by Helen Phifer
Adam turned and walked out, back to his car, the dawning realization that his free ride had just ended in the most spectacular way.
Frankie could hear the drawers and wardrobe doors being open and slammed shut. She was never going to fit all her stuff into an overnight bag and suitcase. Good, he’d take it all to Goodwill, that would serve her right. She appeared looking a lot less flawless than when she’d walked in fifteen minutes ago.
‘I’ve got some stuff; I’ll let you get sorted out. I’m giving you a couple of days and then I’m coming back so we can talk about it. About this, about our stuff.’
She was waving her hands around, he didn’t care. He could see two of her. Damn! She must have thrown that cup with some force because he was concussed.
‘Get the fuck out, Christy.’
She opened her mouth about to have the last word then closed it again. Turning she pulled the case behind her and hoisted the overnight bag over her shoulder. He watched her go, just like that. She didn’t slam the door like he’d expected her to, instead she closed it softly. He pushed himself off the sofa and immediately felt a surge of stale alcohol and bile fill his mouth. His head was smarting like a bitch so he did the only thing he could think of and stumbled into the bedroom leaving a trail of bloody handprints and smears on the walls behind him. His bed looked huge now he knew he was going to be sleeping in it alone. Kicking off his shoes, he clambered onto the white, cotton bedding and closed his eyes. Trying to stop the room from spinning, he wondered if he should call Maria, get her to come and stick his head back together, but he’d left his cell in the kitchen and he wasn’t getting up again. He had no idea if the front door was locked and he didn’t care. If anyone broke in they could take the lot, none of it mattered now. Squeezing his eyes shut he willed the room to stop spinning and began to drift into a semi-conscious drunken slumber.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
June 1952
James towered over the bloodied mess that minutes ago had been his father’s lover and his sister’s new best friend. He couldn’t see the demon, but he could sense him. It was there. He needed two more sacrifices to summon it fully. Something that he was more than willing to carry out, although he hadn’t particularly enjoyed killing Mae. It had been necessary. He could feel her wet, sticky blood on his hands and face. He could see it dripping from the meat cleaver onto the wooden floorboards. He dipped his fingers in the spreading, pool of blood. Then he drew the biggest pentagram onto the bedroom wall he could. So absorbed in what he was doing he never heard the commotion from downstairs. After finishing what he was doing, he decided the best way to dispose of her was to remove her arms and legs. He wanted to keep her head. Even though the terrified look in her eyes took away some of her beauty, she was still pretty. He lifted the meat cleaver and hacked until he had her head. Lifting it up he stared at her. Kissing her soft lips one last time, he knew he was going to have to put her in a jar and pickle her if he wanted to preserve it. Wrapping it up in pages of the New York Times to absorb some of the blood and fluid leaking from it. He put it inside the thick, leather, Gladstone bag. He went downstairs knowing he had to hide it somewhere they would never find it if they came looking. As he came out of the spare room which was used for storage he heard his father. He was drunk judging by the noise he was making. Fear making his heart beat too fast he turned and ran back to the attic, knowing he had to get rid of her body before she was discovered. As he reached the top step he heard his father holler. ‘Mae, where are you? Damn you, don’t make me come looking. You promised you’d be here when I came home.’
Emilia’s door opened and she came out onto the hallway, struggling to walk on her own two legs. She felt so disorientated. ‘Pa, what’s the matter? Mae is here, she’s in the library.’
She heard his heavy feet as he thundered up the stairs. ‘She’s not there, where did she go?’ He looked at his daughter’s pale face. ‘What’s the matter Em, are you ill?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I feel as if my head doesn’t belong to my body. Mae might have got a cab and gone home. Missy helped me to bed, I left her downstairs.’ The room began to spin and Emilia felt her legs give way as she lurched towards him. Reaching out she grasped hold of the handrail and recoiled. There was something sticky on it, lifting her hand up to take a look her eyes widened in horror and she let out a gasp.
‘Oh my, is that… is that blood?’
Clarke stared at the red liquid coating his daughters hand, he grabbed her wrist pulling it towards him. Lifting it to his nose, he sniffed. ‘Blood.’
Emilia screamed and Missy came running up the stairs. Clarke stared in morbid fascination at the blood dripping from her fingers. Missy took one look and screeched.
‘Miss Emilia what have you done?’
She shook her head and whispered. ‘It’s not mine.’
Clarke stared up the narrow staircase that led up to the attic. He turned to Missy.
‘I need you to call the police, now. Tell them it’s an emergency. That much blood, someone is hurt. Real bad.’
Missy let go of Emilia and ran down the hallway to the master bedroom where there was a telephone. Clarke rushed upstairs, twisting the door knob hard. It wouldn’t move, it was locked from the inside. He slammed the palm of his hand against the heavy, oak door.
‘James open the door. Are you hurt? Let me in this minute. I command you.’
He was greeted by silence, he hammered on the door with his fist. He could hear some noise from inside the attic. He stepped back and ran at the door as best as he could in what little space there was. His shoulder hit the door and pain shot through his entire body, but it didn’t move.
‘Open the goddamn door now, James.’
Emilia and Missy were watching him from below, there was a loud thud and a growl which made Emilia whimper. She looked at Missy and whispered, ‘What was that?’
Missy crossed herself. ‘Dear Lord, I have no idea.’
Clarke ran back towards them. ‘Someone’s in there with him. Did you call the cops?’
Missy nodded, they heard the sirens as the cars turned into the street. She ran downstairs to open the door and let them in. There was a stampede of heavy boots as the four cops ran up to where Clarke was standing. He pointed at the blood.
‘I can’t find my friend, Mae. My son James is in the attic. Someone is bleeding real bad. There’s someone inside and they won’t open the door.’
The oldest of the men nodded. ‘Sir, I’m going to ask you to step aside. Do we have your permission to gain access?’
‘I don’t care if you break down the damn door, do what you want.’
He went and stood with Emilia and Missy, putting his arms around them both. A sinking feeling that no matter what they found on the other side of that door, his life was going to be irrevocably changed. The cop who had spoken hammered on the door.
‘Police! Open the door now. I’m going to give you to the count of three and then I’m going to shoot the lock off.’
There was only silence. The cop pulled his gun from his holster and aimed for the lock on the door.
‘One, two, three.’ He fired four rounds into the door handle then the burly guy next to him kicked the door. It splintered and gave way. As the door opened, the sight that greeted the hardened, city cops was one that would stay with them for the rest of their lives. The walls of the attic were covered in an assortment of symbols, daubed in red paint. It was the strong, metallic, sickly smell which made them realize that it was in fact blood and not paint. On the kitchen counter was a gory mess. Guns drawn, the cops stepped into the room, trying to decide what it was they were looking at until one of them retched. ‘It’s a body, there’s no head.’ Clarke who had come running up the stairs behind them took one look at the tangled mess of bloodied body parts and let out an anguished cry. Wrapped around the delicate wrist that he had held so many times was the twenty-two carat, diamond encrusted bracelet he’d bought Mae for her birthday. A piercing scream f
illed the air and Emilia felt herself being pulled away by Missy. The cops who had all drawn their guns began to search the attic. Kicking the bedroom door in they found James standing on the bed. Naked and covered in blood, he threw his head back and began to laugh. The sound echoed around the walls. Three of the cops dived towards him. He didn’t put up a fight, there was no point. For now it was over, they could do what they wanted to him. He’d made a start, he’d done the hard work. It would help him to get free; it needed him now as much as he needed it. They cuffed his hands behind his back. Clarke ran in and, drawing back his fist, he hit his son in the jaw as hard as he could.
‘You son of a bitch! What did you do to her? My beautiful Mae.’
The older cop grabbed Clarke, pulling him away. ‘He’ll get plenty of that where he’s going.’
‘Where is he going?’
James who was rubbing the side of his face began to scream at the top of his voice. ‘He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming and you can’t stop him. He’s been summoned.’
The cop shook his head. ‘Greystone’s Psychiatric Hospital. He’s nuts.’
Chapter Thirty
Maria opened her eyes then squinted, the sun was streaming through the blinds which she’d forgotten to close before she climbed into bed. She smiled as she remembered last night. It had been wonderful. When they’d finished eating he’d led her down to the Rainbow Room where they’d drunk cocktails and danced to the most amazing singer she’d ever heard. She had no idea who she was, but she needed to find out. Harrison had been a perfect gentleman, dropping her off at her apartment and escorting her to the front door. He’d kissed her and going against every rule she abided by, she’d asked if he wanted to come in. He’d declined and said he would love to, but he didn’t want to pressure her into anything. She hadn’t felt hurt, in fact she’d felt relieved. She was more than a little drunk and didn’t want to end the night in some drunken fumble she might regret the next morning. Now it was the next morning she was regretting not dragging him in, it had been so long since she’d woken up next to someone it would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Her cell began to ring, and she grabbed it from under her pillow. There was no mistaking the voice on the other end.
‘Maria, can you do me a favour?’
She held her breath wondering what the hell Christy was doing phoning her, as they weren’t exactly friends.
‘If I can.’
‘Can you go check on Frankie? He was drunk when I got home. We had an argument and he threw me out. I don’t want to see him, but he’s not answering his cell.’
Maria sat up. ‘He did what?’
‘Look I’m late for work already, I can’t go and check, and he won’t let me in anyway. Please Maria, just make sure he’s okay and let me know.’
Tucking the phone under her ear she began to pull on her sweats, pushing her feet into her sneakers. She ran to the bathroom, all sorts of images running through her mind. Why was he drunk? Why did he throw her out? Why wasn’t he answering his cell?
‘I’ll let you know.’ She ended the call and rang Frankie. Shit, you better not have done anything stupid, Frankie. It went to voicemail. ‘Frankie, answer your damn phone, ring me as soon as you get this.’ There was no reasoning behind the panic in her voice, he’d never had suicidal tendencies or talked about it. But she’d been to enough suicides, the majority of them men his age, who had decided they’d had enough of the crap life threw at them.
She brushed her teeth and took a large glug of mouthwash, swirling it around her mouth before spitting it out. Rinsing her face, she still had traces of last night’s make-up on, but she didn’t care. Tying her hair up she ran towards the door, willing her cell to ring so she could hear his hungover voice – deep and gravelly as if he’d been smoking too much. She ran towards the elevator. As the doors opened she heard Miss Green shout, ‘Morning Maria, don’t forget to come and tell me how your date went.’
She turned and waved at her as she stepped inside. ‘I won’t. It was great.’
The judder as the doors slammed shut vibrated the elevator and she heard a muffled reply. Jabbing the ground floor button, she prayed that the heap of junk wouldn’t choose this exact moment to decide to break down in between floors. It didn’t and before too long it opened, she ran out through the glass doors and onto the street. ‘Damn you Frankie, I hate running.’ She muttered to herself as she began to make her legs pump faster. It was the quickest way to get to his apartment, a cab would get stuck in traffic. She began to run up Sullivan Street, not even giving Miss Lilly’s a second glance. If she had she would have seen the man, perched on a stool in the window. Nursing a coffee and watching her every move.
Maria ran onto Bleeker Street, glad that it wasn’t too busy and even more relieved that it was flat all the way to Frankie’s apartment. She was a little out of breath and her throat was dry, she’d not even taken a sip of water yet after all the alcohol she’d consumed last night. Finally, she reached Eighth Avenue, ran across dodging the cars and onto Hudson. She could see his fancy apartment block looming in the distance and pumped her legs even harder. Pushing through the front doors she managed to squeeze into the elevator just before the doors slid shut. Panting she turned to the elderly couple who were watching her, she smiled. ‘Morning.’ They nodded, and the lady smiled back. She turned away from them, her legs felt like jelly and her stomach was rolling from side to side. When the elevator stopped on Frankie’s floor she stepped out and ran down the hall to his door. Lifting her hand to rap on the door she realized that it wasn’t even shut. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
‘Frankie, Frankie.’ She was greeted by silence, the first thing she noticed was the bloodied smears on the walls and she let out a gasp. She began to pray for the second time in as many days. Please God, let him be okay. She was aware that this might be a potential crime scene, at the same time her heart was hammering in her chest because this was her best friend. She didn’t know how she would cope if anything bad had happened. She followed the blood along the hallway to the master, the door was shut. Pushing it open she saw him lying on the bed, with blood all over the pillows and lamp.
‘Frankie.’ she screeched and ran towards him. Reaching out she poked him in the shoulder and his eyes flew open. This time she screamed and jumped backwards.
‘Holy shit, Maria, what are you trying to do give me a heart attack?’
She stepped forward and slapped his shoulder. ‘Why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone? And what happened to you? You’re bleeding, there’s blood everywhere.’
‘You should be a cop, has anyone ever suggested that?’
‘And you shouldn’t be such a smart ass. Christy rang, she said you were drunk and threw her out.’
He pushed himself up onto his elbows and groaned. ‘My head hurts.’
Maria looked at the crusted, bloody, black gash on his forehead. ‘I can see why your head hurts, is that your brain I can see?’
‘Are you serious, you can see my brain?’
She started laughing. ‘Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration.’
He threw his legs out of the bed and pushed himself up. His head hurt and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the hangover or the cut. He held his hand out and she grabbed it, tugging him to his feet.
‘Jeez, Frankie. This place looks like a crime scene. What happened?’
‘Go make me something to eat while I wash up and I’ll tell you all the gory details.’
She shrugged. ‘Do I have a choice?’
‘No food, no gossip.’
She turned leaving the room and Frankie to sort himself out, she went into the well-stocked kitchen and began to pull out bacon and eggs from the fridge. She busied herself making them both breakfast, and when he finally came in he looked and smelt much better. The gash above his eyebrow was angry and open, but his clothes were fresh. A trickle of blood was seeping from the wound and she pulled a cloth out of the drawer, rolling it up she passed it to h
im.
‘You’re leaking, press this against it. You need stitches.’
He shook his head. ‘No ER, I’m not explaining to some kid playing at doctors that my wife got me good.’
‘Where’s your first aid kit?’
‘Bathroom, top shelf in the cabinet.’
Maria passed him his plate of bacon and eggs then went to retrieve the medical box. Placing it on the table she pulled out some gauze pads and tape.
‘You haven’t got any strips, we’ll stick one of these on and stop off to pick some up. So what happened?’
She stood there with her hands on her hips and her face stern, Frankie looked up from his food. He let out the biggest sigh she’d ever heard.
‘She’s screwing around with my brother, I found a message on her cell.’
‘No way. Adam?’
He nodded. ‘Yep, she accused me of…’ He went quiet, not sure if he should tell her the next part of his story.
‘What? What did she accuse you of?’
‘Of sleeping with you.’
Maria spat the mouthful of coffee she’d just taken a sip of all over. ‘Sorry, sorry. That’s crazy, why does she think that?’
‘I don’t know, it doesn’t matter. She’s the one screwing around and then she threw a coffee cup at me.’
‘You could have her picked up, put her in the cooler for a few hours.’
‘No way, I’d never live it down.’
He had a point, the guys would be rubbing it in for the next three years.
‘So, what are you going to do?’
He shrugged. ‘No idea.’
Chapter Thirty-One
He’d watched her come racing out of her apartment as if she was running for her life. Which was interesting because the last three days she hadn’t broken more than a brisk walk. He’d taken up a twice daily lookout in Miss Lilly’s, watching her come and go at the most unusual times. Something was wrong, he’d never seen her look so serious or scared and he wondered what had gotten her into such a mess. He downed the last of his coffee which was now cold, he’d been nursing it that long. He crossed the road and walked up the apartment steps, expecting the front door to be locked. It wasn’t, it was open for anyone to walk in and out. He stepped into the gloomy entrance and blinked a couple of times, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He walked across to the row of mail boxes and stared at the names, none of them meant a thing to him. He could discount all the Mr and Mrs, she didn’t wear a ring and she’d only ever taken that cop she worked with in with her. That left eight possible mailboxes, all of them had first and second names except for one with MILLER in black capitals. He stared at them, which one would a NYC cop use. His eyes were drawn back to the box with Miller and he nodded. He would place a ten dollar bet that was her, the box next to that said Miss Green. If he could figure out who she was he might be able to work out which was hers. The elevator doors opened, and he picked up a brown, paper package. Turning the address label over, out of sight. He stared at the old woman who came out, she was dressed all in black with a large floppy hat and an oversize pair of Chanel sunglasses. He stared at her and she stared back.
