Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1

by Connie Myres

  Maggie pushed his hand away. “You’re lying, just like Debbie. Why are the two of you making this stuff up?”

  Bruce began walking toward the stairway. “I’m not making it up. You just don’t remember.”

  Maggie hurried inside her apartment and closed the door. No way in hell did she do all that. Bruce and Debbie were doing this to her for a reason. But what reason? She had never done anything to them, she just moved into this hole for Christ’s sake.

  She reached into her purse and took out the camera and its charger. She looked around the room, trying to find a place she could put it so that when Debbie or Bruce came into her apartment they would not notice it. The area was sparse of furnishings so she would need to create a hiding spot for it. There were no bookshelves with knickknacks or potted plants of ferns, so she decided to put it in the backpack so that the lens could see through the crack of the unzipped zipper. The hiding spot also had the added advantage of looking like it belonged there if someone happened to see it.

  Maggie pushed the kitchen’s dinette table a foot toward the dining room so that the camera would have a good view of the apartment door. After making sure there was plenty of drive space for any recordings, she plugged it in and made sure it was set to record automatically when it sensed motion in the living room and the front door.

  Now what? Maggie said to herself as she looked around the disquieting apartment. She wanted to pack up and move out that very second, but she needed to collect evidence to show that the crazy neighbors were entering her apartment and framing her. For now, she would have to stay in Hell House.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Maggie woke up and sighed. It was Friday morning, and Nora Bella was expecting her to send the completed manuscript of Raven Ridge today. She was so far behind; there was no way she was going to get it done. When Nora calls, and she will, Maggie would just have to ask her for an extension. Nora will not be happy, but there was no other option.

  She lay on her side staring at the poorly painted plaster wall. Fortunately, she did not have a nightmare last night. No dream of Nurse Deborah and Dr. Bruce Hancock, and no image of the psychiatric patient, Susan, bond barbarically to a hospital bed, and lying there dead. Then she realized that her bed, the bed she was sleeping in, was in the same location as Susie’s—well, Susie’s in the dream. The bed she was sleeping in looked like a hospital bed. It was small in size and had old tubular head and foot boards, but there were no side rails or a way to raise and lower the head of the bed. However, she did notice an unusual crease that ran across the center of the mattress as if someone had folded it in half. She ran her hand along the bottom sheet feeling the groove. Then she jumped out of bed and stared at it. She brought a hand to her mouth and whispered, “Or the mattress could be creased from the head of the bed having been raised and repeatedly lowered, just like a hospital bed.”

  There was one way to find out. She took the cell phone from the nightstand, turned on its light, and got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed. There were holes in the scratched metal frame, just like ones that are used to tie restraints, and the frame was split so that the head and foot of the bed could be elevated. She went to the foot and noticed a mechanism that could have once held two hand cranks for making manual adjustments.

  “No frickin’ way!” she said, pushing the mattress off the bed. Through the frame, she could see the old inner workings of the hospital bed. “I’ve been sleeping in a hospital bed? I can’t believe it.”

  Maggie went into the spare room and pushed the mattress to the side; the bed was the same as hers. She was horrified. “They have to be beds from when this place was a hospital. This is ridiculous; I’m not sleeping in that bed again.”

  She walked into the living room and stood there. The bed she had been sleeping in must have been one from the building’s days as a psychiatric hospital. It had worn brown paint around the restraint holes in the bed frame, likely from frequent use. “This place is disgusting.”

  While she made coffee, she thought about how a place with a warbler singing outside the window and a view of blue water and sky, could be so dark and freakish. Even the air inside the building was growing increasingly heavy, like walking through a film of some unseen substance.

  She sneaked a cup of coffee as it dripped into the pot and took the camcorder from its hiding spot. Just as expected, the only recording was herself when she had set it and walked to her bedroom, and when she woke up and went into the living room. But to get the recording she needed, she would have to leave the apartment and give Debbie a chance to come in and do whatever she is going to do. For the first time since Cory’s death, going back to the house and sleeping in their bed sounded comforting.

  Her shoulders slumped when she looked at her laptop sitting across from the backpack. She had so much writing to do and did not feel like doing it. She was too distracted with all the other things going on in her life. Not to mention, Nora will be calling her soon to see if the manuscript was done and ready to e-mail.

  Maggie sat at the dinette table and found the recording she made of her and Jess yesterday. When she played it, all she could hear was static scratching over their voices. It was impossible to make anything out. “So much for that evidence,” she said, putting it into her purse.

  She finished her coffee, took a much overdue shower, and put her laptop into the backpack. Then she stuffed as much clothing as she could fit into it. She did not want to let Debbie know she was moving out by taking the suitcase. The apartment needed to look like she was living there even though she did not intend to spend much time there.

  But what to do with the camcorder? She thought about putting it under the couch, but the view would not be optimal, not to mention the fact that Debbie would probably notice it. Then she looked into the bedrooms. “Yes, that will work,” she said, walking into her room. She put the mattress back on the bed, fluffed the sheet and blanket into a messy pile, and placed the camera inside, leaving a tiny opening for the lens to see out. She swung the bedroom door all the way open. The camera now had a view of the apartment door, but not further inside the apartment. But catching Debbie entering the apartment would be enough to prove she was setting-up Maggie for something. But what?

  When Maggie left and locked her apartment, she made enough noise so that Debbie would know she had left. Debbie’s apartment faced the parking lot, so all she had to do was look out her window and see if Maggie’s car was there or not. Nonetheless, she wanted to make it clear she was not in the apartment.

  She was thankful she had not run into anyone on the way out to her car. Once again, it felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders as she drove away from the old sanatorium. If it were not for the new knowledge of Cory’s affair with Jess, she would have felt blissful. Instead, she drove to her house in meditative silence.

  When she reached the house, she checked the mailbox and went inside. Junk mail and a couple bills were all there was. She looked toward the dining room table, there was still no way she could live in the house permanently, but for now, it was better than the apartment.

  She walked past the table, into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator door; all there was inside was bottled water, ketchup, and mustard. I’ll order a pizza later, she thought. Then she walked into the office, moved Cory’s computer to the side, and put her computer in its place so that she could get some work done.

  Then her cell phone rang, it was Nora Bella.

  “Hi, Nora.”

  “Just checking to see if you mailed the manuscript, I don’t see it in my inbox.”

  Maggie leaned back in the chair. “I’m working on it right now, but I’m going to need more time.”

  “How much time?”

  Maggie had no idea how much time—lots of time. “Next week.”

  “Next week?” Nora repeated. “The publisher needs it today. Can you get it to me today?”

  Not today. Fire me. “I’m sorry, but I’ve ha
d to go over the paperwork with the lawyer. I’m sure you understand.” Maggie was not sure Nora did. “I’m sure the publisher will understand.”

  “I suggest you spend the weekend getting caught up. I’ll call you Monday. Chop, chop.”

  They disconnected the call.

  “What else do I have to do?” Maggie said, opening the manuscript. “It’s not like I’m going to be hanging out with Jess this weekend.”

  Maggie spent the rest of the day working, surprising herself at all the writing she had accomplished. She ordered pizza, watched a movie, and went upstairs to her and Cory’s bedroom. After a short crying jag, she crawled into bed. Had Cory and Jess had sex in this bed? She sighed. “I’m definitely moving from here, too.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Nurse Deborah finished giving shift report to the oncoming nurses and walked up to Doctor Bruce, who was writing an order for the drug lorazepam in a patient's chart. The nurses' station was busy as the shift change signaled a change in the day's activity. Patients were waking up and the food cart with breakfast trays was rolling off the elevator.

  “Are you finished?” Deborah asked, acting as though they were getting ready to go to a meeting.

  He closed the chart and left it lying on the counter. “Yes.”

  They walked to the elevator and waited for its door to slide open. After a nurse had walked out, they got inside and took it to the basement. They walked past the kitchen, the laundry room, and the storage room, until they came to the last room in the far corner, away from the chatter of busy workers.

  “Who's going to be the medium for the séance?” Bruce asked before he opened the door.

  “Claudia is doing it because Ethel is at the reception desk.”

  “I hope the manager isn't joining us, we need to keep this private.”

  “It's just going to be the three of us.”

  Bruce opened the door, and they walked into the dark room.

  “Claudia's not here yet,” Deborah said, walking to the table. She took a lighter from her white skirt pocket and lit three candles on the witchboard tabletop, next to a crystal ball.

  Bruce walked up to her and put his hand on a breast. “I could take you right now, baby.”

  Deborah unbuttoned the top button of his crisp white shirt. “Later, when we're done. We have to take care of business first.”

  “I see you have the candles lit,” Claudia said with her usual high-pitched voice as she walked up behind them. She closed the door, adjusted her shawl, and sat at the table. She pulled the crystal sphere toward her and then motioned for them to sit down. “What would you like me to see?”

  Deborah squirmed in her chair and then said, “Well, we need you to put a curse on someone.”

  Claudia took her hands off the crystal ball. “I do not do curses. Ethel and I only work with spirits from the light.” Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered. “Why do you want to cast a curse?”

  Bruce chuckled. “Deborah just misspoke. Curse is too harsh of a word. It would be more like a spell of protection.” He looked at Deborah, who was watching him intently, and then back at Claudia. “Do you do that?”

  Claudia looked away from Bruce and began looking around the room, following something with her eyes. She pulled her shawl even tighter around her shoulders. “There is a darkness that is being attracted here, to this room, to this place.” She stood up and looked at Bruce and Deborah. “I think it is attaching itself to the both of you.” She walked toward the door. “It is in your best interest if you leave this room right now. That is what I'm going to do.” She paused and looked back at them. “I suggest you both do the same thing and leave this room until it has been cleansed.”

  Deborah and Bruce watched Claudia leave the room in haste. Deborah got up, closed, and locked the door. They both looked around the room as the candles flickered and cast bouncing shadows on the walls. Even the mirror's frame of intertwining snakes seemed to be coiling about themselves.

  “She's making it up,” Deborah said, sitting back down. “She just doesn't want us to put a curse on someone. I don't see anything bad in this room and besides, I think we can do it ourselves.”

  “It won't hurt to try,” Bruce said, moving his chair closer to Deborah. “I don't want either one of us being accused of Susan Knight's death. Margaret has to take the fall, not us.”

  Deborah touched Bruce's hand, and her voice softened, “You know, they say that sexual energy makes curses stronger.”

  Bruce's hand went to Deborah's breast. “Let's get this spell over with, before I explode.”

  Deborah moved to Claudia's chair and placed her hands on the crystal ball. “I've never done this before. I don't even know what to say.”

  “Just say what we need and be done with it.”

  Deborah caressed the cold globe. “Should I ask for the good spirits or the bad spirits?”

  “I don't think good spirits perform curses so you'll have to ask a bad spirit.”

  “Like who? I don't want the devil showing up.”

  “Just make something up,” Bruce said. “That crystal ball and this room itself must have special powers because Claudia and Ethel keep using it for seances. You should get the spirit we need.”

  Deborah smiled at Bruce and then turned her attention back toward the sphere in front of her. The light cast from the candles made the ball glow as if it were coming to life. She put her hands gently on it and looked at Bruce. “Put your hands palm down on the table while I begin.”

  Bruce placed his hands on the witchboard, close to the pentagram carved in the center.

  Deborah began. “I summon a spirit who can cast a curse on Margaret McGee.” She looked up at Bruce, smiled, and looked back at the crystal. “Is there a spirit who can help us who is in this room right now?”

  The candle flames grew in girth and brightness as the room became darker around them.

  “I'm feeling an electrical charge from this crystal,” Deborah said, excited. “I'm going to say the curse I looked up in a witch's spell book when I went to a bookshop. I don't remember it exactly, but it goes like this.” She gazed into the crystal ball. “Power of my will, get me what I want, when I want it, and what I ask. Say what you want, then say bring me my wish and summon evil to do my will so mote it be.” Deborah reached into her skirt pocket and took out a driver's license that belonged to Margaret. She sat it on the witchboard, next to the candles. “I will that this Margaret McGee be held responsible for the death of Susan Knight. And that I, Deborah Franklin and my partner Bruce Hancock, not be held responsible and thus have no negative repercussions from the death.”

  Bruce cleared his throat. “Summon evil? And where did you get her driver's license?”

  Deborah still held her hands to the globe as if glued to it. “I took it from her purse when she was in the bathroom.” She continued to look into the globe, her eyes widened. “I see . . . I see something.”

  “What do you see?”

  She smiled. “It's more like I feel something. It's like something is telling me in my head that in order for the curse to be sealed, we need to weaken Margaret's energy.”

  “How do we do that?”

  Goosebumps formed on Deborah's arms. “I'm really getting turned on from this.” Her breathing became shallow as she came close to panting. “We need to weaken the white light around her by . . .”

  “By what?” Bruce did not take his eyes off Deborah, who was behaving like a real medium.

  “We have to give our souls to the evil one and in exchange we will be granted this favor.” Her wide eyes were transfixed on the ball as if it had control over her.

  “Give our souls to the devil?” Bruce inhaled deeply. “That's a lot to ask. I don't know if that's a good idea.”

  Debora's eyes rolled up under her upper eyelids as she spoke in a guttural voice that sounded like it belonged to a creature from Hell. “If this curse—the curse that you have begun of your own free will�
�is not sealed, I will see to it that you live a life of Hell on Earth.” Then she screeched. “Seal the curse now!”

  Bruce's hands trembled, but he kept them in place on the board. “Okay, I'll do it.”

  Deborah's eyes returned to normal as she massaged the globe as if she were making love to it. “We accept thy offer and give our souls to thee and vow to seal the curse now.” She looked at Bruce as if she was in a trance. “It is done. Everything is fine. All we have to do now is . . .”

  Deborah stood and walked to Bruce, who was already unbuckling his pants. While the darkness of the room throbbed to their motions, it intensified the sensations felt, rewarding them for their perfect decision.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Maggie was nauseated when she awoke with perspiration soaked linens covering her shivering body that Saturday morning. She ran to the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet. Her wet nightshirt clung to her chilled body as she knelt on the bath rug, waiting for the sickness to pass.

  What is it with these dreams? she said to herself. They are so real as if I am remembering something from the past.

  She stood up, went to the sink, and wiped her face with a cold, wet washcloth. She had no energy; it was as if she had been awake all night. Even though she did not feel like taking a shower, she turned the water on, got out of her sticky nightclothes, and showered.

  When she had finished and dressed, she walked toward the kitchen to brew coffee, stopping when she caught sight of the dining room table where Cory had been. She took a deep breath and walked through the area to the coffee pot.

  She snuck a cup of coffee and walked into the office, sitting in front of her computer. There was no one to talk to about the dreams. She no longer considered Jess a confidant, or friend for that matter. Maybe she should send an e-mail to Nora about what was going on, but then she reconsidered, not wanting Nora to think she was crazy like everyone else did. On the other hand, she trusted Nora.