51 History
Abbey yawned as she poured more coffee. It felt as if she had been awake for hours.
It was Sunday morning; she had been up at five and in the office by six.
She was sitting at her computer and was logged into the central archives database.
First up, would be Heron Heights. It seemed to her that the one thing that everybody had in common, was that building. Given its history with celebrities, she knew it would make an excellent backdrop to her story.
She would start with the place, and how it became so attractive to the rich and famous, then move on to introduce the tenants. It could work a bit like a soap opera; the building and the characters that existed within it.
Good.
She typed Heron Heights into the search box, and anxiously tapped her pencil as she waited for the results.
I’m never going to make the deadline. No matter how much I fool myself, I’m never going to be able to collate enough research and write the thing up before tomorrow morning, there’s no…
The results were returned, and what immediately struck Abigail was how many there were.
She was hoping for some plans of the place, maybe a few articles, but instead what she received was over thirty pages filed by category; planning, building, newspaper articles.
She clicked on the articles; a series of headlines filled the page. A caption at the top of the screen informed her that the links were sorted by date:
LOCAL ARCHITECT WINS CONTRACT FOR TOWER BUILDING. (1936)
SPIRITUALIST REFUSES TO GIVE UP HOME FOR TOWER BUILDING PROJECT DESPITE RECORD PAY-OUT OFFER. (1937)
SPIRITUALIST DIES CLEARING THE WAY FOR TOWER BUILDING PROJECT. (1937)
BUILDING SITE OF TOWER BUILDING MARRED BY FATAL ACCIDENTS. (1940)
TOWER BUILDING TO BE EXCLUSIVE HOTEL. (1942)
TOWER BUILDING “AN ABOMINATION” SAYS LOCAL CLERGY. (1943)
TOWER BUILDING ATTRACTS RECORD MEDIA INTEREST. (1943)
PRE-BOOKINGS AT FAMOUS TOWER BUILDING PUTS OCCUPANCY. AT 80%. (1943)
RICH AND FAMOUS TURN OUT FOR OPENING OF TOWER HOTEL. (1946)
10. MOVIE STAR DIES IN MYSTERIOUS FALL. (1947)
The headlines went on and Abigail could hardly believe her eyes for each and every one of them was sensational.
She read and took notes.
The spiritualist, an eighty-six year old woman, dubbed a witch, refused to give up her home to the tower project. She was rumoured to have put a hex on all those who dared to desecrate it, and any of the land it stood on.
Stories about strange fires breaking out all over the building site went unchecked, until two men lost their lives. Fears that an arsonist may have set his or her sights on the infamous building prompted security fears; a firm was hired.
But one night, these men reported seeing ‘strange blue lights’. They appeared and disappeared all over the building. They also heard the sound of a ‘phantom hammerer’, who would vanish as soon as anybody approached to investigate. Some of the men also claimed to have seen some of the building’s famous gargoyles come to life.
By day, workers reported the spontaneous disappearance and reappearance of tools, from one side of the building site to another. As well as nails and other objects mysteriously falling from ceilings.
Abby laughed out loud. She could not believe what she was reading, for the content seemed much more suited to a supernatural novel than the feature pages of a major tabloid. Nonetheless, she read on.
A local clergyman had branded the gothic design of Heron Heights, “An abomination - the foetus of a devil worshipper. Satan has built his palace on earth.”
Yet, despite all of the negative publicity, it seemed that The Obelisk, as it was then called, went from strength to strength. It attracted a lot of publicity because of its unusual and rather ostentatious design, as well as the amount of money that was spent building and fitting it with the most opulent décor.
It became the talk of the city. The place to stay for anybody who was anybody.
But disaster struck, seven years ago, when a mysterious fire started in one of the apartments. Four people died in the blaze, and the water devastation inflicted, in the effort to bring the blaze under control, caused millions of pounds worth of damage.
However, the real controversy came when it emerged that The Obelisk’s owners had falsified certain documents, invalidating their insurance. The scam was all over the papers, and soon after, the consortium that owned the building went into receivership, throwing the building’s future into uncertainty. That was until a buyer stepped in: Harrison Enterprises; a division of the Harrison Publishing group.
Abigail nearly choked on her coffee. She couldn’t have dreamed up such a brilliant twist.
He owns the place.
She read on; five years ago, they shut the building down and launched a major rebuild and refurbishment program. The hotel rooms were merged and converted into spacious, luxurious apartments with all of today’s modern conveniences, and a few special touches. State of the art technology was installed, not only to secure the building, but to monitor everything from lighting to climate control. Everything that could be done was done to dispel the building’s bad reputation, and to inspire confidence in future tenants.
Two years later, The Obelisk was re-launched as Heron Heights, named after what should have been a series of stone bird sculptures, built into the summit of the building. However, a commissioning error at the time led to the delivery of a collection of grotesque gargoyles that, after much litigation, were eventually installed in their stead, thus contributing to the building’s gothic design and demonic repute.
Heron Height’s marketing literature described it as a modern apartment building in the heart of London, boasting all of the mod cons, whilst retaining the original charm that had, over the years, made the building the go-to destination for dignitaries and celebrities from around the world.
The rebrand worked.
Before long, the apartment building had achieved ninety percent occupancy, despite overinflated rental fees.
Thus, indirectly, Heron Heights had, once again, established its presence in magazines around the world since everybody who had lived in it, loved it, and everybody who hadn’t, wanted to.
And, as if that wasn’t enough, there was still a regular stream of articles to keep the building well and truly in the media spotlight.
Such as, the recent mysterious disappearance of Keri Paxton, and now, the death of the Stanton’s boy.
Abigail was grinning from ear to ear.
This was all so bloody incredible! There was enough drama in the building alone to make her story work and the best was yet to come; Rupert Harrison, the multi-millionaire, who lost his brother in a tragic accident and his mother to suicide, owned the building. He had met this unknown, Ashley Marshall, who was making a name by publishing highly controversial books; from adulterous politicians to Metropolitan Police scandals.
But what else do we know about her?
Nothing, until now.
This is brilliant! The script is literally writing itself!
Abigail started tapping away at her keyboard. Her treatment included everything about the building, the mysterious happenings, the construction tragedies, the Harrison tragedies, and even the gargoyle blunder.
When she had done that, she refuelled on coffee and went back to the archive.
There wasn’t much about Ashley Marshall. Nothing that she hadn’t already picked up from the papers regarding the Jackie Harris book, which wasn’t much.
Then again, there was the disappearance of Jackie Harris’ manuscript. Now that was another story, she would link the two but she needed more background on Marshall first.
She went back to work.
52 Company
Ashley had mooched around the apartment on her own for most of the afternoon, after dropping Rupert off at the hospital.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to see Elisabeth the whole time, but just being at th
e hospital and being there to support Adam made him feel better.
Ashley knew there was no chance of her getting in to see Elisabeth and every chance of Elisabeth not wanting to see her. So, she decided to spend the rest of the day back at the penthouse, supervising the army of professional cleaners drafted in to return the dining room to its former glory.
She had barely closed the door on the workers when she received the phone call from Rupert. He was in very high spirits and it was infectious; he’d, relatively speaking - through rudimentary sign language - managed to communicate with Elisabeth.
Ashley’s heart soared. To hear him so happy after what had happened was just wonderful.
He told her that he would get a cab home, but she refused, saying she could do with the fresh air and would be right over to pick him up.
That was over half an hour ago.
Now, as twilight descended to collect another day, and after multiple laps around the multi-storey to find a free parking space, she finally found one and killed the engine.
She picked up her phone to text her location to Rupert and smiled at the thought of him. While keen to give him his space at a time like this, she also felt an overwhelming compulsion to be near him, and she’d missed him.
His text reply came back immediately, stating he was already walking towards her.
She returned her phone to her handbag and, whilst there, rummaged inside for lipstick.
Then, she unfolded the sun visor, slid open the mirror and drew in a sharp breath, when she saw the reflection of a pair of blue eyes glaring at her from the backseat!
Ashley screamed, wrenched the door handle, and almost fell out of the car, just as a young couple were walking by.
They momentarily paused their chatter to give her an odd look.
She was about to call to them, but when she glanced back at her car, door still ajar, key-alarm ringing and courtesy lights shining brightly, she saw that the backseat was empty.
She ran trembling fingers through her hair as she inspected the space around her.
There was nobody there, but the couple who were just getting into a small vehicle three cars down.
On the street below, teenagers in baggy clothing laughed at something amusing, as the streetlights clicked on; darkness was nigh.
She turned back to the innocent-looking empty car, as a cold wind blew up out of nowhere.
“Ash?”
The voice shot through her, and she whirled around to see Rupert with a big smile that instantly faded the moment he saw her expression.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, walking up to her, “I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
She threw her arms around him, without responding.
“Hey, now that’s a welcome. It’s good to see you too,” he said, squeezing her tightly. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
Ashley said nothing. She just held him.
Sensing the lingering embrace, Rupert said, “It’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”
Eventually, she emerged from the embrace and he searched her face.
“Are you alright?”
Ashley glanced at the car door, and then back at him. He seemed so happy, did she really want to ruin that right now?
“I’m fine,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I'm all right. Just pleased things are looking better. How is she?”
“Well, she isn’t out of the woods yet, but at least she’s conscious and communicating.”
“Are the doctors any the wiser?”
He shook his head, gravely. “Not really, but they’re still looking, and she’s stable for now so, in the absence of anything else, I’m happy to take that. Adam’s still with her.”
“He looked grief stricken yesterday.”
“He was. Is. That guy hasn’t left her side.”
Ashley was going to retort that she didn’t deserve him, but instead she just nodded, “He loves her.”
“As much as you love me?” He asked.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, touching his cheek, tenderly.
He nuzzled against her hand. Then, studied her in the fading light; there was definitely something there. In her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked, angling himself so he could see better.
She thought about it. She wanted to tell him, and she would, but there was a time and a place, this simply wasn’t the time. “Yes, I’m fine, honestly.”
“Good.”
He walked over to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and was about to climb in when he noticed that she wasn’t following him. Instead, she was standing, staring at the driver’s door.
“Ash?”
She looked up.
“Sorry,” she said, “just daydreaming,” yet she still wasn’t moving.
Rupert cocked his head and smiled, “Okay, so are you going to get in or did you want to stay here?”
Reluctantly, she climbed in, glancing, as casually as she could at the empty backseat.
“I’m so hungry; I really fancy a steak right now.” He stated, rubbing his cold hands together. “Are you hungry? Shall we get something to eat on the way home? Better still, let’s stop off somewhere,” he said, excitedly.
“Okay,” she said, pulling then clicking in her seatbelt and starting the engine.
She reversed the car, giving the backseat a thorough look as she did so, and then drove off, out of the car park and away from there.
53 The End
“Doctor says I shouldn’t stay too long,” Adam said with a smile, as he stroked Elisabeth’s forehead.
Elisabeth’s response was to close her eyes and turn her face away from him for, even in the dim light of the small room, she felt ugly and strange.
Everything around her seemed blurry, like a dream; the bedside table, the flowers that Rupert had bought her, the lamp, the phone, the swing doors, and the sofa. Everything was there, tangible yet dreamlike, as if she wasn’t really lying in bed but was standing outside, looking through a dirty window.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the hollow beep of the heart monitor, and the demonic slow downed voice of a doctor being paged, and what sounded like Adam rambling on about getting her on her feet again soon.
The sounds continued to slur and jumble, but Elisabeth wasn’t listening, her gaze had fallen on the fire glass portal in the door, and what she saw beyond it; a pair of steely blue eyes.
The same eyes she had seen in the club that night, the same ones that belonged to the man that had violated her. The one that had planted something inside her, something so malignant, it fed off her very being.
Her eyes widened with terror, tears leaked down her face, and a shrill alarm from one of the machines pierced the air.
Adam stopped his mumbling and was calling her name, but he noticed that she wasn’t listening; she was too busy staring at the double doors, as if she could see someone beyond them, something behind the glass.
“Elisabeth?” He called, but she was not responding. “Elisabeth? Elisabeth?”
He would have shaken her, but he was afraid of hurting her. Instead, he moved into her line of vision, with his back to the door.
But her staring continued, to the point where she angled her head so that her wild eyes could look around him.
More alarms filled the air as the beeping of her heart monitor increased in speed, anxiously demanding attention.
Adam ran to the door, pushed it open and looked up and down the corridor.
The lights had been dimmed. It was deserted, as if everybody had abandoned them.
“HELP!” He yelled. “NURSE! SOMEONE! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!”
He stepped back into the room.
Elisabeth was still staring through him with glassy eyes full of fear. Eyes that saw someone standing directly behind him.
Her gaze was so convincing, he actually turned to check, but he could see no one.
But there was someone or something. It stood in the shadows, wearing a
long black coat, and it was grinning.
Like the grim reaper, it was waiting to possess, to claim its latest soul, and the anticipation of this filled it exquisite anticipation.
Adam rushed back to the bed and spoke desperately, “Elisabeth? Elisabeth, darling, what’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
But his only reply was the cacophony of alarm bells and buzzers that resonated loudly around the room and his brain.
He slammed his hand against the red alarm button on the wall, as the pupils of Elisabeth’s eyes rolled back into her skull.
“NOOO! No, Elisabeth, don’t you do this to me! Don’t you do this! Come back!” he yelled, gripping her arms, and almost pulling her up from the bed.
But she was unresponsive.
“Elisabeth! Elisabeth! Don’t you do this to me! Don’t you fucking do this to me!” he hissed. His voice no longer fearful, but full of rage. “Get back here right now, you selfish bitch! I didn’t spend the last two years putting up with your shit for nothing! NO! You can’t leave. I won’t let you! I won’t let you!”
He was shaking her now. Her lifeless body moving, like a rag doll, in his grip.
Suddenly, he felt hands on him, pulling him backwards; a night porter strained to tear him away as two nurses and a doctor rushed around the bed and desperately tried to revive their patient.
Adam was still yelling obscenities as the porter dragged him, literally kicking and screaming, out of the room and down the corridor, where they planned to administer a sedative to the man, they believed, was so traumatised by the loss of his girlfriend, he was having a psychotic break.
Little did they know that Adam’s violent reaction was not to the passing of his lover, but to the fact that his plan, several years in the making, had – to the sound of a flatlining heart monitor - come to an abrupt end.
Unspeakable Page 35
