by Sharon Hays
Joan listened attentively as Mario filled her in on the latest developments. I’m thankful there have been some breakthroughs; Mario. Let’s hope this turns up something. I am positive there has to be a room under the house. In the dream, there was a dark stairway behind some book shelves. It led to a basement of some kind. I hope they come up with something. After the meeting with Father on Monday, We’ll see what happens. Meanwhile, I must leave and retire early. Last night, all I did was dream and have nightmares about Maryanne. She has been on my mind, and with trying to work, thinking about where she is has been very difficult.” Joan got up, gave Mario a warm hug, and started out the door, stopping briefly. Please call me if they have come up with anything.”
“By the way, I haven’t seen Steve for a few days. I’ve been so busy. How is he? Will you tell him I apologize for not calling as I had promised? It wasn’t intentional. When you see him, please tell him for me.”
“I will, and if I know Steve, he will totally understand. He asked me about you this morning, as a matter of fact. I forgot to tell you, but when you came in I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” he joked.
“You’re trying to being funny now,” she laughed. “Talk to you tomorrow. Oh, by the way, I’m not leaving here without my burritos!” She reached out her hand in a receptive gesture.
“Oh. Sorry. I forgot. Won’t take a minute.” He went to the kitchen, and then came back with a plastic container and tomorrow’s lunch.
“Yummy. Can’t wait until lunch tomorrow!” Joan was out the door, eager to get some rest after a fruitful, exhausting day.
32
Shaking uncontrollably, Maryanne lay on the cold, damp floor, waiting for the inevitable return of her captor. She was becoming weaker by the day and more delusional. Barely able to get up on her feet, she was losing any hope of a chance to escape her living hell. She imagined seeing Joan several times, trying to speak to her, but the images kept disappearing. She could only wait for time to pass, and hope someone would find her. Maryanne was thirsty and malnourished. Unable to communicate with her captor, she feared the worst was yet to come.
The deviant creature came into her secluded room many times, but Maryanne had lost track of time, so she could not be sure if it was seven to ten days. She was not able to distinguish day from night. The horrible smell in the room nauseated her. She huddled under the thin blanket; hopelessly realizing that she hadn’t done the all the things she’d planned in her life. Her real ambition was to become a highly sought antique dealer and travel all over the world. Now it seemed that realization was not so sure. She missed seeing her friends, and she definitely appreciated life a lot more after having her freedom suddenly taken away.
Then, as she lay on the cold damp floor, trying to sleep, it became apparent that someone was in the room with her. She could feel an eerie presence, and it started to materialize above her. It had a dominant feeling, as she lay motionless, afraid to move. This was not the creature, and there was a sweet essence, an almost flower-like scent that hung in the air of the cold room. It was very close to her, as if it were floating just above where she lay. A woman’s voice began to speak in a whisper. Was it real or inside her head, she was not sure. Suddenly, she felt as if something entered her body. It seemed to knock the breath out of her, causing her to cough and draw in deep breaths. She could not breathe well for several minutes and then she felt different. She had a different attitude and got up quickly, feeling strong and angry. She wanted to lash out at someone but not aware of who. Maryanne, for the first time, felt different than she had ever felt, and it frightened a part of her, but somewhere inside of herself, she had changed. It was as if she become someone else. Her memories were not clear and all she felt was rage and despair. Then just as quickly as this feeling took her over, it left her body, and she fell to the ground, weak and disoriented. She started to doze off again, when she he heard the dumbwaiter descending from the shaft above.
The door opened, and from where Maryanne was lying, she could see up into the shaft. The hunched-over figure of the long-haired fiend was clearly visible. Maryanne could not see the face clearly, but its features, she had definitely distinguished led her to believe it was human. The clothing never changed; an oversized, loose-fitting garment hung over its body. The smell of the creature became more detestable each day. She knew she was beginning to have the disgusting odor as well. She had not been able to clean herself for many days. It was all a jumbled collection of nightmares that returned each time the door opened. The creature stared at her, as if trying to figure out what to do next. It stooped over, picked up a tray, and again climbed down the ladder holding one hand on the rung, the tray in the other. The imminent act of it jumping onto the floor was like a re-run of her worst horror movie every day, in the darkness of the cell. She always heard the same shuffling as the creature would repeat the daily ritual. Maryanne watched as the creature climbed back up the steel stairs and brought water from the bucket down into the room. This was only the second bucket of water she had been given in all the time she had been captive. The ghastly stranger stood above her and made various noises, as if trying to speak, but she had given up on pleading for her life. She felt there was no hope.
Light from the overhead shaft gave Maryanne a glimpse of its face, and she saw the glistening of tears trickling down the sides of its cheeks. The crying began, as it had before. Deep, emotional groans, as if the pain was unbearable. The creature bent over and petted Maryanne’s hair, and then backed away toward the lighted exit of the shaft. Maryanne was still alert enough to detect emotional trauma in the unnatural being. The crying became so horrifying that Maryanne held her hands up to her ears and closed her eyes to escape the unbelievable display of agony.
Finally, Maryanne gave in to her compassion. “I will help you, if you let me.” Maryanne pleaded. “Please let me out of here.” She made one last attempt to reach some part of this being that could understand her. This could be her only chance, she felt, to convince the captor that she could help and not hurt it. Maryanne reached her hand out, as if to call her back, motioning with her aching arm. The pain in her body could not compare to the horrifying pain that emitted from the heart of the creature, she thought. For a moment it edged back toward Maryanne with outstretched arms. Loud, heart wrenching moans rang out through the cell. Maryanne knew this creature was calling its mother, or caretaker who obviously had been long gone. The creature soulfully cried and whimpered, falling to its knees beside her. Again, the loud shrieking pierced the walls of the dark tomb. Maryanne reached out with both arms and tried to wrap them around its body. Her arms cradled it, as it whimpered in heartfelt pain. After a few minutes, the creature backed away and looked into Maryanne’s eyes with pathetic sorrowful moans, rocking back and forth for several minutes.
“I won’t hurt you, I will help you. It’s fine. Let me out and I will help you.” Maryanne tried to convince it to trust her, once again.
The visitor rose to its feet, touched Maryanne’s hair again, and then backed away as it had always done before. Though it slowly shuffled to the hanging stair, Maryanne was filled with new hope. If not today, tomorrow, she told herself over and over again. The door closed. Darkness again encompassed the tomb. Maryanne fell into a deep sleep, not even touching the tray of food the stranger left behind.
33
Running down Sycamore Drive, hand weights in tow, Maryanne enjoyed her daily run along the quiet street lined with sycamores and oaks. Warm sun fell across her body like soft velvet throw. The sun had just lifted its head above the eastern mountain peaks, and the beauty was indescribable. Happiness was not just a dream, but her life was so many wonderful things as she went past neighbors walking dogs and children playing in their yards. She cherished these moments and thanked God every day for such a blessed life. Running down the street, she waved at Joan, who drove by on her way to work. Joan called out to her “I’ll see you tonight after work. Be there at seven p.m. I’m bringing dinner!” And then she d
isappeared.
Then, as quick as the dream began, it ended with an ear-piercing wail. Where did that sound come from? She woke up in her secluded chamber, realizing it was only a dream, but she reflected on it for awhile in the darkness.
Tears streamed down her soiled, chafed cheeks and she knew it was best to eat the food and drink the water, regardless of its condition. It was the only way she would survive much longer. She picked up the stale bread. Feeling a dirty spoon, she reached around to find a can that smelled like the obvious aroma of stale baked beans that had become a regular staple. She dipped the aluminum cup into the bucket of water, sucking down a long drink until it was empty. The water had a peculiar metal taste, but Maryanne drank as if it were fresh, filtered water, knowing her life depended on it. She used her hand to wash herself as she splashed it up into her face. Taking another cup of water, she used it to clean the crusty spoon, and ate some of the beans. They had been recently opened and did taste quite good. At this point, anything tasted good, she thought. The protein would keep up her strength and she had to make the best of what was here. The can was empty and she chewed on the hard bread until she couldn’t take another bite. She finished the cup of water, and lay back down, huddled in a fetal position, trying to keep her cold, aching body warm.
34
Joan anxiously prepared her day for clients and calls, all the time thinking about Father Martucci’s visit to the Valencia Manor, at seven. She felt positive he would be able to help, and looked forward to his intervention with the Valencia Manor. If anyone could make the evil leave the manor, it had to be a Priest; she was convinced. Joan had done some research on the ritual of some Priests and their ability to cleanse evil from a home or building. She had confidence this may be the solution to ridding the house of any evil paranormal activity.
The phone rang, and Steve was on the other end.
She had completely left him out in the dust with all that had been going on with her business and the Valencia Manor.
“Hey, stranger,” he remarked. “Remember me? I’m the one who has been thinking about you since our last meeting?”
“How are you, Steve. It’s good to hear from you. I apologize for not calling, but everything has been going so crazy with my business and the Manor. I never seem to have time for any social life at all. I miss you. I have so much to tell you! We really should get together for dinner, maybe this weekend if you are free. I can cook at home. I’ll make whatever your heart desires. What do you say to that?”
“I would love that. I have Sunday open. I’m off Sunday and Monday, unless they call in an emergency. However, I think things have calmed down a bit here of any new crimes occurring. People must be temporarily behaving, I guess. The work on Maryanne’s disappearance is current and ongoing with many leads. When I’m not there, a team of five others are diligently turning over every stone. I have some time on Sunday. How does that sound?
“Absolutely, it will be perfect for me. Be here at five, light the barbeque and I will make you the best steak you’ve ever had. Oops! I said it was your choice. What would you like me to make?”
“I love steak, but you make whatever you want. I’ll bring a nice bottle of Frey Organic Syrah. I know you like that.”
“Great, Steve. I’ll see you Sunday at five. If you feel like coming over early, please do so. I hate being alone and worrying all the time. This will be a great diversion.” Actually, it will be the first Sunday I have free for a few weeks, so it works out beautifully! Thanks for calling.
35
Mario started the day with a burst of energy and was in and out of the shower within fifteen minutes. He left home by seven a.m. and was on his way to work thinking about the meeting with Father Martucci. He wasn’t really convinced that a Priest could actually get the job done, but then he didn’t believe in haunted houses, either. He was willing to give it a chance, though, realizing there was nothing to lose by trying.
He went by the chief’s office to get an update on the case without mentioning the meeting about to take place with Father Martucci. He figured the chief would only laugh, so it was better left unsaid. The schedule for the day was not too heavy, and he had extra time to catch up on Harold Arnold’s case. Harold had finally been arrested as a suspect in the Dirkshire murder and was being interrogated that afternoon. Mario was pretty sure Arnold had killed the old woman while trying to get the title for the Valencia Manor. The way he figured, Harold could have been a victim of Mr. Farthington by a fraudulent title, possibly forged while Harold Arnold was in prison for the robbery. If that turned out to be true, Harold could end up owning the Valencia, after all. That would be a very weird twist of fate.
His desk phone rang, startling him. “Hello, this is Mario. What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Detective. Sheriff Baxter, here. Got some info on Irene Dirkshire. Wonder if I might meet you around five o’clock. I can drive over to Boulder, and we can meet for coffee.”
Just what Mario had been waiting for. Any information that could speed things up would be welcome. “As a matter of fact I would like to talk to you about that case. I have an hour or so to spare around five. Where do you want to meet? There’s a little coffee shop on the way to Lyons, outside of Boulder. Know which one? On Foothills Highway. That bar and grill. What’s the name of that place?” Mario questioned.
“I think you’re talkin’ about Jack’s Grill. It’s a ways out on north Foothills Highway. I can meet you there at five, if you can make it.”
“I’ll be there, Sam. I’m lookin’ forward to seeing you.”
Four o’clock and Mario checked out a little early so he could stop by Joan’s to verify the meeting with the priest on his way to speak with Sam. When he arrived at Joan’s, she was hurrying down the stairs, heading toward her car. He rolled down the window. “Hey, good lookin’. What’s going on?” She jumped back when she heard him. She was miles away in thought.
“Oh! Sorry, I was miles away. I’m leaving early so I can prepare for the meeting at the Valencia and I’m a little apprehensive about it.”
He nodded with understanding. “That’s why I stopped by; I’m going to meet Sheriff Baxter in a while. Says he has some news on the Dirkshire murder case. I’ll meet you at the Valencia by seven and fill you in on the meeting later.”
He drove until he reached Jack’s Grill. When he went inside, he found Sam Baxter sitting in a booth near the back of the cafe. Sam was smiling and cheerful, as usual. He greeted Mario, and they made small talk until an older, female server handed them menus, but Mario declined, asking for strong coffee, and Sam followed suit.
“Mario, let’s get right down to it. Yesterday, we found some paperwork and a legal document filed by Mrs. Irene Dirkshire two weeks ago, not long before she was discovered dead. The document says if something happened to her, the Valencia would go to Maryanne O’Donnell. This is a new twist in the case. I think Harold Arnold had previously threatened her, and she had the document drawn up, just in case something happened. The title work, filed by John Farthington after Harold went to prison, would have given Harold full ownership, but since the documents appeared to have been changed, we are not positive yet. From the information we have, apparently Harold relinquished all ownership of the Valencia before he was incarcerated. If we find fraud on the part of John Farthington, then Harold would still own half the manor and Maryanne the other half. There could be some real legal issues here.
“John Farthington and Mrs. Dirkshire are both deceased, and at this point we still don’t even know if Maryanne is alive. Harold could end up owning the whole kit and caboodle! How about that for a strange turn of events? To top it off, Harold may be convicted of murder. What then?” Sam unraveled the entire scenario and leaned back with a troubled expression on his aging face. He took a big gulp of coffee and then sighed. “Good darn coffee, Mario” His blue eyes sparkled, surrounded by his salt and pepper hair, badly in need of a cut.
Mario took in the news and sat quietly processing the fa
cts. “Hmmm, you’re right, it is very complicated, but we’ve come pretty far with this already, and I am inclined to think we’re just on the brink of figuring this whole thing out. Pretty sure there’s someone else involved with the incident at the Maryanne O’Donnell’s house break-in. I have a meeting tonight with Mrs. Bishop, the real estate broker who is dealing with the Valencia Manor. She has helped a lot with the case, as well. I’m convinced the evidence we have will close the case by next week. Two open-ended threads left concerning the symbols on the walls and the other break-in are most likely two random crimes, but we are getting close.”
“I hope you’re right. It’s been a complicated mixture of events.” He held the mug up and motioned to the server for more coffee. She cheerfully refilled both mugs.
“Would you like some homemade peach pie with ice cream? It’s the best anywhere, guaranteed,” she tried to convince them, smiling all the while.
“Oh what the heck. Bring me some pie. No ice cream, though, got to watch my figure,” Sam kidded.
“You’re gonna have some too, right Mario?”
“I guess so, sounds good. No ice cream for me either.” Mario commented.
“Comin’ right up!” After indulging in pie and conversation, the two men got up from the table. Sam patted his stomach with satisfaction, and Mario placed two, crisp, new dollar bills down for the server.
Sam paid for the pie and coffee on the way out.
“I’m definitely stuffed, but it was worth every bite.” The two men shook hands briefly. Sam got into his truck and watched as Mario’s truck headed down the road back to Boulder. Then he pulled out and headed toward Lyons and home. Sam tuned the radio to his favorite sixties station and enjoyed the drive back to Lyons as he mulled over the Dirkshire Murder.
