Dark Side: The Haunting

by J. M. Barlog

  Could that be it? He wondered while he stared into the darkness consuming the distance between them. If Jenny did somehow become separated from her inner spirit, could she now be feeling the emptiness brought on by that absence in her life?

  “What's going to happen to me?” Jenny finally asked, as if Dwight were some gifted soothsayer, who could look beyond the present and see, in a glimpse, the futures of those who asked.

  “Jenny, nothing is going to happen to you. I'm here and I'll make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “Dwight, no one can help me. No one can stop this thing from destroying me, if that is what it intends to do.”

  “I want you to wipe that out of your mind. We are going to get you through this thing. We're going to find a way to keep you safe.”

  Even as Dwight said the words, his mind raced back to what he had learned about the Doppelgänger. The Lukenhan boy claimed to have endured four years of torment. How could he tell Jenny? How could he ever confide in her what he really knew?

  “We'll find a way, Jenny. I promise...” As Dwight's voice faded into silence, so did his conviction.

  22

  Rawlings began applying pressure. Rick had to either make the link between Warren and Kate, or shelve that theory and find a fresh way to approach the Garrett case. He theorized that maybe Warren and Kate were involved and both saw the obvious advantage of having Jenny out of the way. The money would be a windfall beyond belief, and then they could be together without jeopardizing a business relationship between Jenny and Kate. If Rick's way of thinking held water, keeping an eye on Kate, and what she did with the embezzled money, could lead back to Warren. Both were still the top two on his suspect list. And they were the only two at the present.

  Ensconced in his car from across the street, Rick watched Kate march from her office shortly after eleven. She drove directly to a trendy up-scale restaurant six blocks from the agency.

  Rick had ample time to stuff down a hot sandwich at Caulter's, though he would never drop a ten-spot for lunch on his own. So this was the world of the advertising executives, he thought. Classy restaurants, eighty-dollar bottles of wine and prime rib for lunch.

  From his vantage point, he watched Kate and her male client laugh it up in a corner table. The alcohol flowed as freely as the hand on Kate's thigh under the table. The only way Rick could discern this was a business meeting was by the portfolio that Kate kept referring to while they talked. There was a gentle insistence in the way she kept redirecting her client’s hand and interest back to business.

  Kate's style impressed Rick. She seemed to be manipulating and controlling the burly, gray-haired gentleman with a lecherous smile and an avocado texture nose. This had to be the closest thing this grub would ever get to copping a real feel from someone as attractive as Kate. Rick became so interested in her skillful defense maneuvers that he missed the telltale signs that their luncheon meeting was about to conclude.

  As luck would have it, Kate deterred to the Ladies room, which afforded Rick time to exit and return to his car. As he started his engine, Kate and client pushed through the front doors.

  Kate smiled endearingly while shaking the gentleman's hand and marched at a good clip back to her car. Rick pegged Mr. Grub to be high enough on the advertising food chain to warrant a little groping now and then.

  It was past two, and for sure, even for Kate, the lunch hour had to be over. It was time to get back to work. But Kate sped from the restaurant in the direction opposite of the agency.

  Rick maintained his safe interval, but kept her in sight at all times. He idled away the time trying to second-guess Kate's intentions. A tinge of excitement rose at the thought of Kate meeting Warren instead of returning to the agency. Maybe the old guy had excited Kate’s juices and now she needed a little release. Rick knew he was falling into a fantasy and stopped himself short. His conjuring did, although, conjure up visions of Bridget naked on her bed with her arms outstretched for him.

  Rick would have never guessed a second restaurant as Kate’s destination.

  It couldn't be hunger that drove her into the eatery. Rick performed a quick scan for Warren's car. Please be here, he thought, almost aloud. Could this be their little afternoon tryst? But Warren's Saab was nowhere in sight. Rick, however, refused to abandon hope.

  Kate's sudden stop caught Rick unprepared. He veered through several lanes of traffic to get to the curb and prevent Kate from detecting him. She left her car with the valet.

  Left with no alternative, Rick parked beside a hydrant and flashed his badge to the valet attendant on his way by.

  “Make sure no one tows it, comprende?” he commanded the confused Puerto Rican valet.

  This might just be the break Rick had been waiting for.

  Once inside, Rick scanned the bar. Empty, save for a few blue pin-stripped suits nursing drinks. That's where Rick expected to find Kate. But he was wrong.

  At the dining room’s rear, where the outside light never reached, weary servers moved about, and the clatter of busboys clearing away plates and cups rose over the silence. Rick swept the main dining area with a glance that missed nothing. Kate occupied a corner table with her back to him, browsing over a menu. Rick slid into a chair at the bar in such a way as to keep her reflection in sight using a mirrored wall.

  He waved off the bartender. His eyes never left Kate.

  Could she possibly be eating again? Unless...she was bulimic and had purged herself and now planned to engorge herself anew.

  The thought made Rick's stomach convulse. How anyone could force themselves to vomit was beyond rational thought. But maybe that’s the way Kate could indulge herself so lavishly and yet maintain the shape that attracted her client’s attention.

  A few waitresses scurried this way and that, clearing away the lunch mess, and avoiding the lone woman studying the luncheon fare. A well-rounded, happy-faced waitress finally came over and leveled her pad.

  Kate ordered, but right after, she left the table and disappeared into the ladies’ room.

  Something seemed out of kilter. Rick’s first instinct was to wait for her return, but something inside told him to move. He was glad he did.

  Kate spent less than a minute in the bathroom. Inconceivable for a woman. But Kate never returned to the dining room. Instead, without looking back, she marched out the front doors as if she were late for an important appointment.

  Bada-bing!

  Rick realized the anomaly. Kate’s coat remained on after sitting down. Did she plan to eat with it on? Ordinarily, she would have removed her coat had she intended to stay. So why the sudden departure?

  Rick paused at the front doors. Outside, Kate shoved a bill into the valet’s waiting hand, slid into her car and roared away. No way did the entire exchange make sense. Why would the valet have her car waiting in idle for her? Kate’s eyes never went back to the doors, so Rick remained confident his presence had gone undetected.

  Inside, a young black waitress left the bathroom. Her eyes met Rick's. Guilt was writ across her face.

  “Stop right there. Don’t move!” Rick delivered with authority while he flashed his badge.

  She seemed too frightened to move anyway.

  Rick was playing a hunch. The whole set up moved too smoothly to be anything other than a buy. He brought his face inches from the waitress’s.

  “We have the entire buy that just took place in there on tape.”

  “Fuck! Son-of-a-goddamn-bitch,” the waitress scowled, surrendering a wad of bills and a small bag containing eight balls of cocaine even before Rick asked for them.

  God it’s easy to catch stupid people, Rick thought as he called in the bust. He wondered how long it would be before the waitress would realize there was no camera in the ladies’ room.

  The bad news was Rick had to abandon his surveillance until an arresting officer could be called to the scene. But another piece to his puzzle had just fallen into place.

  ****

  Restles
s as he lay tucked on the floor next to the bureau, Dwight pushed his sleeping bag down from around his neck. Never did he stray beyond an arm's reach of the indicators once everyone in the house had retired for the night.

  There was no moon this night to bleed through the cracks in the window drapes. The bedroom was pitch black. Six feet away, Jenny slept; her breathing no more than a whisper.

  Dwight thought about her instead of why he was there. What was she feeling? How could anyone, having survived such a terrible car crash and six long weeks in a hospital bed, endure the torment of what had invaded her life? It was all beyond comprehension.

  How could the spirit have manifested itself in the first place? Dwight suspected the answers would lie somewhere in those dark places he had yet to uncover.

  Dwight was about to turn away from that vision of Jenny sleeping—but he couldn't. Even with the scars, she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever known. The hours he spent close to her were drawing him toward something he knew was wrong. He felt something for her that he shouldn't.

  It was insane to fall for her the way he was, she being married and all, but something kept telling him it was right. Finally, Dwight pulled the bag up around his head and forced his eyes closed.

  The sound started as a scraping—like a mouse clawing on wood. Then it grew persistently louder; loud enough to jerk Dwight awake. He bolted upright, blinking sight back into his eyes. In the darkness, he could barely discern the bed with Jenny in it.

  He stared for a long moment. Jenny never moved. Then he realized that a sound had awakened him. Switching on a penlight, he cast a pale beam upon the magnetic field recorder. The needle twitched back and forth with a voracity he had never witnessed before.

  His heart thumped furiously inside his chest. Dwight felt chills crawl up his spine. Breathing became difficult. He swallowed hard as he watched his monitors.

  The hall sensor was sending the machine into a frenzy.

  Jenny sprang up in bed as if a rope had yanked her upright against her will. Her arms hung at her side like useless rags.

  “Dwight,” she trembled with undeniable terror.

  “Jenny, I'm here. Don't move. I'm getting something outside your door.

  “Dwight, she's here. Oh God, please help me!”

  “Jenny, remain very still. What do you see?”

  “Nothing.”

  Another one of Dwight’s needles began a nervous tick.

  “Jenny, is it in the ro...”

  “She's in the room. She's at the door!“

  Dwight raked his weak beam across the row of instruments on the table. No sounds were being recorded other than their voices; no infrared showed up on the video monitor.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Dwight, she's coming toward me. Please help me!”

  Dwight grabbed his hand-held instrument, snapped in a telescoping probe and began vacuuming air to gather ambient temperature readings.

  “She's coming toward the bed.”

  Despite Jenny’s pleas, Dwight thrust the probe near the bed. He watched the temperature gauge plunge. At the sight, his eyes opened wide enough to be visible in the darkness.

  “Jenny, I've got it! I've got it!”

  Suddenly Jenny flew off the bed like a crumbled rag doll and tumbled into the chair near the door. She dared not oppose this malevolent thing that she held no power against. Her scream sundered the silence in the house.

  Dwight slapped on the lights at the same moment Warren broke into the bedroom, his hair disheveled and his pajamas twisted around his midsection.

  The image evaporated in the light.

  “Oh God, please no,” Jenny cried, no longer able to contain her terror.

  Dwight moved from the side of the bed to enter the doorway, sampling air while Warren grabbed hold of Jenny.

  “She's gone now,” he said.

  Warren spun like a madman in a rage and took Dwight's throat in his hands. Spit accumulated in the corners of Warren’s angry mouth and his eyes shot fire into Dwight’s.

  “What did you do, you bastard!“

  “Warren, no. He didn't do anything.”

  The moment hung in the room.

  As the rage drained from Warren's face, he released Dwight and returned to Jenny's side.

  “Did you see her?” Jenny asked, once she had mustered the courage to bring herself back to her feet.

  “No. But I tracked her temperature trail.”

  “That's how you knew?”

  “Yes! Jenny, you said you felt something cold touch you in the night and when you opened your eyes, she was right at your face.”

  “That's right.”

  “This spirit is altering the ambient air temperature in whatever space she occupies at the time. I detected her presence by the drastic temperature changes. That’s what you felt that night.”

  “This is crazy...how could she be occupying space?” Warren stammered.

  “It's right here on the recorder.”

  “Are you all right, Jenny?” Warren said.

  Jenny nodded, though she felt like someone had taken a knife to her belly and ripped from end to end.

  “Look here,” Dwight said, displaying for them the paper recording disc where the temperatures changes were recorded. He palmed it as if it were treasure.

  “You see these spikes here? These were taken on the side of the bed where you said you saw the ghost. These variances are in excess of twenty-eight degrees. There's no way the temperature in that area would drop that much naturally. Jenny, there was something there.”

  Warren held Jenny, trying to comfort her.

  Dwight dashed back to his instruments, where he began video and audio playback. Neither instrument captured anything unusual in the room nor out in the hall.

  Then he began replaying the magnetic field changes on the oscilloscope screen. The green phosphorous pattern began to move. Dwight said nothing as he watched the magnetic field changes taking place on the small rectangular screen.

  At first, he thought the images he had captured were his and Jenny's. But the traces showed three disturbances with a fourth appearing when Warren entered the bedroom.

  “What the hell is really going on here!” Warren screamed, bursting with frustration. He was like a man who had reached the very limits of his own sanity and needed someway to crawl back into the world of the sane.

  Was it possible that the spirit generated a magnetic field disturbance just before it appeared? And altered the temperature in the space where it can be seen? But why could Jenny see it when no one else could?

  “This means you have proof that the ghost exists?” Jenny asked.

  “This means we have a physical way of sensing your ghost's presence. I've never had this happen before. I don't know for sure what it means. I'm going to need time to study this. I have to validate my instruments before I can proceed.”

  Warren stared at the recording discs from the temperature meter, and even with a cursory examination, he could tell that something had occurred in the room. If it hadn't been some kind of paranormal investigator trick.

  After Warren helped Jenny return to her bed, he left the light on but closed the bedroom door. Dwight was waiting for him in the hall.

  “If you're trying to pull some bullshit on us...” Warren’s voice trailed off ominously.

  “I watched Jenny go flying out of bed and crash into the chair as if something had tossed her like a rag doll. You think that was some trick bullshit? You think your wife could do that on her own?”

  Anger drained from Warren's eyes.

  “What are we supposed to do to fight this thing?” he asked finally. There was resignation in his voice.

  Dwight remained silent for a long moment. How could he possibly tell them what he believed? How could he possibly frame an explanation that would do anything besides strike terror into their hearts?

  “I don't know. All I know is Jenny is right. It was there in her room.”

  “Could your
instruments be faulty?”

  “I did a calibration check at the beginning and another when Jenny said the ghost was gone. They're the marks you see here and here.”

  Dwight stabbed his finger at the two marks on the disc.

  “I know the equipment was operating before and after the spectral sighting.”

  Warren's eyes held fast on the recording.

  “I suggest you both try to get some sleep. I'm leaving right away to return to the university.”

  Dwight gathered his readings from all the instruments, and grabbing his jacket, left the Garrett house in a rush. He had broken through the invisible barrier. He had found a way of detecting a spectral presence. Now he had to document it and get help from his colleagues to understand what he had uncovered.

  ****

  Rick felt it the moment he walked into the squad room. It was the way people looked when he passed. They greeted him with pasted-on smiles, while their eyes telegraphed danger—he was in for it.

  Rawlings requested Rick meet him in the conference room first thing. Rick interpreted that to mean it was time to duck—Rawlings had turned on the fan.

  There was no doubt in Rick's mind that he had reached that critical juncture in the investigation: either solve it, shelve it, or close it out.

  “Update me on the Garrett case,” Rawlings barked with a stone face even before Rick had gotten to his chair.

  But Rick came prepared with files, notes, theories and anything else that might help his position.

  “Both suspects have motive and, I believe, opportunity. The husband still holds the prime spot on the list.”

  “And the number two is?”

  “Business partner.”

  “Run down the husband first.”

  Rick's update began routinely, laying out the details of the suspect's background.

  “Warren Garrett's business is teetering. He's mortgaged to the hilt and dodging flak from the banks. For the most part, the Garretts were both living off the wife's income. The insurance payoff on Jenny's death was a cool mil....”

  “Solid marriage?”