bodies bumped into her. Someone nearly spilled a drink down her shirt. Soon, Ellie was consumed by the mass of people. She lost sight of Peaches and could only see dozens of people grinding on each other. A man grabbed Ellie’s hand. She turned back to the twenty-something year old with a neon green Mohawk and a short jean vest with no shirt under it. He didn’t say anything as he tried to dance with her. Ellie distanced herself. She bumped into another man, who took the mistake as an invitation. He put his hands on her waist and began to move when Ellie pushed out his grasp. She saw a redhead deeper in the crowd and pushed herself that way.
Stolen Secrets: A Collection Of Riveting Mysteries Page 26
