Flesh Gothic by Edward Lee

by Edward Lee

  "I didn't want to alarm anyone.. :'

  Karen seemed testy-or afraid. "You mean those ion things? Why would that alarm anyone?"

  "it may mean that the revenant charge in the house is changing, getting stronger," Cathleen answered her.

  Nyvysk nodded. "For the next step in whatever exactly Hildreth planned."

  "Fine." Westmore tried to keep his thoughts in line. "You guys go do what you're gonna do. Mack and I'll bring in Adrianne's body. Let's do it now, keep busy."

  When Westmore and Mack left the roof Nyvysk said to Karen, "I need a word with Cathleen, in private, if you don't mind."

  "Great!" Karen snapped. "Somebody in the house might be a killer and you two want to keep secrets from me!"

  "Relax," Cathleen said. "We'll be down in a minute:'

  Karen left in a huff.

  "Something's bothering you?" Nyvysk said when Karen had left.

  "You and Karen go look for Willis, all right? I want to do something else."

  Now the moon cut Nyvysk's large frame into sharp silhouette. "I understand. And good luck."

  Cathleen sighed and watched him walk away.

  She wondered if she'd ever see him again.

  IV

  Westmore felt choked up when they'd gone outside and wrapped Adrianne's naked body in a blanket. At least the bugs hadn't gotten to it yet. Mack turned the alarm back on when they came back in, then helped Westmore stow the body in the walk-in.

  "You don't trust me at all, do you?" Mack asked.

  Westmore closed the walk-in door. "No."

  "You think I killed her?"

  "No-er, I don't think so. I'm not trusting anybody now," Westmore said and lit a cigarette.

  "All right, here. See this-"

  Westmore went rigid when Mack produced a small pistol from his pocket. It was smaller than the one he'd seen upstairs in the office drawer.

  How long had he been carrying it?

  He handed it over to Westmore, grip-first. "Now you can protect everybody from big bad me."

  "It was nothing personal." Westmore took the gun. It was an interesting gesture, at least. "I don't expect you to trust me anymore than I trust you-or pretty much anybody."

  "Somebody you might want to keep an eye on is Karen," Mack said next.

  "Why's that?"

  "Just take my word for it."

  "I don't believe for a minute that Karen threw Adrianne off the roof, Mack."

  "Why not? She's psycho. She's stone-cold crazy, and Willis is an eight-ball, too. Don't you understand the deal with all these people? They're all half-insane. You don't know what they're capable of."

  Westmore just shook his head. "You want to know who I'm most suspicious of?"

  "You mean it's not me?"

  Westmore saw little harm in telling him what he'd seen. He was curious about Mack's reaction. "Vivica told me she's never been in the house before."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. But I just saw her on a porn disc getting boned dog-style on the foyer stairs." Westmore kept his gaze open on Mack's eyes. "By you."

  "So what? She's a nymphomaniac, and so was every chick in the place," Mack said. "More people have probably gotten it on in this house than any house in fuckin' history. Hildreth let her do whatever she wanted."

  "And what she wanted to do was you. Mack the stud"

  "Hey, I'm not gonna apologize because women tend to have a thing for me. Sounds like you're jealous."

  Oh, Jesus. "Why would she tell me she's never been in the house?"

  "I got no idea, man:'

  Westmore wasn't sure what he'd been getting at, not that it really mattered. Mack's reaction had seemed normal. "And speaking of Vivica . . ." He slipped out his cell phone, to see it she'd returned his call during the commotion on the roof. Still nothing from her ... But there was a message.

  Westmore played back the voicemail ...

  "It's me again," Tom said. "I ran those numbers you gave me..."

  Westmore took out the same numbers that he'd copied off the file in his computer.

  INPUT REQUEST: FEED

  STRAT APOGEE

  RESPONSE: 06000430

  ASSIGNMENT POINT: 00000403

  "Strat apogee means straticulated-it's a type of orbital apogee. The assignment point is a time and date; it's how astronomers log them, all in a line like that. The first four zeros is a time-midnight-and the zero-four, zero-three is April third."

  April third. Midnight, the thought immediately clicked. The night of the slaughter ...

  "That's the assignment point--or the starting point," Tom went on in the message. "It looks like Hildreth was running a math problem and this was the question. The response is the answer, and that's a time and date, too. Zerosix-zero-zero is a time-six a.m. Zero-four, three-zero the date: April 30th. Look on your calendar, paisan. That's tomorrow morning. And what exactly happens tomorrow morning at six is this: There's a star called M39 that will be at its apogee for the first time in recorded history. To an astronomer it's a big deal. This star hasn't been this close to the earth since we were apes."

  Tomorrow morning, the thought churned in Westmore's head. Whatever it is that Hildreth planned is happening thenand just then the clock tolled midnight. In six hours ...

  "One other thing," Tom's message continued. "This guy Hildreth, you mentioned he was into occult stuff? Well, to somebody like that, April 30 is important. It's an occult festival day called the Eve of Beltane--the day before May Day. Pagans thousands of years ago would perform rituals on the Eve of Beltane, as a gesture of worship to the gods of the underworld-demons, what have you. They believed that these demons would bless them on that day because on Beltane Eve, the borders between hell and earth are the thinnest, or some shit like that."

  There was a long pause on the line, pages flipping as Tom had obviously been checking notes. "So there you have it, my friend. I'll send you my bill. Have a good one-or, I should say...' Tom chuckled on the recording. "Have a happy Eve of Beltane."

  The message ended.

  Westmore's mental gears were spinning. Here, at least, was most of the puzzle Vivica had hired him to solve. "It's in six hours," he muttered.

  "What?" Mack asked.

  "On April 3rd, Hildreth butchered everyone in this house as the first part of a rite. The last part of that rite begins in six hours ..."

  V

  Cathleen glittered again. She lay naked on the same lounge chair that Adrianne had used when she'd gone into the last OBE of her life. Her resolve outweighed her fear-or she hoped it did. Whoever had killed Adrianne could easily do the same thing to her, from the same exact place.

  But it truly was time. It was time to find out.

  The moonlight on her bare skin made the pontica dust seem to effervesce along with her sweat. Mentally, she lowered her heart-rate, respiration, and blood-pressure--just as she could move objects with her mind, she could do the same with her own metabolism, a trait not uncommon among skilled mentalists. The calmness of the night began to caress her, tracing her skin, hardening her nipples. The stone dust felt radiant and hot, and soon so did the rest of her.

  She urged herself down, down ...

  Yes, it was time to end all of this madness at the house, but she knew she couldn't do that without answers.

  And she wondered who would find her first once she'd entered theta-sleep ...

  Adrianne? Or Hildreth?

  117

  Westmore and Mack branched off in an effort to search for Willis. Do I really think he killed Adrianne? he asked himself. He supposed he didn't-she'd probably jumped. She ux s unstable to begin with-then the mansion became too much-for her. These were fragile people.

  But still ...

  He thought of a worst-case scenario, regarding Willis. If somebody'd killed him ... Where's the best place to hide the body?

  The passages?

  He'd have to travel those passages in two hours anyway, to let Clements in. He found the curtain and entered, suddenly very glad
he had Mack's pistol in his pocket. He cruised the entire network of narrow corridors, impressed that he wasn't terribly scared. The tulip-shaped wall light lit the way, however dimly. What if he turned a corner and found someone standing there, staring at him?

  Shut up, he told himself.

  When he got to the small library at the end, he'd found nothing suspicious-or at least nothing suspicious as far as secret passages went. It was dusty back here, ill-used. The only footprints in the sheen of dust on the floor were clearly his own.

  I better get back to the others, he surmised. This is a waste of time.

  He turned to leave but stopped.

  Something on the floor.

  Westmore stared down.

  Another track of footprints could clearly be seen now Had they been there before?

  They were bare footprints, smaller, and-

  Obviously a woman %s, Westmore realized.

  His eyes followed the prints, down the final short corridor, to the hidden exit door.

  When Westmore came back into the mansion's proper area, his suspicions were pinwheeling. Who knows about the hidden exit door?

  Probably none of the group, but Mack and Karen? They were a good bet.

  Were those Karen's footprints?

  There was no way to tell, but he knew something else a moment later-

  A scream ripped down the stairs with the tenor of a referee's whistle.

  And it most assuredly was Karen's.

  He sprinted up the steps---two flights, he sensed-then another scream ripped down the dark hall.

  The office, he knew, and then ran there.

  The others-minus Cathleen--stood behind the desk, Nyvysk standing behind Karen. She looked fractured, the others pale by what they gazed down at.

  "What?" Westmore asked.

  "Karen found Willis," someone said.

  The tactionist's body had been stuffed in the leg-well of the desk.

  "Christ. What happened to him?"

  "Strangled, it appears," Nyvysk said. "See the ligature mark around his neck?"

  The image glaring up at Westmore seemed alien. Willis' face was blue marbled with pink, eyes bugged.

  "We don't know for sure about Adrianne, but I don't think anyone'll argue that this is murder. Jesus."

  "Murder," Nyvysk added, "or a cursory sacrifice."

  "So that means the 'charge' of the house is strengthened?" Westmore asked. "Am I getting that right?"

  "You're getting it quite right."

  "Shit on all that," Mack said. "Who was the last person to see Willis alive?"

  Nobody answered.

  After an indeterminate silence, Nyvysk posed, "Wasn't the safe open yesterday?"

  They all looked to the wall. I think it was, Westmore thought. I left it open when I found the slip of paper ...

  Now it was closed again.

  Westmore tested the latch-handle.

  Locked.

  He dialed in the 9-digit acrostic, turned the latch, and opened the safe.

  The safe contained a single, rather unremarkable object Patrick Willis' belt.

  VII

  The hairs on the back of Nyvysk's neck stood up stiff as bared wire-threads when he lugged the gauss-meters and their carrying cases into the South Atrium, then began to plug them into the wall socket to charge them back up. For formality, he aimed them outward at different angles and plugged them into the processor connected to the television. Can't hurt to take some readings down here, too.

  But he couldn't really focus.

  His neck was tingling.

  It was that sensation they'd all been getting over the past day: the charge of the house gradually stepping up. There could be no mistake. Adrianne's death only contributed to it, as had Willis', not to mention the girl from the lock company who was clearly dead too, wherever her body might be.

  Accumulating revenant momentum ... He looked at the gauss meters and realized the metaphor. The mansion is charging its OWN batteries,Jbr a massive discharge that Hildreth planned a long time ago-perhaps YEARS ago. Whatever the event is, he lit the fuse on April 3rd. And that fuse burns down to the powder keg in-he glanced at the clock: 1:15 a.m.-

  In less than five hours.

  He'd brought the gauss-meters down from the Scarlet Room to recharge their portable power-packs. Where should I try them next? he wondered. The Scarlet Room should be generating the best revenant images ... yet it hadn't so far. After all those murders, the place should be teeming. But the readings he'd gotten thus far had been no more intense than other, more typical perimeters of the mansion. They'll aarler- ate, more than likely, he thought as he finished plugging in the packs. As the mansion gets closer to whatever it's gaining toward.

  It was gaining toward something-that was for sure. Now the hairs on his arms were standing up too. Even the fillings in his teeth, somehow, buzzed.

  "Nyvysk," he heard the voice.

  An excited whisper.

  He'd barely heard it, to the extent that he thought it must just be in his head. Then:

  "My love...

  Now the voice filled the room, and he knew who it was.

  Saeed ...

  It did seem to be emanating from the intercom, but when he walked over, it came from another direction.

  "We can be together as life never permitted ..."

  Nyvysk turned around again.

  He didn't have time to see much, but he heard one more thing.

  "Come to me in this beautiful death..

  VIII

  It's time, Westmore thought.

  Ten minutes before two.

  He retraced his steps through the passageways and when he got to the small library, he noticed the footprints were still there. Bare, female footprints leading out but not back in. Not my imagination, he thought.

  But the footprints could've been old, couldn't they? They could've been left by one of the starlets back before the murders. I didn't think of that ...

  But he wasn't necessarily convinced, either.

  When he opened the hidden door, his heart lurched. A figure was facing him.

  "Hope I didn't make ya shit your pants." It was Clements, with a sly smile on his face, and a small backpack on. He looked at his watch. "You're right on time:'

  Dann him. Westmore relaxed. "What's in the backpack?"

  "Flashlights, tools, guns.'

  No thermos of coffee? "Where's Connie?"

  "Outside, with the car." Clements checked the magazine in an inordinately large pistol, then stuck it back under his shirt. "She's got one of my other cell phones-I'll call her up when we find Debbie, then she'll bring the car up and take you both back to my house."

  Westmore scratched his head. "Where will you be?"

  "Here. Looking for Hildreth-if we don't find him first. One way or another, he goes down tonight."

  Westmore didn't argue. Clements followed him back through the bowels of the mansion. "Where is everybody? I don't want to be seen unless there's no way around it."

  "Everybody's downstairs except Cathleen," Westmore explained. Then he gulped. "But Adrianne Saundland and Patrick Willis are dead."

  "How'd that happen?"

  "We don't know for sure. But it's clear Willis was murdered, and Adrianne may have been too."

  Clements shook his head. "Probably Hildreth. Still think nothing's going on here?"

  "Oh, I know something's going on here," and then Westmore explained the apogee that would occur at 6 a.m.

  'What a fuckin' psycho satanic freakshow," Clements said with a chuckle.

  "What are you going to do if you run into Cathleen?"

  "I'll take her out to the car."

  "What if she doesn't want to go?"

  "Then IT take her out to the car at gunpoint and lock her in the trunk. I ain't fuckin' around."

  "Yeah, I guess you're not." They'd taken the channel of stairs back to the third floor. The curtain hung before them. "Here we are. What's the game plan?"

  "You go do your thing, act n
ormal," Clements said. "I'm going to start upstairs, room to room, and work my way down."

  "I already did that-"

  "Great, and I'm gonna do it again. Debbie's here, I know it. Put your cell on vibrate. If I find her, or. any shit goes down, I'll call. You do the same. Here-" He pulled up his shirt to get one of his pistols. "Take this."

  Westmore showed him the gun Mack had given him. "I already got one."

  "Smart man. I'm gonna go find Debbie now See ya later." Clements opened the curtain.

  "Be careful," Westmore said as an afterthought.

  "I don't need to be careful. HilJrrth is the one who needs to do that," and then he was past the curtain and gone.

  Westmore felt prickly as he went downstairs. It made him wonder about what the others had mentioned so many times: the charge of the house, and the likelihood that it was increasing. What exactly did that mean? And how would the nature of this charge affect the house by 6 a.m.?

  But these ponderings ceased when he stepped into the South Atrium. Karen and Mack were there. Westmore's cigarette fell out of his mouth when he looked down.

  "He's dead," Karen said, a crack in her voice.

  Mack was on his knees, before Nyvysk, who lay sprawled in the corner.

  "What happened!"

  "I don't know, we just walked in and he was lying there," Mack answered.

  "There aren't any wounds," Karen added. "And no blood"

  "His heart's not beating, I can tell you that."

  Westmore knelt, and felt for a pulse himself. Nothing. The body was still warm. "This had to have happened within the hour." When he looked around the long room, he noticed the gauss scanners pointing at them. "Are those things on?"

  "I don't even know what those thing are," Mack said.

  "They measure ion-fluctuations in the air," Westmore said absently.

  "Those things we saw on the screen the other day?" Karen inquired.

  "This was one of them. It looks like he was charging their batteries and doing some readings at the same time." Westmore walked toward the processor on the conference table.

  "I don't get it," Mack said.

  "One of the scanners is pointing right into the corner . .

  Westmore flicked some switches on the processor. He was fudging it but eventually he got the machine to rewind. Then he played it back.