Peter eventually introduced Richard to all his favorite night clubs and party spots, and they started hanging out together after work quite often. Trent was totally against the whole arrangement and related his concerns to his partner, but Peter would hear nothing of it. Knowing that Stacey kept no ties on him - unlike what he believed Trent had foolishly allowed Tina to do - Peter was beginning to resent his partner for being 'sucked in' the way he was. To him, falling in love with a woman was the beginning of the end for a man. However, in spite of his radical viewpoint, Trent knew that his womanizing partner adored his girlfriend, Stacey, yet did not trust her: They were simply too much alike. And he did not allow Peter's idea of love and commitment to sway his own.
Ten
______________
CLOSER
* 1 *
A heavy wind gushed through the woods during the early morning hours, pummeling itself against the windows of the house and assaulting the wooden shutters with its stupendous force. Unable to sleep, Trent tucked the curtain aside and looked out of the window. Dust was swooping into the air, plastering everything that got in its way. There was an eerie air about the woods that time of night; an air of incongruous mystery. The wind raged on violently, making sleep for Trent almost impossible.
He switched on the light and decided to go downstairs for a drink of water. A light flickered in the hallway as he walked and suddenly, at the end of the passageway, he beheld a luminous glow. Tarrow was there. Trent stopped suddenly. Immediately, he could feel his spine tingling and his heart sinking. Pretending not to be afraid of what stood briskly before him proved a failing task. Soon the flickering light went out completely, the glow vanished and he quickly looked around and witnessed the horrifying feat of his enemy-- consummate darkness.
"What the hell are you doing?" Trent shouted, standing there.
"This is your final resting place, weakling! In darkness is where you will sleep for the remainder of your miserable life!" Tarrow returned.
Within seconds, the light was restored, the fluorescent green glow re-appeared and the two adversaries stared intensely at each other from one corner of the hallway to the next. Not a word was uttered, not a stir was made. Then suddenly, the wall behind the phantom glowed and a note was scribbled onto it. After that, the Evil One disappeared, but the glowing lingered for a few seconds more. The markings read: THE SEASON IS NIGH AND I WILL HAVE DOMINION AGAIN.
Forgetting all about the water, Trent returned to his bedroom. He looked outside of the window again down at the trees and noticed that the raging wind had finally ceased. He couldn't help, but wonder right then, if this was just the calm before the storm.
* 2 *
Welly Windslow sat sluggishly behind his desk with monitors covering every part of the bank switching screens in front of him. On weekends, he was able to get more sleep than during the rest of the week and in the huge building all by himself that day, he could think of nothing better to do.
He had entered dozing mode just before a loud racket shook the glassy front door. Richard stood on the outside, motioning for Welly to open it. The stocky man struggled to his feet and walked toward the door, turned the key and opened it slightly, giving himself just enough room to hear what it was Richard wanted.
"Mister Hillard, what're you doing here today?" Welly asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Windslow, don't you remember me telling you yesterday that I was coming in to work today?" Richard flashed his silver office keys.
Welly nodded. "I'm sorry, Mister Hillard; guess I forgot. I get that way sometimes, you know."
"Yeah. You do, Windslow. Now do you mind opening the door a little wider so that I can get through?" Richard was never nice to Welly as everyone else was, and thought nothing more of him than a dirty piece of chewing-gum glued to the pavement.
"Come on in, Mister Hillard. Don't let me stand in your way," Welly opened the door excessively wider. He sensed Richard's hostility toward him from the very beginning and did his best to stay out of his way. He never believed the story Richard had told police about not being with Janice after they worked late that night either, but he had no proof to support his suspicion and thought it best to make no mention of it. He was certain that no one would believe an old sot like him over one of Provincial's finest, without any solid evidence.
After Richard made his way toward the elevator, Welly returned to his desk and fell asleep almost immediately. He still had a bit of a hangover from the night before. All was quiet until a few minutes later when Richard returned to the lobby and noticed that Welly was fast asleep behind the counter. Looking down with disgust at the man he thought was handsomely paid for nothing more than slacking off on the job, Richard slowly approached Welly and said: "Come on, fatty. There's a special place awaiting you."
Welly cracked an eye, then quickly opened the other after feeling a jagged-edged device partially sink into his mushy skin. He sat up slowly, terrified by the possibility that his previous suspicion of his supposed assailant was correct and he wished to God that he had told someone about it anyway. At least when it was all over, they might actually look in the right direction.
"Mister Hillard, what're you doing!" Welly cried.
"I'm doing you a favor, tubby. I'm killing the old body and resurrecting a new."
Richard dragged Welly with incredible strength across the marble floor toward the restrooms at the rear of the lobby. Begging and pleading, Welly knew his fate, but kept on pleading anyway for whatever it was worth.
After tossing Welly into a corner, Richard underwent his beastly transformation. His eyes turned a glowing green, his body hair thickened and lengthened, and his white nails protruded and changed to yellow. Gasping at the sight of the hideous monster, Welly whispered his last prayer, then made the sign of the crucifix. Richard glared down at him with beaming green eyes and said in a deep, sinister voice, "I will have dominion!"
Moments after returning to human form, Richard went behind the security counter, extracted the tapes that covered the entire lobby and the area near the elevators, shoved them inside his coat pocket and calmly walked out of the building.
Eleven
______________
SUSPICIONS
* 1 *
Welly's body was discovered early Monday morning. Police and coroners swarmed the scene along with a pack of pushy reporters who were hungry for answers.
Trent vomited upon seeing the badly mutilated body of the man he had come to love and trust. He and Peter sadly watched the coroners stuff what was left of Welly's body into a black body-bag, then stood aside as the police did their jobs. Lieutenant Sparkman and Detective Quint were also on the scene and the remaining tapes from the security desk were handed over to them by another officer.
"Man, this is terrible!" Peter exclaimed. "Who would do this to an old, helpless man like Welly? He never bothered anybody."
"Only a heartless monster could do this," Trent replied, feeling his heart break by the minute. "Windslow's been with us since the day these doors first opened. He was a good friend of my grandfather's too. He's always been loyal to me and to anyone he called his friend. He didn't deserve to die like this... like a slaughtered animal!"
Greatly troubled by Welly's death, Trent started to feel like he was in some way to blame - almost as though he was the very one that killed him.
"Does anyone have any idea who might have done this to Mister Windslow?" Sparkman asked Peter and Trent as they stood just feet away from where Welly's body had been found.
"Our guess is as good as yours, Lieutenant," Peter replied sarcastically. "If we had any idea, we would have told you already. Don't you think?"
"Just procedure, Mister Darcy." Sparkman said. "What about you, Mister Matheson?"
"I have no clue," Trent answered.
Sparkman approached the main door. "Well, from the looks of things, it seems like Mister Windslow might've opened the door for his unexpected assailant." He jiggled the keys which were dangling from the do
or. "You think he would've opened it for someone he didn't know, gentlemen?"
"I doubt that greatly, Lieutenant," Trent said. "Windslow trusted people, all right, but only people he knew well."
"So, you're saying he could have opened the door for any one of your employees, as well as any of you two?" Sparkman asked.
"Windslow knew other people besides us and our employees," Trent quickly returned, aware of what Sparkman might be suggesting.
"That was a dumb question, Lieutenant," Peter fiercely interjected.
"Mister Darcy, do you have some kind of a problem with me?" Sparkman asked. "'Cause if you do, I'd like to know about it." Sparkman was clearly losing his patience and so was Peter.
"We've already had a terrible shock here," Peter started, "and you come here asking us a bunch of idiotic questions. No one would mind if there was some sense to what you were asking, which doesn't make me wonder why you haven't found Janice Moore's killer yet. Too many dumb detectives - that's why!"
Sparkman quickly closed in as if his next move was to 'let loose', but Peter stood his ground, ready to teach him a lesson.
Just then, Detective Quint who was standing quietly the whole while, gripped Sparkman by the shoulder. As if yielding to the gesture, Sparkman slowly backed away keeping his eyes on Peter the whole time. He cleared his throat and said, "We'll pick this up later, gentlemen."
The bank did not open for business that day and later, Trent and Peter exited through the basement where they were able to avoid harassment from reporters who were still gathered outside the main door.
* 2 *
Solange awoke bright and early. She freshened up, threw on a white satin blouse and a coffee-colored, pleated skirt and headed out the door. Then, she remembered the letter she intended to mail to Victor and promptly turned around to retrieve it.
She felt good - so good that she was convinced her job search that day would be nothing short of a successful one. Her life had begun anew and she looked forward to what lie ahead.
After dropping the letter in the nearest mailbox, she walked down the block and stopped inside the first convenience store she saw. A very old man stood behind the counter and she walked up to him assuming that he might be the owner.
"Excuse me, sir. Are you the Manager here?" She asked.
With a grouchy look, he replied, "I'm owner and manager, lady. What do you want?"
"Um…I was just wondering if you have any vacancy here, sir. I'm trying to find a job," Solange explained.
The man looked at her as if in amazement. "Vacancy? You ask if there's any vacancy? Look around, lady. This here's a small shop. You see more than three people in here, including yourself, right now?"
Solange looked around. "No, sir."
"Well, that answers your question!" He blurted. "I'm not gonna pay some off-the-streeter the couple dollars this shop makes. Now get outta here if you're not buying anything! You're wasting my time!"
Shocked by the man's unabashed insolence, Solange hurriedly left the store. She was not accustomed to business people behaving so rudely and had to take a few moments to compose herself. As she continued down the sidewalk feeling a lot like the dirt she was walking on, she soon remembered how good she had felt while leaving the motel that morning and wanted that feeling back. She told herself that the store owner was a miserable, old coot and she was not going to allow his behavior to discourage her.
After checking several more stores in the area and being turned down, she decided to take a bus further downtown. Business, for many of the stores, appeared rather slow and the ones that were obviously busy, said they were not hiring. That was basically the trend all day. Around two o'clock that afternoon, Solange walked into a busy downtown restaurant - her feet aching terribly and hunger pangs gnawing at her stomach. Her optimism was gradually fading and she could not believe she would be returning to the motel the same way she had left.
Sitting at a small table near the front door, she noticed how occupied the restaurant employees were. Some were serving guests, others tidying tables after customers left, and others working in the open kitchen area. Solange got up and approached a very thin, pale lady who was tidying one of the tables in the middle of the room. "Excuse me, miss," she started, "I'm wondering if there's any job vacancy here."
The lady glanced at her, but continued working in what seemed like super slow-motion. "I can't say, for sure. Usually my boss advertises a spot when one's available. But one of the girls left last week for a stripping job at Tidy Cat's and I think he needs someone to replace her. Check with him." She pointed with her chin. "The rather large guy over there at the table with the blonde. All you do, smile; ya hear?"
Solange nodded with appreciation and proceeded to the table where the waitress had indicated. The person she was referred to was a heavy-set Asian man with a long, salt and pepper pony-tail and beard.
"Excuse me, sir. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time please?" Solange smiled.
"Certainly," the man replied, immediately excusing himself from the company of the blonde lady.
The waitress was right. The smile had its powers.
Solange followed him to an office located at the rear of the restaurant. He sat in a black, leather chair and invited her to have a seat. "Now, my dear lady, what can I possibly do for you today?" He asked with a smile.
Legs crossed and fingers clenched tightly on her lap, she nervously replied, "My name is Liza Deneuve, sir. I want to thank you, first of all, for allowing me this time. You see, I'm new here in America, but I am American. I was just raised abroad. Well, I decided to move here and start a whole new life where I can work and make an honest living. I have been job-hunting all day, but had no such luck, then someone happened to mention to me just now that you might be in need of some extra help. I would like to offer my services if you could, in fact, use another set of hands."
She sat still, watching him stare at her in complete silence. It wasn't until at least a full minute later that he responded.
"You are an impressive woman, Liza. I like your determination and because of that, it's my pleasure to inform you that I can, in fact, use another waitress around here. You noticed how busy it was out there?"
"Yes, sir, I did," Solange replied excitedly.
"I think you'll be just fine for the job." He stood up and extended a hand. "Congratulations."
She rose quickly, amazed that he had actually given her a job. "Thank you very much, sir. I am extremely grateful for your kindness."
"Sam Fung. I think the introduction's way overdue," he said, with almost as much exhilaration as she displayed. He then adopted a more serious tone: "You'll start tomorrow - seven o'clock sharp. Your hours will be from seven each morning until three-thirty each afternoon, six days a week. You'll wait the tables, tidy them after customers leave, and lunch will be taken at eleven o'clock daily. Sonia Jefferson will train you for one day only which is tomorrow, then you're on your own. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. I do!" And naturally, she did. On her way back home, she was convinced that the smile had done the trick, just as the waitress had indirectly implied that it would.
* 3 *
The bank re-opened the following day and specially-hired security guards were in place during operating hours. The new firm would remain there indefinitely around the clock. Trent would have it no other way: He would not put a price-tag on his employees' safety. Since he was leading partner and chief executive officer, he was called in to the police station for a short meeting to discuss the case further since two of his employees had recently become murder victims. The meeting was scheduled for four o'clock that afternoon.
Trent sat in his office for hours with so many questions flooding his mind: Why my employees? Why my bank? Why did I dream of a brutal murder every night for the past two weeks and why do I feel somewhat responsible for Janice and Welly's death? He knew that no one there at the office could work efficiently that day and were probably sitting at their desks wonder
ing which of them might be next. He couldn't blame them - considering the circumstances.
Could I be committing the murders and just not remembering? He wondered. Am I killing mercilessly like my ancestors did many years ago? If I'm guilty, where are the bloody garments, the bloody shoes? Trent thought that if he really were the killer, there must be some evidence in his own house which could support that suspicion. He had to check - and quickly! If the police suspected him, he figured it would not be long before they showed up on his front doorstep to search his house and he was determined to beat them to the deal. Most of all, he had to find out the truth.
Just then, he sprang from his chair, grabbed his keys, and headed for the elevator. Tina saw him passing and called out to him, but he didn't hear her. His mind was consumed by the mystery of himself.
As the Ford rattled across the jagged ground leading to the mansion, Trent could hear loud music coming from the house. He knew he had not touched the stereo in weeks and wondered what was going on. After pulling up at the front door, he quickly went inside and was greeted by utter silence.
The house was eerily still and apparently undisturbed, except for a chilly breeze that crept inside through an open window. Concluding that nothing in his life was normal anymore, he dropped his keys on the center table and went straight to work looking for anything that might give him the answers he so desperately needed.
He ran up the stairway and went into the guest room on the left first. Satisfied that he had carefully searched the main area, he then proceeded to the closet.
The closet in that particular bedroom was specially built for the purpose of hiding valuables from a potential intruder. There were five small compartments connected to the ceiling on both sides of the closet wall just above the shelf. The compartments were all concealed by a large exterior casing on each end of the space that appeared to be an innocent part of the overall design of the closet. Trent pulled up a chair and reaching up on his toes, checked the tiny drawers one by one, hoping not to uncover anything that may surprise him. He wasn't sure what he might have concealed in that space if he happened to be the murderer, yet could not bear to leave it unchecked. To his relief, nothing out of the ordinary surfaced.
Immortals- The Complete Real Illusions Series Page 15
