Much Needed Rain

by R. G. Oram

  Lewelyn pushed his body to get through them. Hoping the excessive force of his flat frame would open the steel entrance. The doors became more inverted like a sharp arrow tip.

  Having no luck with pushing, Lewelyn tried to barge through, applying the shoulder to the fortified doors. This turned out to be more painful, he hadn’t anticipated the crushing of the shoulder muscle to hurt so much.

  ‘ENOUGH!!!’ shouted Forsythe, each letter of the word seemed to cover the entire inside building.

  Lewelyn intentionally adopted ignorance, continuing the beating on the doors. A familiar grapple of his collar but this time it yanked him backwards without the consideration of keeping him upright; Lewelyn fell on his back. Forsythe standing with a working flashlight targeted it to Lewelyn’s eyes.

  ‘Listen to me! ALL RIGHT?! Take a minute and clear your head,’ pausing to let the words sink through, Forsythe continued. ‘This is not the way out. The doors are locked and there’s a chain wrapped around them outside. See the logic now?’

  Lewelyn had heard the links repeatedly clinking when he attacked the door. He said, ‘We have to get out of here. That guy is going to get rid of everything. He’s going to kill Harris’s son, then Shaun. It’ll erase the proof of the case.’

  ‘Alright, but first, to stop that we have to find another way out. The way I see it this place is a shit hole and in my experience what every shit hole has in common is poor maintenance. That gives us other ways of getting out of here. So our best option is going through that door down there,’ Forsythe stabbed the ray from the torch into the dark corridor.

  ‘Understand now? Or are you still in idiot mode?’ Forsythe offered Lewelyn a hand up and pulled him to his feet.

  ‘Oh and you forgot this,’ In Forsythe’s hand, placed flat on the palm, Lewelyn’s handgun; he had dropped it when he thought he was being abducted.

  During their minor jog in the dark Lewelyn gave Forsythe a brief overview of what he found. The revelation of Shaun and this other ‘only words’ guy. Forsythe had not asked him any questions on the matter, he only commented on the organisation of it all. Stating the simplicity and intelligence of the idea of a stunt double used by a killer. A man who helps the killer to plan and commit the murder, then destroys almost all of the evidence leading to the killer and himself. Then gets the double, Shaun, in lieu of Jerome Harris, as a contingency to take a DNA test, which results in a negative match because the DNA acquired at the scene is Jerome’s and the samples taken at the station were Shaun’s – two distinct forms of deoxyribonucleic acid.

  ‘Dog shit. That’s what solved the case, dog shit. If that old man didn’t let his dog do its business outside that apartment in Santa Rosalia then there wouldn’t have been a secret camera and recorded footage,’ Forsythe realised. ‘Dog shit,’ he repeated.

  When they were beyond the point of seeing anything Lewelyn heard screeching, they could have been caused by his wet feet repeatedly kissing the floor or protests from some resident vermin. Both men pushed the doors open, a pool of water and a repugnant odour greeted them.

  ‘Door!’ Forsythe bellowed. Another set of doors at one end of the pool. The two men moved towards it. They pressed down the long latches on the fire doors – they didn’t resist the pressure, except the doors stayed inert.

  Locked.

  ‘Damn it!’ Lewelyn shouted. He heard Tom say something similar. The doors were steel like the other set at the front of the building.

  ‘There,’ Lewelyn said. Going to the other side of the pool, Lewelyn shone the phone at the location of interest. On the wall opposite the pool were boards of wood.

  ‘Find something?’ Forsythe asked.

  ‘I might have. You see this place here?’ he floated his hand over the reservoir of water, ‘I think we can both agree this is a swimming pool. Now, if you’ve been to a place like this they would need some light in here to help the swimmers see where they’re going. To save money during the day they could rely on the sun to shine through what’s behind here and use the lights above at night. I think the wood here is to cover broken windows. So we can get out from behind here.’

  ‘Are you sure? There could just be another wall on the other side.’

  ‘We can’t be sure on either,’ Lewelyn argued and agreed.

  Two possibilities. We pull the wood back and find a brick wall, wasting time and sacrificing more of Shaun’s and Jerome’s. The other possibility, escape is a few pulls away, Lewelyn summarised.

  ‘What else can we do?’

  Lewelyn and Forsythe went and grabbed one side of wood each. They pushed down. It gave way to them with little nailed resistance. The wood, very rotten, the dampness from the pool had weakened its boarded structure. When it fell to the floor the corners of the wood remained with the walled nails.

  No sun met them – but a blue sky did.

  Tall trees and under-growth presented them to outside. The drop from the window to the ground was short. Garbage bags had accumulated outside at the rear of the building. Some had been ravaged by wild animals, and wraps of cardboard and plastic roamed. The previous owners clearly couldn’t make the effort of disposing of their waste.

  ‘Turn the safety off, just in case,’ Forsythe said.

  Lewelyn took the meaning; somebody might still be here. He followed Forsythe, moving in between the unrestrained fencing and wall of the building, they stopped at the front corner. Lewelyn saw Forsythe put his head around the corner.

  ‘There were two cars, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lewelyn whispered.

  Going around the corner, Lewelyn did the same, two cars were missing in the open space; both Harris and the other guy were gone.

  ‘Let’s get to the car,’ Forsythe sighed.

  Chapter 41

  Red and blue lights flashing, sirens wailing, road traffic diverting, the sedan’s engine surged throatily through each gear – forcing the machine to quicken its pace. Leaving the rented SUV behind, Detective Thomas Forsythe and his passenger, David Lewelyn now legally broke traffic laws.

  Forsythe had called dispatch moments ago, requesting units to Shaun’s location on a potential 187. It was too late to get there in time to head off the threat. The rational thing to do was get local units involved. Forsythe and Lewelyn would go after Harris.

  Making their way to Mulholland Drive, Lewelyn asked Forsythe why he hadn’t tried arrest Harris and the other guy at that dilapidated and abandoned old sports centre. The detective responded tersely that it would have been suicidal to attempt an arrest; pitch dark, an unknown number of potential assailants and not aware of the fact that Lewelyn packed a gun.

  ‘Did you see the mattress?’

  Lewelyn turned his head to the driver, trying to mentally decipher the words for any potential hidden meaning – he relented and asked, ‘Mattress?’

  Forsythe kept his eyes on the windscreen, ‘Sun Tzu wrote “Know your enemy”.

  He seemed set in leaving it at that, when Lewelyn looked away Forsythe continued where he had left off.

  ‘In the changing room. The one opposite the one we were in there was a mattress on the floor. It was clean. Had a blanket too,’ Forsythe had to cease speaking so he could overtake a spineless truck. ‘He lives there – whoever Harris was talking to. First question you ask yourself is who would live there? But the question is irrelevant. It’s the facts and the answer they give that are important. This ‘problem solver’… he’s hiding.

  ‘That place is a hole he’s made for himself. It’s underground for him. He’s hiding from something.’

  Closing in now on Mulholland Forsythe switched off the blaring sirens. They had admirably swerved their purpose. Many cars were parked in the driveways and with relief they noted that the silver convertible nestled comfortably in its own. Lewelyn watched Forsythe grab the car radio and listened to him ask for additional back up for a ‘potential
homicide in progress’. Opening the trunk Forsythe reached in and brought out a navy compact armoured vest and strapped it on.

  Tightening the straps as Forsythe requested Lewelyn fastened his armour.

  Forsythe made a quick decision. ‘I’m not going to wait for back up. From what you told me Malcolm Harris is now borderline nervous breakdown. When he sees a swarm of cops on his front lawn he’ll probably get emotionally impulsive. Probably forget about what that guy told him – he’ll most likely pop Jerome there and then himself. If the units don’t get to Shaun in time then the only two who can make sense of this are Jerome and Malcolm. Without them it’ll be hard to prove what’s happened and we’ve got to assume they’re the only viable solution we have. Even if that Shaun guy is saved, he only knows so much and his statement alone won’t get us a solid conviction. We need the Harris’s more. That’s why I have to go in.’

  ‘Lead the way,’ Lewelyn agreed, feeling anxiety gnawing at his guts.

  Forsythe replied, ‘I can’t let you go inside. It’s too dangerous. You’re staying here.’

  Lewelyn responded, ‘What if an obstinate consultant went against a detective’s orders? What if he waited for the detective to go inside, then entered the home on his own accord? Without the detective even knowing he was inside the house?’

  Tom Forsythe’s mouth twitched unilaterally.

  ‘If such an idiot existed, then they’re non-permitted presence would be extremely beneficial in apprehending the suspects,’ Forsythe grabbed another vest and handed it to Lewelyn.

  Forsythe instructed calmly. ‘Like all the other times – stay behind me and flip the safety off. If you get shot then that’s a lot of paperwork for me to fill out. So use your head so you don’t make my job any more difficult because I hate writing reports.’

  Lewelyn kept the smile internal. He could see the subtext in Forsythe’s statement. The detective was not the kind of man to openly admit something, pride or age got in the way of it. You had to read between the man’s lines. Telling Lewelyn to be careful and don’t get shot or don’t be an idiot – either one showed the expression of care and respect.

  Armoured and equipped Forsythe and Lewelyn advanced in a swift looping run towards the left side of the Harris residence before turning inwards and fanning out against the wall each side of the front entrance. Lewelyn listened intently, his heart pounding like thunder and his breath exhaled in short gasps. But he couldn’t hear any sounds coming through the door and Forsythe’s expression told him the detective couldn’t hear anything either. The detective signalled Lewelyn to move closer to the side of the door, adopting a precautionary station to be outside the trajectory of any direct shot – the same advice Lewelyn’s dad gave him when he was going to collect rent for the family business in case the tenant didn’t have the rent money. The detective mimicked the posture on the other side.

  Close to punching through the door with his extensive knocking, Forsythe announced his presence.

  ‘Mr Harris, it’s Detective Forsythe, LAPD. Could you open the door? We have a few more questions to ask you.’

  Then they heard footsteps respond inside the house, the sound advancing towards them. Suddenly they stopped, no longer scuffing the floor’s hard surface. During what seemed like the briefest suspension of time, Lewelyn’s ears processed a metallic clink sound, except it did not resonate from the door’s lock.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Four fast travelling bullets exploded through the front the door scattering shards of torn wood in front of them. Some rapidly retreating footsteps, then nothing, just the silence you can hear when dust falls. Lewelyn’s ears were involuntarily shielding themselves against anymore potentially deafening shots, as he fought against painful whistling pulsations of sound. He saw Forsythe up against the wall, his body thankfully unscathed by any bullets. He whispered hoarsely to Lewelyn whose ears, still recovering from the experience of the shattering wood, faintly recognised the words.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Lewelyn did not answer and instead moved to the door. The holes in it outmatched the size of a typical bullet; each wide enough to give entry to a small bird. Each bullet hole followed a similar trajectory; the shooter aimed high and centre – if he’d have aimed two more at a pair of shoulders there would have been a holy cross battered into the wood.

  ‘Get out of the way,’ Forsythe said to Lewelyn.

  Lewelyn complied, positioning himself away from the door, out of the line of direct-fire. Forsythe used one half of his body to the front door. On the second ram the wood creaked; yet the screws still clung desperately to their frame-hold. When it opened, Lewelyn realised that they wouldn’t know what they would face, either a greeting from a barrage of bullets or a vacant hall.

  Entry achieved the door yielded and exploded inwards and both struggled to retain their balance. Forsythe filled the door’s opening first, extending his hand backwards in a gesture to make Lewelyn pause outside momentarily. So far, there were only hurried movements from within, no explosions or the thuds of falling objects. Lewelyn waited briefly, then entered the house much sooner than Forsythe would have liked. Framed in the hallway, Lewelyn saw Forsythe give him the ‘OK’ down from the furnished room.

  Fanning to Forsythe’s right, Lewelyn’s eyes only flickered momentarily from his gun sight. Forsythe whispered to him.

  ‘He’s still here, where I can’t say. So we’re going to have to split up to block off any possible exits. I’ll take upstairs,’ he nodded up to the upstairs balcony where rooms stood behind a metal handrail. ‘You check down here. Take your time. Don’t pass any door or closet without checking it and if you find something – scream as loud as you can.’

  They separated, the detective mounted the solid staircase and Lewelyn inched forward. Having been here before, he had a good idea of how many doors there were to inspect. Alternate situations entered his mind, but few served to discourage him from his present task. But what could he do if he opened a door and a gun welcomed him? Or perhaps while checking one door, another opens with a gun pointing at his back, giving him little time to outpace the other’s trigger finger.

  The first door he tried was a games room with a pool table in the middle. The bulked-granite surfaced table asked to be attended. Lewelyn tried to decide which of the two farthest corners a person would favour the most to hide in, far left or far right? He kept the gun aimed high to give himself a quicker reaction time. As he moved around each side of the room, he listened for any shuffles or rustling of clothing. Lewelyn gave it the 360 and found a pool cue on the floor as if to compensate him for his less than profitable endeavour.

  Exiting the room would be potentially dangerous and, anticipating a gun on the other side of the door, he chose caution and rubbed his way along the wall, pulling open the door with one hand and waiting until it aligned against the wall. He squinted with one eye, peering through a small gap between the door and its frame. Not an eyelash in sight.

  Next, a closet. When he opened it a face and long nozzle greeted him. Two feet in height, with a red cylindrical body and ecstatic mouth – seemingly overjoyed at Lewelyn’s presence. A thin elastic-tube trunk lay on the floor next to it. Lewelyn said goodbye to the vacuum and re-closed the door.

  Then a bathroom. He knew it was a bathroom from his previous visit. Lewelyn remembered the automatic light when the door opened. All he could think about was one of those scenes in a horror film where background music played, the curious character is all alone, you know something is going to happen, you try preparing yourself for it, even though you don’t know when it would come.

  Lewelyn imagined once he opened the bathroom door and the light came on – Spook! For some reason a red nose and goofy hair came into his head.

  Reticence grew inside him now; but he wanted to know what the other side of the door hid from him. Door opened, the droning sound of the light turning on, adap
ting to suit the new entrant.

  The bathroom: sole occupant Lewelyn.

  Releasing the choking hold on the gun’s handle, Lewelyn watched the light inside extinguish as the bathroom door closed. One door remained and nothing in its appearance had changed from his last visit. Step by step, as he neared the door he wondered if any of the events of his previous visit would re-occur; that blinding flash or perhaps a small rift opening between the rectangular wood and panelled doorway.

  So far the only experience of déjà vu he felt was the empty bathroom as the door in front of him remained inert. But, directly under the door, a red plagued glow crept out; flowing from the room’s interior as a red-lit tide swept across the floor. Lewelyn pressed down on the door handle slowly, anxious not to alert the room’s habitants.

  Chapter 42

  Inside, a pair of black-rimmed eyes drew you in, the abyss of their glare intensified by the red bulb. It overhung the middle of the ceiling, turning all free colours to a muddy crimson.

  The eyes belonged to a face Lewelyn had seen before; this one correctly linked to its owner. The real Jerome Harris sat on the edge of his bed. The part he occupied in an upright sitting position told him that Jerome had anticipated his arrival. Lewelyn clinically noted the major similarities and minor differences Jerome shared with Shaun. Jerome weighing much less, ghost tan and his hair didn’t have the hedgehog style.

  On the wall by his bed were clipped newspaper articles were sello-taped on. The favoured printed words were ‘Strikes Again’ or ‘Public Shocked.’

  Lewelyn advanced two paces, a little unsure as to the correct words to use when apprehending a suspect. Not lowering the gun, he moved closer again. Jerome Harris did not utter a word – the only form of communication he appeared to use was eye contact. Obscurely, Lewelyn thought he saw Jerome’s head begin to move, before it seemed to fight against itself and started to shake in an apparent struggle to overcome self-inflicted resistance – like being told not to think of elephants. The few voiceless shakes gradually transformed into a motion as the head eased away from its straight position.