This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Ghost Box
Copyright © 2014 Derek Neville
All rights reserved.
Design by M.S. Corley
Edited by Lorelei Logsdon
Formatted by Polgarus Studio
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for reasonable quotations for the purpose of reviews, without the author’s written permission.
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For AB — who always reads my stuff.
-1-
{1992}
On her second pass down the hill, Isabelle saw that her mother was still talking to the strange man. Where he had come from, she didn’t know. He didn’t live in their neighborhood — Isabelle knew that much. He was slender, with a long neck and a bulbous head almost like a grasshopper. He wore dirty jeans and a leather jacket even though it was ninety and humid. He had his long, dark, wet hair pushed back behind one ear with a cigarette holding it in place. As Isabelle neared, he was leaning over and whispering something into her mother’s ear as the wisps of her hair blew up around his face. He smiled as they seemed to tickle his chin, then reached up, and tenderly pushed them away with a finger. He whispered something else, and her mother laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth as her face flushed.
Isabelle rode right up onto the curb where the two were standing in Mrs. Baker’s driveway, but her mother wasn’t paying attention. Not even when she squeezed the horn on her bike, which was pink with a white leather seat. Isabelle turned and pedaled back toward the end of the street. She hopped the sidewalk and started down Jasper, the street that connected to her own. Near the end it curved almost like a cul-de-sac, except the outlet road rose upward toward a large building that sat in between the trees. In the crook of the bend was a granite sign that had Lansing High School chiseled into it. She wasn’t supposed to stray this far from her house — the boundary was supposed to be down to the end of her street and back — but her mother hadn’t said a word when Isabelle had first pedaled out of her sight.
She stood up off her seat as she made her climb up the hill. The gray T-shirt she wore clung to the perspiration on her back. When the road finally flattened out, she glided over the fresh black pavement of the high school parking lot.
Once she had caught her breath, she doubled back and paused near the top of the hill leading down to the street below. This is what made the climb all worth it. She pedaled twice, and then took her hands off the handlebars as the bike began to catch speed. The momentum built and she rode the descent all the way back to her street. When Mrs. Baker’s driveway came back into view, she squeezed the horn on the bike to announce her arrival. Her mother turned on her heels; she had the look on her face she always got when Isabelle said or did something that embarrassed her, but made her angry, too. It was the same look her mother gave after her fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Newcomb, had called the house wondering why Isabelle hadn’t brought a lunch for three days.
“Isabelle!” her mother said with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to one side. “The parade is coming. Get off the bike, please.”
Strange Man took a drag on his cigarette and gave a chuckle, as if this all amused him somehow. He was squinting over the smoke and staring off down the street toward the oncoming parade, though nothing was visible yet.
“One more loop,” Isabelle said, and began pedaling away.
“Isabelle, I’m serious!” her mother called, but Isabelle was already heading back towards the end of her street. Behind her she could hear the distant sound of the drums from the marching band. At the top of the climb she slowed and used the back of her arm to wipe the sweat from her brow. She’d have to ask her mom about getting a glass of water when she got back. Maybe another loop wasn’t such a good idea after all. Her legs felt like stretched rubber and she didn’t feel much like pedaling anymore.
She let the wheels carry her as she headed toward the breezeway in the front of the building. Her gaze drifted to a figure standing in the vestibule of the front entrance. As soon as Isabelle saw him, her pulse leapt, and she almost lost control of the bike. She steadied herself and went about six feet past the building’s entrance before turning back around toward the breezeway.
The man was still there.
It was difficult to make out his face due to the reflection of the afternoon sun on the glass and the shade from the roof of the breezeway. Isabelle looked away and fixed her eyes on the row of houses she could see from way up on the hill.
She kept the man just to the corner of her vision.
The brassy sounds of the marching band were louder now. They would be passing the street for the school soon. The thought crossed her mind that her mother was going to be mad that she was missing the parade. Isabelle didn’t much care. She wanted to be far away from here, at Hoyer Field maybe, having a cookout with her friends Emma and Kaylee, and not watching the fire department toss out stale candy to all her neighbors on the sidewalk.
When the machine gun precision of the drums grew faint she heard the door to the vestibule unlatch. The man stood there on the walk. He had a young face, though it kind of reminded her of her father’s; at least, her memory of it from the last time she had seen him. Maybe it was the tiny smirk at the corner of the man’s mouth or how he wore his short black hair combed neatly to the side. She thought she had seen her father’s hair that way, but perhaps it was just a memory of looking at a picture.
“Hello,” he said and stuck his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.
Isabelle didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure what to make of the man. Maybe he was a teacher; that was possible, right? Yet, it was the first week of July and school was out. He started towards her, slowly, like he was on a stroll. He kept the smirk on his face.
“Missing the parade,” he said.
“I hate parades.”
The man shrugged, and kicked at some loose gravel on the walk. “I can’t say I’m too big on them myself.”
“Are you a teacher?” she asked. “Don’t you know school’s out?”
He craned his neck to look back at the building and admired it like he was seeing it for the first time. “Oh, so that’s what they’re using it for now, huh? Interesting.” He looked back her way. “I’m not a teacher.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting,” he said. “For you.”
Isabelle felt her balance on the bike waver and she had to plant both feet down on the cement to keep upright. “You were?”
“Yeah,” he said and gestured with his hand. “I saw you pedaling up and around here and then I said to myself, my Isabelle has gotta be thirsty.”
She frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“Why, because you told it to me.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Sure you did. You were thinking in your head that you wanted to tell me your name and I read it there. It’s no big deal. Say, would you like to get a glass of water?”
Isabelle ran a chalky tongue over her dry lips. “My mom said I shouldn’t go with people I don’t know.”
“That’s really good advice. Smart woman, your mom. Maybe we could get to know each other? Look, we already have something in common — we both hate parades.”
“I am kinda thirsty,” Isabelle said.
“I bet you are.”
He crouched down so he was eye
level with her, and for the briefest of moments she thought she saw something flicker across the man’s face like when the lights in the house flashed during a storm. He extended a hand out, palm upwards, and she stared down at it. Isabelle thought about what her mother had said about strangers, but her mother was talking to someone she didn’t know, and she seemed okay.
Isabelle climbed off the bike and let it fall with a clatter onto the pavement. The man’s palm was cool to the touch as she watched her hand disappear into his and he started to lead her back toward the building.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m being rude, aren’t I? I know your name and you don’t even know mine. You can call me Badge. All my friends do.”
-2-
[Present Day]
As Boyd Dwyer drove across the interstate, heading north, something kept picking at his brain. It was like when a bird would chirp outside the window at some insane, early hour, and he’d pretend he didn’t hear it. Boyd felt that now, and it caused him to keep shuffling around in his seat, feeling like he’d never get comfortable.
It was full dark by the time he got off the exit for Lansing. He cruised down the main strip, fingers drumming across the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, sitting on her hind legs, was Boyd’s dog, Lady. The German shepherd had her snout near the window, causing it to fog over. For early autumn, the warm days seemed to be in the season’s rearview mirror and the heat coming through the vents in the truck felt good.
He followed a hilly road that ran beside the highway on his right, and it eventually swung him through the main entrance of what was soon to be the Westinghouse Hotel. He found himself turning the radio off as he drove up the steep incline. A set of track lights lit the way, although the building itself was mostly covered in darkness — apart from the lobby, which called out to him like a lighthouse while at sea.
Now it was Lady’s turn to start shuffling around in her seat.
It’d been just past three thirty in the afternoon when Boyd got the phone call in his kitchen. “Boyd?” the voice with the thick Long Island accent had asked. “How you feel about doing me a solid?”
The voice belonged to his boss, Donnie Greene. Boyd had been doing freelance security for Donnie since he retired. The so called “retirement” hadn’t been kind to Boyd, either, especially with no pension. The worst part was that it wasn’t even official, it was a leave of absence that had turned into a “best of luck on all future endeavors.” He supposed he was still bitter about the whole thing, too. On the last few jobs he’d worked for Donnie, he’d gotten complacent, reckless even; and after a site supervisor figured out that Boyd wasn’t bringing hot tea in his thermos, Donnie had had no choice but to bench him.
The Westinghouse job Boyd had been vaguely aware of. He knew through the murmurs and chatter amongst the network of other freelancers Donnie staffed east of upstate New York that no one wanted the gig. But no one was really saying why, either.
Boyd had heard Donnie quote him the payoff for the job as he stared at the stack of unpaid bills stuck behind a Buffalo Sabres magnet on the fridge.
Boyd said he’d take it.
-3-
Boyd parked his truck over the crosswalk in front of the breezeway and climbed out. He inhaled the sharpness of the air, felt the sting of it on his hands, and felt his bad knee start to cramp up. Someone — he didn’t know where — was burning leaves and the faint, spicy odor of the smoke made him nostalgic for a place he hadn’t been in many years. He could see the yard in his mind: brown grass, leaves scattered everywhere as Morgan ran through the piles he’d spent an afternoon raking up. He would be mad at first, but hearing the sound of her high-pitched giggle would sooth any anger rumbling in him. Instead, he’d playfully chase after her with the rake as her shrill cries of delight echoed through the yard. He’d scoop her up and pretend to gobble her chin as she’d fight to push his face away.
After Boyd walked some feeling back into his leg, he opened the passenger-side door and waited for Lady to hop down. “C’mon, girl,” Boyd said. “Let’s go.” The shepherd retreated into her seat and started to whine. “We’re going to go see Teddy. You remember him, right?” Lady whimpered and scurried up into the back bench of the cab. Boyd sighed as he walked back over to the driver-side door to lower the windows down a bit.
He snatched his backpack and slung it up over his shoulder as he headed for the automatic doors of the lobby. Behind a polished oak desk sat Teddy Barrios. The two often crossed paths on other job sites and generally enjoyed catching up when they found themselves on a rotation together.
A smile crept over Boyd’s face when Teddy glanced up from his bag of trail mix. He looked healthy, and not nearly as run down as the last time Boyd had seen him. Back then, Teddy had been making himself sick with paranoia over an affair he thought his wife, Gina, was having.
“Look at this poor sap right here,” Teddy said with a grin. He got up from his chair and came around the desk. The two shook hands. “I was expecting Warren to have gotten suckered into this gig. Figured you’d know better, Mister Pee-Dee.”
“Debt has a real funny way of creeping up on you,” Boyd said, letting his bag drop down to his feet. “How you been? Congrats to you and Gina, by the way. Donnie told me you guys were expecting.”
Teddy nodded a thanks as he leaned against the counter of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know, I’m doing all right. I’ll be doing even better once this rotation is over.”
“That bad already?”
“Nah, it’s just been a clusterfuck for a lack of a better word. The construction boys are on strike — again.”
“So I heard,” Boyd said as he searched his bag for the pack of jerky he had there.
“It’s a mess and you can’t blame ‘em. The amount of accidents that’ve been going on around here lately. Shit. I don’t know if Don told you about the fire over in the west end of the building. Whole roof collapsed.”
Boyd looked up. “He left that part out. Anyone know what caused it?”
“I don’t think anyone has a clue. There’s a big dick-measuring standoff going on with all the powers that be that are involved with this project. No one has a damn idea what’s going on or what’s supposed to be getting done. Hell, look at us, on a security detail like a couple of schmucks for a building that ain’t even being worked on.”
Boyd laughed. “As long as the check clears, that’s all I care about.”
“I’ll tell you something,” Teddy said, his eyes getting wide. “I don’t think these accidents — that fire — I don’t think they’re random. I think they’re all related to something else going on.”
“What are we talking about? Someone sabotaging the site?”
“Maybe. Who knows? I’m not trying to put you ill at ease or anything.”
“I know,” Boyd said, “and you’re not. I just like to know what I’m walking into, is all. I’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s bad news when guys are passing up a payoff to work a site. Especially guys like Warren. He’d work in a burning building if you paid him enough.”
“Well, you know how the boys are and how much they love to get a story going. Especially if they know they can get a good ribbing in on some of the greenhorns.”
Boyd tore off a piece of jerky out of the plastic bag and tucked it into his mouth. “What’s your take?”
“Not sure I have one. Place is a bit strange, I’ll give you that.”
“How so?”
Teddy sighed, scrubbing at his cheek with his hand. “Don’t know if I could articulate it, but it’s like when you walk in somewhere and you just … get a feeling, y’know? Like something is a little off. Like it isn’t where it’s supposed to be.”
“Have you seen anything?” Boyd asked.
Teddy shifted his weight to his heels for a second and took a hard swallow.
“No,” he said.
Boyd nodded intently. Even though Teddy was stru
ggling for the words, Boyd knew what he was circling towards. Sometimes bad things had a way of attaching themselves to a place. He knew the feeling well, had felt it before, had felt it on those cold nights when he came home from patrol and later when he worked homicide. He’d curl up in bed, afraid that something had followed him up the stairs into his bedroom.
“I’ll stop jawing your ear off and get myself on the road,” Teddy said, shrugging on his jacket. “Log chart should be all up to date. Here’s another flukey thing: heat on the third floor keeps kicking on full blast every other hour. Don’t know why. Site manager said he’d look into it. I’m thinking a window is open somewhere if you want to check. I didn’t find it. Anyway, I’ll leave you the TV. You’re on your own for stroke material.”
Boyd just smiled and took a seat behind the desk.
“Say, where’s my girl, Lady?” Teddy asked as he patted his jacket for his keys.
“She’s in my truck, being a big baby as usual,” Boyd replied. He was looking over the site map Teddy had left on the desk. “This is a huge space we have here, Ted. Are we really expected to be covering this much ground by ourselves?”
Teddy paused just before the automatic doors and took a half step back toward the desk. “I tried putting the bug in Donnie’s ear about maybe adding a third person on the rotation so we could have at least two people on at some point, but I don’t think he’ll bite on that until construction resumes.”
Boyd shook his head in disbelief.
“Trust me,” Teddy said. “You’ll want something to do to break up the night. This lobby is far too quiet for my tastes. Most places you hear something running or rattling. Here? Nothing.” He paused, thinking something over in his mind, possibly. “I should get moving. Gina will be wondering where I am. I’ll see you on down the line, Boyd.”
Ghost Box Page 1
