Dark Side: The Haunting

by J. M. Barlog

  “Sure, but you could have just called.”

  “Oh, that's okay. I'm on my way uptown to a photo shoot, and I figured it was just as easy to stop by. Did I do wrong by coming here?”

  “No, no. This is fine, great.”

  “Good. If you'd rather I called instead, I guess...”

  “No.”

  Rick waited, realizing his tie was probably crooked around his neck, his hair must be a mess from being outside in the wind, and he had garlic in his lunch. Without checking, he hoped he had not spilled anything from lunch on his shirt. In the silence, Rick searched his desk drawer for his breath mints; though taking one now would only look obvious.

  Bridget waited.

  “Just getting a pen,” Rick said.

  Bridget handed him one she removed from the top of his desk.

  “Ready now.”

  “After you left that Saturday, I began to think more about the time I've spent with Jenny and Warren. There was one thing that Jenny did confide in me. It's rather personal, so I mean, I wouldn't want... you understand what I'm saying?”

  “Ms. Sterling, anything you give me remains strictly confidential. We're not interested in gossip, only in making sure we have all the facts surrounding Jenny's accident.”

  “I don't think this could have anything to do with Jenny's accident, except maybe that it might have weighed heavily on her mind.”

  “Sure, I understand...”

  “Jenny said she was worried about Warren.”

  “Worried about Warren in what way?”

  “I guess Warren's business is doing badly. Warren trades things, like money and crops, and things like that.”

  “Commodities.”

  “Yes, Warren trades commodities and Jenny said she was worried because I guess his trading hadn't been going good for awhile. He was losing, I guess, a lot of money doing it.”

  “When did she tell you this?”

  “Maybe a month before the accident. No, more like two months before.”

  “How did Jenny tell you that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did she sound when she said it. Was she distraught? Was it more like just as a matter of information.”

  “She was worried... nervous. I guess Warren deals is large sums of money and he was...”

  “Was what?”

  “Borrowing heavily. Jenny said they were getting very deep into debt.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “No. That was it. I hesitated in coming to you because I didn't know if something like that was important to you.”

  “Everything is important in an investigation. You never know how pieces are going to fit together until you look at all of them.”

  “Well then, I'm glad I came in.”

  Bridget's smile had a way of stealing attention.

  “Ms. Sterling, I'm glad you came in, too. With that I mean.”

  Bridget rose, smoothing the black v-neck knit dress she wore which clung to her hips as if it had been painted onto her body. The soft exposed flesh made looking at anything else impossible.

  Rick stared as he moved around his desk and walked Bridget to the door of his office. He stopped there.

  So did Bridget. She turned to him and smiled.

  Rick felt her warmth reach his body. The heady scent of her perfume swirled inside his head. He mustered every ounce of will power to keep from reaching out and touching her.

  “Just go back through the double doors with the exit sign over them.”

  Perkins walked up to Rick the moment Bridget began walking away.

  “We still on for Haloran’s tonight?” Perkins asked. His eyes were riveted to the undulating flow of Bridget’s curvaceous body as she departed.

  “You bet.” So were Rick's.

  “Ten says she turns back,” Perkins added.

  “No takers,” Rick said.

  At the double doors, Bridget gave Rick one more quick look and a departing smile.

  “You know who that is?” Perkins asked.

  “Exotica perfume.”

  “Are you doing her?” Perkins asked in a hushed tone.

  “She's part of the Garrett investigation.”

  “No shit. She's definitely an all-nighter. Why don't you introduce me? If you're not going to do her, I will.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Pull your tongues back into your mouths, boys,” Policewoman Schurer said as she passed. But neither Rick nor Perkins made any move to return to their respective duties.

  ****

  Rick liked Haloran's. It had a quiet subdued ambiance. The walls were plastered with nostalgic mementos from the sixties and early seventies, and the steaks were better than any other place he had eaten. But the best reason was that Haloran's wasn't a cop bar where the uniforms hung out. Rick spent twelve to fourteen hours a day with cops; the last thing he wanted to do when he unwound was hang with a bunch of cops bitching about law enforcement. And at Haloran's, nobody paid attention to you.

  Perkins arrived before Rick, took a table just off the main thoroughfare and nursed a scotch and soda while he waited. The place seemed more populated than usual for that hour of the night. Usually the dinner crowd was gone by nine.

  When Rick arrived, both ordered their usual: 22 ounce porterhouse steaks, medium rare, hold the salad—salads are for wussies. They talked briefly about their cases, using each other as a sounding board for ideas. This time was usually spent as an informal brainstorming session or bitch session, depending on the mood of the detectives. Seemed lately they spent less time brainstorming and more time bitching.

  Old Perky and Rick only handled the off-the-wall cases where evidence was absent and suspects were more like phantoms than real people. They were considered the best of the best in solving unsolvable cases. However, such distinction did have its pressures. And pressure needs to be vented on occasion.

  Rick had been looking for a way to vent his pressure for sometime and still had not found relief.

  Perkins liked Haloran's because it attracted more than an average share of young single women in the area. The place wasn't a pick-up bar nor a meat market. But six months earlier Perkins had met a fox at Haloran's. The relationship lasted three dates. A record for Perkins, considering he had an attitude most women objected to. Now he returned, hoping to repeat.

  As a rule, most women avoided cops. Oh, they’re great for chitchat and a meal, maybe even a movie, but the profession had so many debilitating stigmas that a detective was a fool if he thought he could convince a woman he was normal by any measure of the word.

  Rick was half-finished with his steak and had just locked a piece between his teeth when his eyes caught Bridget's as she moved through the place with a flowing grace. Her smile seized Rick's eyes, and she altered her path to take her directly to his table.

  “I tell you, the look on that scumbag motherfuck...” Perkins was saying when he noticed Rick wasn't listening.

  “Good evening Detective, never imagined I'd be seeing you here.”

  Rick rose clumsily, chewing down his food behind his napkin, and stumbled for the right thing to say.

  “Ms. Sterling...”

  “Can't you call me Bridget? I mean this is purely a social environment here.”

  “Hello Bridget.”

  Perkins was doing everything but punching Rick in the gut to remind him he was there.

  Finally, Rick figured it out.

  “Bridget, this is Detective Perkins.”

  “He your partner?”

  “No. But we have worked cases together.”

  Bridget's eyes gave Perkins no more than a cursory going-over, then they were back on Rick.

  The noise level in the restaurant rose around them, forcing Bridget to lean closer to Rick to be able to hear.

  “You come here for the food or the circuses?” Bridget asked, clearly hoping to stretch their encounter.

  “A little of both I guess.”

  “Would you like
to join us?” Perkins forced in, though his request hardly penetrated Bridget.

  That moment lingered between Rick and Bridget.

  “No, thank you. I'm meeting someone. It was nice seeing you, Detective.”

  Bridget left their table in search of her own.

  “Boy, you are one smooth operator,” Perkins said after Bridget had faded away.

  Rick returned to his meal, never once looking back over his shoulder at Bridget. He didn't have to.

  Perkins gazed her way every few minutes, offering regular updates as to Bridget's status. She sat alone, nursing a glass of wine under the light of a stained-glass fixture over the booth.

  Bridget consumed Rick's mind, but he refused to let Perkins know that. Instead, he inquired about a homicide investigation Perkins was predicting would end in a ringer.

  “You haven’t heard a word I said since that Sterling chick came in,” Perkins said.

  They had finished their meal, an after-dinner drink, and a second cup of coffee, and still Bridget sat comfortably alone in a booth at a point furthest from where the detectives sat.

  Perkins had to force himself to remain in his seat instead of going over to talk to Bridget. Unconsciously, he smoothed his hair with his fingers as if he were preparing to walk over and take the place beside her in the booth.

  “It's been forty minutes, and she's still alone.”

  “So?”

  “So...”

  “She's... just...”

  “Look, if you're not going to try to put the salami to her, I am,” Perkins injected.

  “No... it's not that.”

  “Is she a principal in the Garrett investigation?”

  “No. She's a friend to the Garrett woman.”

  “Not germane in any way to your investigation?”

  “No.”

  “Then she's fair game. Man, what are you waiting for?”

  “Come on, Perkins, you know better than that.”

  “Hey, just say the word, and I'm out of here. I figure either she's been stood up, or she's waiting for you to come over.”

  “What's makes you think I'd do that?”

  “Let's see, you've been divorced now for three years... you haven't been out with a woman in over six months. Am I right? Don't bullshit me. Am I right?”

  “Right.”

  Perkins rose, downed the rest of his drink, handed the check over to Rick and winked.

  “You pick up the bill, and I just ease on out of here like nothing has happened, so you can go over there and at least give it the best shot you've got. You are looking at a once-in-a-lifetime shot. I suggest you take it.”

  With that, Perkins nodded toward Bridget on his way to the exit. He never looked back.

  Rick ordered another scotch, neat, and with that to steady his nerves, made his way to Bridget's booth. One side of his brain told him to walk away; the other side told him to go for it.

  Bridget's soft eyes moved up to his and held them as if she had hypnotic power. The corners of her mouth turned up into a slight smile. Her lipstick glistened in the soft light falling from the fixture overhead. The way she shifted in her seat placed more of her exposed flesh under the glow of the light.

  “Your night not going well?” Rick asked.

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Not yet. I was supposed to have dinner with a friend, but I guess she isn't going to show. Sometimes photo shoots can drag on forever. Would you like to join me?”

  “Sure. And I promise no questions.”

  Rick slid into the booth beside Bridget.

  “Great.”

  ****

  Jenny lay awake in the darkness, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Warren had left her more than an hour ago and the den had fallen silent shortly afterward.

  Jenny feared she had hurt him when his good-night kiss failed to ignite any passion in her. Warren was so warm and caring, yet she felt no desire inside when they kissed. The thought of lying with him in the bed now sent a quiver through her body and icy bumps along her skin.

  In the late hour, the house took on a funereal atmosphere. Jenny listened to her breathing—slow and steady. She felt her heart beating.

  Strands of moon glow that found their way through the drawn window curtains played off the mirror and the bedroom walls. They allowed the illusion of sight amid the pitch-dark night. Jenny could pick out the empty chair in the corner. The furniture held her eyes as if she expected it to begin to move by itself.

  Overhead, the house creaked, as outside a nasty wind soughed against the roof. Noise made Jenny skittish. Even though the bumps and groans were as much a part of this home as was the plaster and pipes, they still unnerved her. The creaks and cracks that came from the hundred-year-old wood had always been there, and over the years Jenny had conditioned herself to tune them out. Until now.

  Could the noises be from...

  Jenny refused to allow fear to control her.

  Jenny's heart began beating faster. An icy chill swam through her.

  The wind suddenly fell silent.

  Jenny feared being alone, and at the same time, feared what Warren would think if she begged him to join her in bed—not to share love, but to fend off something only she had witnessed. Something that might ultimately be an hallucination.

  Then she heard her breathing again. It rose and fell like waves lapping gently against a shore. In and out. The gentle rhythm gave her comfort. But the night fueled her growing terror.

  Then Jenny held her breathing... but the sound of air moving in and out continued.

  17

  With a slap of her hand along the wall, Bridget flicked on the living room lights, kicked off her heels, and tossed her coat over the nearest chair.

  “How 'bout that nightcap?” she asked. She was already in the kitchen, removing the bottle of Chivas Regal from a cabinet.

  “You like it neat, right?”

  “Sure, but I don't think I should...”

  “Just one. And I promise it will be short.”

  Rick ambled into the living room, settled on the sofa, where he thumbed through a portfolio of Bridget's poses that had been left prominently on the coffee table. Rick couldn’t remember seeing it there during his last visit. He stopped and caught his breath at a shot of her in black, lacy, high-cut panties while she crossed her arms nimbly over her breasts in a coy attempt at modesty. His mind refused to leave the picture.

  “How long have you been a model?” he asked. His heart began beating faster. Even though he flipped further into the portfolio, his mind remained stuck on the one displaying her nakedness.

  Unable to turn off those detective instincts inside, Rick picked up traces of stale smoke. It must have attached itself to his clothes at the restaurant.

  “Five years. But I don't really count my first year. I hardly worked.”

  Rick forced himself to close the portfolio. He then sauntered over to a high stool at the end of the breakfast counter. Standing face to face with Bridget as she poured, he caught her fragrance, Exotica. As the fragrance blossomed around him, his hormones urged him closer to her, commanding him to reach out to brush her skin. Her warmth swarmed over him, clouding his mind with thoughts of her in that photograph.

  “How long have you been a detective?” she asked, clinking ice cubes into her drink.

  “A detective for six years, but on the force for eighteen.”

  “Gee, that makes you...”

  “Much older than you.”

  Bridget smiled impishly.

  “Not that much,” she toyed.

  Her eyes sparkled when she looked into his. Her lips were soft and pink like rose petals.

  “You ever married?” she asked.

  “Long time ago. At least it seems like it.”

  “She didn't like being married to a cop?”

  “No, she didn't like being married to me.”

  “Oh.”

  Bridget handed him his glass. As she
did, her finger slid across the back of his hand. There was no mistaking that the contact had been intentional. She held her glass out to meet his.

  “Here's to... whatever cops drink to.”

  “How 'bout to your success.”

  Rick took a sip, keeping his eyes in line with hers. The scotch made her lips glisten in a naughty way. She was truly a fantasy in the flesh, standing before him, beckoning him with her eyes. He never considered asking himself why. He only knew if this was his moment, he had to seize it at any cost.

  Rick felt his heart pounding as he set the glass down. His mouth had gone dry. At thirty-eight, he never thought he'd still be clumsy at this. He sought words until he realized he needed no words. He had to act.

  Bridget set her glass beside his and looked up into his eyes. She was offering herself to him, sending him all the right signals.

  Rick couldn't say no.

  Her kiss became the spark that set everything inside him on fire. There was urgency in their embrace; a need they shared in common. Rick worked his hand down her curves—stopping at nothing, wanting everything.

  Bridget employed her body with the same precision a surgeon applies his scalpel. She knew exactly where to touch to draw out Rick's pent-up passion.

  Something emerged. Something Rick had locked away inside years ago. He never thought he would be pulling it out for another woman. He never thought he would be holding someone as beautiful and as sensuous as Bridget Sterling in his arms.

  Bridget's hands worked him to a fevered pitch. She lifted her dress so she could wrap her legs around his buttocks.

  Their breathing came in gasps, flashing like wild fire over the otherwise silent apartment. Rick had abandoned all control. His hands sought to make her hotter, more excited than she already was.

  “Oh, Officer Rick, what a big gun you have,” she whispered.

  She assisted him when he fumbled to get beneath her panties, responding maddeningly to his intimate intrusion and his driving animal passion. Then in a delicate whisper, she begged him to take her to her bed.

  Rick left her lips to breathe, sucking air deep into his lungs as he carried her out of the kitchen. He had no doubt this was going to be an all-nighter.

  ****

  Jenny listened to air moving in and out, knowing it came from another.