They began to search the room. Melissa took the bedroom and Casimir the lounge, getting down on their hands and knees to feel around underneath all the furniture and look for anywhere a key might have been slipped, such as vents or the point where the carpet met the walls, and getting up close to a number of concealed stains, damp spots and hidden dust bunnies. It was a slow, tiring process.
“Nothing,” he said, standing and dusting off his hands.
Melissa was empty-handed, too. He went through and gave her a boost so that she could check the canopy above the bed, but, again, nothing.
Casimir yawned. “I’m half dead; let’s go to bed and resume tomorrow.”
“Sounds good to me.” Melissa grinned.
“Sorry, Mel, but I’m too tired. We’ll save our celebrating for when we’ve got it and are sunning ourselves on a tropical beach somewhere.”
As he switched off the light and slipped into bed beside her, he heard the light patter of rain on the window. They had arrived ahead of the dark storm clouds coming in from the north beyond the tall pines, and the clouds were Casimir’s biggest worry now. If any of Jerry’s acquaintances realized what they were up to before they pulled their disappearing act, he didn’t give himself and Melissa good odds. If the storm delayed them...
Such thoughts kept him sleeping lightly, consciousness returning woozily every so often to consider the danger he had put himself in. When he did sleep, mobsters and Jerry’s reproachful corpse filled his dreams.
He woke with a start, certain he had heard someone in the room, shuffling about. Someone moving softly — searching? A memory vaguely tugged at him, but his sleep-fogged brain couldn’t quite place it. The curtains that surrounded the bed meant he could see nothing of the room beyond. His heart hammered.
“Jerry, that you?” mumbled Melissa, still asleep.
Casimir didn’t answer, but slipped out of bed. He wished he had thought to unpack his gun, but it was hidden in the bottom of his case. It had always sat in the back of his desk drawer — he wasn’t a thug: he used a computer, not weapons.
He could see no one.
He quietly picked up a bedside lamp, then realized it was plugged in and no good if someone was in the lounge.
“Hello?” he called, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Anybody there?”
Just silence.
He switched the lamp on and shone it like a torch. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow move, then realized it was just the motion of the beam.
He switched the main lights on and blinked at the sudden flood of light.
“What is it, honey?” Melissa’s muffled voice called from the bed.
“Nothing,” he said, softly, as he advanced. An unpleasant tightness squeezed his chest.
He flicked the bathroom light switch and glanced into the en suite. It was empty. So was the lounge area. He checked the door; it was locked. Just to make sure, he jammed a chair up against it.
“You okay?” Melissa called.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. Just a bad dream.”
He had more of those after he climbed back into bed, while the room seemed to respire with the rising winds outside.
~
They woke early, ready to resume their search immediately, pausing only briefly for breakfast.
“I had a terrible night,” Melissa pouted as she picked at her cereal. “I was dreaming of Jerry. Urgh!” She shuddered and jabbed her finger into her mouth to indicate nausea. “He was normal, at first, but, then, he was all dead and decayed and...” She shuddered again. “Horrible.”
Casimir stretched, trying to unknot the tension he felt. “Just keep focused on the prize,” he told her, before taking a large gulp of coffee.
Thunder rumbled outside and he sighed. They needed to be out of here before the storm held them up.
“Put the TV on — I want to see the weather.”
She put it on, but the picture was breaking up and pixelating, clearly affected by the weather outside.
“ —orm blanketing — area — warning people not to—,” he made out between the seizures.
“Oh!”
He looked at Melissa. “What?”
“I — nothing.” She chewed a piece of toast, then added, “For a moment, I thought I saw...”
“Saw what?”
She gave a half shrug. “For a moment, I thought I saw Jerry’s face.”
Casimir swore. “This is bad.”
“Why, honey?”
“If he’s on the news now, that means the police must think he was murdered. Either that, or they know about the money he stole. Either way, the odds are, they’re on their way here. Dammit, it’s all falling apart...”
“Oh, now, honey.... It might not even have been him. I mean, his picture was all messed up and it was only a moment. In fact, now I think about it, it was like he was reaching out, not like a news photo. It was probably a TV show on another channel. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you...”
“Hmm, maybe.” He wasn’t entirely convinced, but whatever the truth, it didn’t matter. If they were to find the key, they needed to hurry.
He stood, resolute. “Right, let’s try the bathroom. It has to be in there.”
“That’s always a good place to hide things,” Melissa said, finishing her last piece of toast. “Check behind the mirror: that’s where I hide my pills.”
Casimir wished he had brought a pair of gloves as he felt around behind the toilet and checked in the tank.
He slammed the tank lid down and swore. “Where is it?”
They had searched everywhere. Outside, thunder crashed as if in reply to his cry.
“Calm down, honey. There’s no use in getting upset.” She went to the door. “I’ll go get us some drinks.”
He sat down and tried to think whether there was somewhere they had missed. If it wasn’t in the room, then they would need to check the public areas of the hotel, the basement and such like. He didn’t fancy having to explain why they were poking about the place, given the way in which the staff seemed so nosy.
He drummed his fingers on the side table as he waited for Melissa to return. There was definitely something... off about the room. Something not quite right. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. As if the dimensions were off or the angles not quite right. Like something in those cheap paperbacks he read as a kid. It was annoying, niggling at him just as the location of the key was.
That was probably it. Something he wasn’t seeing. Some place where Jerry might have hidden the key. But where? Where hadn’t they looked?
The vents! Casimir had felt around inside the flue in the skirting board, but there was a larger grating in the ceiling, which he hadn’t tried. Maybe Jerry had slipped the key in there? Perhaps... yes, it was probably large enough that he might have got up inside it and hidden the key somewhere in the duct.
He stood up and dragged the leather chair over to where the vent was. Balancing on it, he reached up and used his car key as a makeshift screwdriver to remove the screws so that the cover fell away. He could have done with being a bit fitter: spending all his time behind a desk and too many rich dinners were not the best of preparations for clambering about like this.
Casimir was a little disappointed the key didn’t drop down with the cover. He reached up and felt inside the vent. The metal flexed and popped beneath his hand. There was a layer of dust, and an unpleasant slickness as if grease had built up inside the tube.
With some difficulty, he pulled himself up, head and shoulders, inside the vent and looked around. It looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time and, although probably just large enough that Jerry might have squeezed inside, didn’t seem to have been disturbed. There was no sign of the key. He shuddered a little at the tightness of the space.
With a groan, he lowered himself down and screwed the cover back into place, before moving the chair away and slumping back down into it. The thought of sitting directly below the vent filled him w
ith unexpected dread.
“You’re just being silly,” he told himself, then jumped as the door clicked open and Melissa entered bearing two whiskeys.
“You took your time,” he muttered, after recovering his composure and standing.
“I was chatting with the dishy barman.” She gave him a teasing smile.
Flirting, more like, he thought, and was surprised at just how jealous he felt. He and Melissa weren’t really an item. She had been going out with Jerry, a casual fling, not anything serious, and hadn’t exactly been torn up at news of his death. Casimir had contacted her as he tried to locate the key, and had taken her on as a partner in his quest. That she had willingly let him into her bed wasn’t supposed to denote any more than another casual fling, but he found himself hoping they would be in it together for the long haul.
He took the shot glass and took a swig.
“I asked him about Jerry,” she said, and he practically spat the whiskey out.
“You what?”
“I said, I asked him about Jerry.”
“For crying out loud, what part of the need to keep this quiet don’t you get? Don’t you realize that this is illegal cash?”
She grinned. “Credit me with some sense, honey,” she said, patting his arm. “Just because I’m blonde, it doesn’t mean I’m dumb. While I was chatting to the barman, I ‘happened’ to mention that I’d heard about the guy who died here recently.”
“Subtle.”
“Turns out, it was. He laughed and asked ‘Which one?’” She gave a theatrical shudder. “Seems there have been a few recently. Makes you wonder what’s wrong with this place.” She laughed. “Still, I got him to talk through them and, when he got to Jerry, he said he hardly left this room, so I don’t think he’s likely to have hidden the key anywhere else.”
He swore.
“A simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed.”
“Sorry. It’s just that I can’t see where in here it could be.” He swallowed the last of the whiskey and slammed the glass down onto the table.
“Temper!”
Ignoring her rebuke, Casimir said, “Let’s take a break, eat some lunch, and then we can regroup and look at things afresh.”
She nodded and picked up the phone. They would eat in the room. Outside, the storm was raging and their chances of a quick getaway were almost nil. It was so dark that it felt more like supper than lunch.
As they waited for their meal to be delivered, Casimir looked around and, once more, felt the nagging feeling that there was something not quite right about the room. He decided to ask Melissa.
“Hmm.” She sucked on her lip for a moment and then, slowly, said, “You know, I think you’re right. I can’t quite say what it is, but something isn’t right.”
She stood and began to pace back and forth, as if measuring the room.
Before she could reach any conclusions, there was a knock at the door and their meal was delivered. Melissa sat down and they began to eat.
“Lovely,” Casimir declared, smacking his lips, having finished off the best rare steak he had had in a long time.
“Now,” he went on, after finishing his wine, “let’s get back to it.”
Melissa got up again and resumed her pacing.
Casimir also stood, although his wanderings about the room were aimless.
Suddenly, Melissa snapped her fingers and gave a laugh of delight. “Got it!”
“What? The flu?” he snapped.
“No, silly. I know what’s wrong with this room.” She pointed at the lounge wall.
“Well?” he asked, annoyance and interest warring in his tone.
She stepped over to the wall and rapped on the panelling. “There. This side is narrower than the other; the bathroom makes it difficult to see.”
“Okay,” he said, slowly crossing over to the wall, “how do we open it up?” He ran his hands over the wood panels until, at last, he exclaimed “Aha!” He had located a section that seemed to depress beneath his touch. He pushed at it and there was a soft click.
A section of panelling sprang outward a fraction of an inch, and he hooked it with his finger and pulled it open to reveal a square of darkness about two feet by two feet. He was a little disappointed the key wasn’t there waiting for him.
“Jerry must have found this and hidden the key... inside.” He paused for a moment, then said, “I wonder where it leads?” Then, he turned to Melissa and said, “There’s a flashlight in my suitcase. Fetch it, please.” A little self-consciously, he appended a “darling” to his request.
She smiled at him, then went through to fetch it, while he continued to stare at the darkness and wonder where the opening led. Maybe it was some atavistic fear, but there was something about the space that made him shiver.
“Here you are.” Melissa handed him the flashlight.
“It better be in there,” he said, flicking on the torch beam. The lure of ten million was only just enough to propel him into the dark, narrow space.
Casimir crouched down and shined the light inside. It was a short, low passageway that turned to the side before steps descended downward, out of sight. He crawled inside. It was dusty and cobwebbed, but gave the distinct impression that someone had pushed their way through the space not too long ago.
“I think Jerry definitely went through here,” he said, feeling some relief. “No sign of the key, though. There are some stairs...”
“Really?” Melissa pushed her head in next to him. “Cool. I’ve always wanted to discover a secret passage.”
Good for you, he thought.
“I’m going to take a look,” he said.
“I’ll come with you.”
“It’s filthy in here.” He was less concerned about her wardrobe, as expensive as it was, than the possibility of Melissa seeing him scared. He was already feeling twitchy, and if a spider ran at him, he was certain he would squeal like a little girl — and he didn’t want her to see that.
“Oh, pooh! I don’t mind a bit of dust, and I don’t want to miss out on an adventure.”
“Sure, whatever. Follow me.” He crawled for the stairs.
The steps were made of stone, cold and damp to the touch. The sounds of the storm, so clear in their room, were muffled here, adding to the eeriness of the confined space.
Taking a deep breath, he maneuvered himself so that he could climb down the stairs; he could, at least, stand upright here.
“Where do you think this leads?” Melissa asked over his shoulder.
“I’ve no idea. Just keep an eye out for that key.” He gulped, no longer worried what she thought of him. Had somebody used this passage to enter their room? Maybe it was just the damp and constriction, but... “I don’t like this place,” he said.
Melissa put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Me, neither, honey.”
The stairs ended in a rock-hewn tunnel. It was like something used for smuggling, but there was still no sign of the key.
Casimir swore. “I think we’re on a wild-goose chase. Why would Jerry bring the key all the way down here? Surely he would just have left it inside the panel?”
“Maybe we missed it?”
He sighed. “Maybe I’m wrong about it being in the hotel. Maybe he posted it off somewhere. Or, maybe he never even brought it here. Or... I don’t know...”
“What’s that?” asked Melissa, suddenly.
“What’s what?”
“I thought... no.” He shined the beam at her, and she added, “I thought I saw movement ahead, but I think it was just the shadows as you shone the flashlight about.”
He swept the beam back down the passage, and shadows danced before it, seeming to claw their way up the walls of the tunnel. The shadows did move as he shined the beam about. But, then, he heard a sound, a sort of shuffling, dragging sound that reminded him of his grandfather after his stroke, when he dragged his left foot after him.
“Can you hear that?” he whispered. “Shadows don’t make
a noise.”
Melissa put her hand up to her mouth to suppress a gasp.
A figure shuffled into the light. Although the gait was wrong, as if he were injured, Casimir was certain it was — “Jerry?” He couldn’t believe it. Jerry was dead. He tried to remember: had the police actually said they found Jerry’s body? He had assumed they had, but had he been wrong? Had they just made an assumption?
Melissa made a strangled sound behind her hands, and Casimir could see why: as Jerry drew closer, they could see the flesh of his face was bloated and mottled, and his hair and clothing were sodden. Had he been lying on an autopsy slab, there would have been no doubt he had drowned. Only... drowned men didn’t walk.
“Jerry? That you, buddy?” Casimir called, trying to inject a jovial tone into his shaky voice. “Jerry?”
There was no reply. He just continued to shuffle slowly toward them. His mouth worked, as if he were trying to say something, but no words came, just a dribble of water down his chin.
“Casi, he’s dead.” Melissa sounded terrified.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I think maybe the cops made a bit of a mistake. He must’ve fallen in the lake, but managed to crawl out.” He looked back toward Jerry. “Isn’t that right, buddy? You had a bit of an accident, but we’re here to help you. You want I should call an ambulance?”
There was no response, and the closer Jerry got, the less Casimir believed the story he was telling: there seemed no way in which he could look like he did and still be alive. Yet, he was moving and, in Casimir’s world, the dead didn’t get up and walk about.
Memories stirred of their night in room nine. Bad dreams suddenly seemed all too real.
Melissa tugged at his shoulder. “Let’s go. Please.”
Casimir hesitated a moment, greed warring with self-preservation as realization dawned as to why they had been unable to find the key. Again, he found himself wishing he had taken his gun from his case, then he wondered how much good it would have done him.
Melissa tugged at his shoulder again, and it was as if he snapped out of a daze.
“We need to get out of here,” he exclaimed, pushing her back.
They hadn’t gone very far from the stairs, but it seemed to be taking them a long time to return to them. Casimir tried telling himself it was because he kept pausing to shine the light behind them, keeping an eye on Jerry, that doing so was slowing them down, but he knew it wasn’t. He was certain they hadn’t passed any turn-offs, yet a wrong turn was the only explanation that made any sense.
The Haunting of Lake Manor Hotel Page 13
