“What do you think of Babs’ death?” Diane asked.
Lauren clucked her tongue. “You sure you want to talk about that Di?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to be in trouble with corporate.”
“That’s all you’re worried about? What about the mutiny brewing here? Everyone thinks ghosts are killing our residents. Can you believe that nonsense? I mean, I love the history here just like anyone but I don’t think Marilyn Monroe’s ghost is wandering the halls.” Lauren clucked her tongue again. “You need to get to the bottom of this, Diane. Get ahead of this. It’s the only way. Were there any mysterious deaths before Babs? Anything out of the ordinary?” Lauren pressed. Her needles stopped clicking and Diane put her cup down.
“I swear to you, Lauren, they all died of heart attacks. If Dr. Jerris had flagged anything, I would have reported it to the police and to corporate.”
“I know, honey. I know. You are many things, but I know you aren’t cruel. No, not cruel.” The needles began clicking again and Diane picked up her coffee mug, reveling in its warmth. She hoped Lauren was right about her not being cruel, and that she hadn’t made the most terrible mistake of her life. She had already kissed her promotion goodbye and knew there was no way Matt would help her out now, even if she were the best lay he’d ever had. Why was this happening to her? Goddammit, why?
Szymon crouched in the dark train car and was proud of his efforts to be small and quiet. He kept silent the entire walk to the station. The bad man deposited him with the other children near a train and Szymon didn’t wait long before other bad men packed him and the other children so tightly into the train car that Szymon couldn’t lift his arms up. The wind howled outside as the temperature dropped down to frigid as night came. He heard some girls crying behind him, but the car was dark enough that he couldn’t see anyone’s faces. His stomach grumbled as his mama only gave him a piece of bread and a small bit of cheese for breakfast.
He shifted to his left. The other children’s bodies helped him stay warm and made his eyes want to close. He wanted to sleep, but Papa said sleeping was very bad when it was so cold outside and warned him that if he ever got lost out in the forest behind their house that he should never sleep. He forced his eyes open. He had to stay awake.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He could only move several inches back and forth before his neighbors complained or jabbed him in the ribs. He hummed the song his mama sang him every night. It was the only one he remembered.
Despite his best efforts, Szymon felt his eyelids grow even heavier. He struggled to keep them open and shifted from one foot to another again. If he could just push the boy next to him, he thought, he could get more room. He tried a gentle nudge, but the boy next to him didn’t react at all.
The car lurched forward, and he heard a small cheer come from somewhere in the darkness in front of him. They were moving.
He had to pee so badly. He’d heard somebody pee some distance away and could smell the pee everywhere in the car. Maybe the bad men would let them out soon, Szymon thought, and his stomach grumbled in response. He was so hungry and cold. Maybe he could close his eyes for just one minute. His mama always said that sleep made the next day better.
Sara Caine knew the first place to search for recent deaths was through the Los Angeles County Public Health Office. Every death in Los Angeles needed to be registered with them, and she had a friend who could access their files. She took the ramp onto the 101 freeway, the lights of downtown Los Angeles on the horizon. Midnight on a Tuesday and the 101 had enough cars on it for traffic to bog down to a crawl. Her boy, Richie, would just be getting going.
The downtown community was a small one, and Sara’s and Ritchie’s paths had crossed numerous times at local watering holes. She got off on the Spring Street exit and headed for the Arts District. Downtown LA at this hour sat empty, and the only people on the streets were cops and the homeless taking shelter in the empty doorways.
She turned left on Second Street and passed both police headquarters and Little Tokyo and had to slam on her breaks as some night owls suddenly stepped into the street from one of the late night noodle joints. They waved their apologies, and Sara smiled back, giving them a small nod. Thank God she wasn’t driving too fast, she thought as she took her foot off the brake and cruised forward.
Ritchie lived in an industrial area that was collectively known as the Arts District that started the moment she crossed Alameda Street from Little Tokyo. She loved this area herself, but rents had already gone way past her budget. She turned right onto Alameda Street and then onto Fourth Street. New graffiti flashed in her headlights, and she wished for the hundredth time she lived there.
The Arts District consisted of former factories redeveloped into million dollar lofts and was home to the prestigious Southern California Institute of Architecture. Strange sculptures sat on most corners and every building was a canvas for colorful paintings, graffiti, and political posters. None of the owners minded the art that turned up overnight on their buildings’ walls. Rather, they welcomed it.
The art provided a stark contrast to the trash filled streets and homeless encampments. Many factories were still in use, adding a raw flavor to the neighborhood. The price hikes didn’t make much sense to her with the smaller version of skid row existing alongside the front doors of the converted lofts but that’s how things stood. She turned onto Molino Street, found street parking and dialed Ritchie.
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey Sara, how’s the ghosting business?” She smiled at the sound of his voice. He was good people.
“I happened to be in the neighborhood. Wanna help me with something?” she said as she got out of the car and walked to his loft. “I’m right outside your building.”
“Code is 4698. Let me get decent, doll,” he said. Sara punched in the numbers he gave her and got buzzed in right away.
She stepped into a small vestibule containing a bank of mailboxes and a metal staircase leading to the upper levels. She went up to the second floor and took the corridor to the right. The olive green walls and dim wall sconces made the halls gloomy and, although she felt no ghosts here, there were plenty of nooks and crannies where a human predator could easily be hiding. Her pace quickened.
She found 1168 in one of the numerous miniature hallways and knocked on the door. The door swung open immediately and Ritchie, his blond curly hair still dripping from the shower, grinned his hello.
“Sorry, I showed up unannounced,” she said and eyed his body beneath the blue chambray shirt and jeans. The man was built like that English soccer player that everyone was in love with, Beckwith, or was it Beckham? She had written him off as a pretty boy, but then he told her about the darknet one drunken night, and they became friends. His computer skills came in handy during a case involving a missing girl, and she was able to pick up a few non-paranormal clients after that, off book. She might not have found a Private Investigator to take her on as a mentee but at least she’d logged in some investigative hours. She gave him a percentage of her fee, if the client paid, although he never asked for money in exchange for his help.
“Another case?” He gestured her inside, his voice rising in excitement. She walked into his ultra-modern loft and noted nothing had changed since the last time she was there. Ritchie’s was a consummate bachelor’s pad filled with dark wood, black leather, and treated metal furnishings, the only light coming from four monitors and various computers. The flickering blue and red glow made the shadows come alive.
“I think so, but I don’t have a client yet,” she said and perched on his black, leather sofa. His furniture might be beautiful, but it was also seriously uncomfortable. “Fredrick got us into what used to be the Bockerman Hotel. It’s an assisted living facility now.”
“Is it as haunted as they say it is? I never thought Marilyn walked those halls but Valentino surely must have. What about D.W. Griffith? Fanny Farmer?” He knew the history of Los Angeles better than she did, she
thought as he sat down next to her. They’d spent many nights bonding over LA history and scotch.
“I saw Griffith in the lobby. He’s a real character,” she said and smiled. “That was the fun part. I then watched a woman get murdered.” She rubbed her face. “I think there have been other killings there as well, I’m sure of it.”
He got up and crossed over to his setup. “That must have been beyond intense. You OK?” he asked with concern. Sara nodded. “So I’m thinking you want me to get you some death certificates,” Ritchie said, opened up a terminal shell and started typing. “This might take a while.”
Sara figured as much and settled into the uncomfortable couch for the long wait. Feeling safe there, her lids soon got heavy and she fell asleep to the sound of his typing.
Barney Leonard stepped out of the elevator and into the path of Russell Hall, Sunshine’s security guard and its preeminent creep. He attempted to push past him, but the man grabbed him by the arm.
“You put your deadbolts on without permission. Diane sent me up here to either get them off your door or get a copy of the keys. It’s in your lease to give the management all keys so we can get into your apartment in case of an emergency,” Russ explained.
“I’m not doing either. This is my apartment, and I will not be the next victim,” Barney spat out. “If Diane has a problem with that, you tell her she can come up here and tell me herself. We can work it out on our own. I don’t appreciate her sending you to intimidate me. It’s not going to work,” Barney said and pushed past him. Russ threw his hands up in disgust.
“Fine, I’m just trying to do my job. You don’t have to be such an asshole about it,” he said. Barney spun around, rage coursing through him. He stalked to Russ, finger pointed at him.
“YOU are the security guard. YOU are supposed to be protecting us. Someone is KILLING US and you are worried about the locks. Thank God for my locks. I’d be dead by now if it weren’t for those locks. Babs would still be alive if she had put hers on as I urged her too,” he yelled, jabbing his finger into Russ’ chest. “Maybe YOU should do your job and protect us,” he spat out.
Russ, his face a deep shade of red, just stared at him. Barney, embarrassed at his outburst, turned away and walked back to his apartment without saying another word. He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. Russ was just a big oaf, and this wasn’t his fault. He slammed the door shut behind him.
Barney shifted in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. A decent night’s sleep had eluded him ever since Babs died. A ticker tape with the words MY FAULT ran through his head in a continuous stream. He should have convinced her to put that damn deadbolt on her door, should’ve installed it himself. The guilt squirmed in response and tightened its grip on his stomach. The acid bubbled up, and he sat up in bed before it journeyed up his pipes. He’d gone through several bottles of Tums in the last week, but the chalky tablets were not working.
His stomach problems, especially when he felt guilt, dated back to childhood. His mother, a practitioner of basic village homeopathic remedies, had always made him a concoction of cheese and radish. She grew the black radish in their small back garden and made the cheese herself from the two cows the Nazi’s had allowed them to keep. The rest of the cows had been confiscated by the Blue police, Granatowa policja, on the order of Krimanlpolizei Braun, the German officer who ruled over their town of Szczebrzeszyn.
He found himself thinking back to that time more and more, especially since Barbara’s death. The past seemed more real to him than yesterday’s dinner. His mother’s face had become more vivid then it had been in years. She died in Auschwitz sometime in forty-four. Their neighbor, Pani Magda, saved him from the same fate by hiding him in her own home the night they came.
He had been in the outhouse when he heard his mother scream. He rushed out to help her and Pani Magda caught him in mid run and dragged him into her own house. They hid in her closet with her hands over his ears. Despite her best efforts, he heard everything they did to her. He didn’t fully understand her violation until many years later, and he never saw her again. Pani Magda helped him find out what happened to her but that was so long ago. Another life in another land.
He rubbed his face and returned to the present. He looked to the pieces of short wave radio scattered all over the top of the desk. Maybe he should get up and put that damn thing back together again. He wouldn’t call it relief, but it was something to do. He’d told Babs that, and she understood. She was good like that. She really listened to him when he talked unlike most people who were just waiting to say their piece. She reminded him of his mother, or the few memories of her that he still had. Maybe that’s why he fell so head over heels in love with her.
He got up and padded over to his worktable. He hated being idle and had been a workaholic all his life. His boss, Denny, forced him into retirement when he discovered his partial hearing loss. He couldn’t be a sound engineer when his right ear couldn’t recognize mid-tones. He understood, but it didn’t make the time pass much quicker.
He picked up his screwdriver and got to work as his mind wandered back to that night. He should have stayed the night. She had wanted him too, but he told her it wasn’t his thing.
He grunted, and his mind wandered back into the past. War did things to people. Some people forgot the horrors while others buried it deep. He never spoke of those times with anyone, but the nothingness followed him nonetheless. He’d kept it at bay for most of his life but now, in the middle of the night, it crawled to him from the shadows. He kept his head down and tightened one of the screws.
The sound of the handle shifting back and forth banished his memories for the moment. She came for him as he’d imagined she came for Babs. There was one difference. He had a deadbolt.
The handle stopped moving.
Barney tiptoed to the door. He wanted to catch the bitch in the act more than anything. He peeked into the keyhole as his hands ran over his four locks and deadbolt making sure they were locked.
The building held its breath along with him in anticipation but the hallway stood empty. Fear traveled through his body, and he prayed the others took the precautions he had told them to.
Mary Ann McClatch tossed and turned in her bed. Her feet were cold but when she used her extra blankets, they got too hot. Her studio felt drafty, and her preference would have been Barney’s bed. It had been several days already, and it wasn’t as though they had all the time in the world. She didn’t go in for all this guilt and regret. It was a huge waste of time.
Who knew how long any of them had? Get busy living or get busy dying. She loved that quote from Shawshank Redemption and when Morgan Freeman said that line, she burst into tears. Barney could use some cues from that movie.
God, her mouth was parched, she thought as she smacked her lips together. She slid her slippers on and padded over to her kitchenette, filling a glass with water. She brought it to her lips when she heard the sound.
Click. Click. Click.
She turned to her door and smiled at the moonlight glinting off the three locks, one of them a deadbolt. No way was anyone getting in here. Thank you, Barney.
She watched in fascination as her door handle rotated left to right, her adrenaline kicking into action. Something shoved hard against the door, but the door held. Mary Ann only realized she had stopped breathing when she heard the footsteps recede in the distance.
She finished off the glass of water and climbed back into bed. She lay down and stared up at the ceiling.
The footsteps had sounded different. They were muffled like footsteps on carpet. She frowned. A ghost would be able to get through the door so if it wasn’t a ghost it had to be Nurse Lou. Barney had gotten it right after all.
I strode down the hallway, trying doors as I went. They took precautions against me, I thought as my fury mounted. I tried the next one. And then the next. The last door on the right gave way to me.
The door opened with a creak, and the floor groaned under me a
s I glided to her.
I watched her shift in bed. Her hand snaked out of the covers and itched her hairline. I took the opportunity and grabbed it. While pressing her arm against the bed, I took out my syringe.
I stuck her with the needle, and she woke up with a gasp.
Her eyes grew wide with recognition as I injected her. “You?” she gasped out, and I leaned in close to her, waiting for the air bubble to reach her heart. Her free hand clutched at her chest, her breath came out in fast gasps. She let out a small scream, and I clamped my hand over her mouth.
“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” I whispered. Her eyelids fluttered as her body stilled. I closed her eyes.
They always looked better that way.
I breathed in deep, relishing the moment. Too much time elapsed between them. I made my sign, hidden in my secret spot, and smiled.
She couldn’t keep her secret any longer. The world would know what she was and why she had to die.
Lou Fairbanks’s eyes flew open, panic stuck in her throat. She stared up at the black void in front of her and tried to move her head. She was paralyzed.
She felt evil in the room, somewhere in the corner near the door. She used every ounce of effort to try to turn her head, but her body wouldn’t obey. She felt the evil shift, and she struggled to open her mouth and scream. She managed to open it a crack and the pressure on her chest increased. She began to hyperventilate.
Whoever was in the room would kill her and she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. If she could just make a sound, maybe she’d scare it off. Dads would wake up. She choked on a cry and tried to scream. All that came out was a gurgle.
One horrible gurgle.
A sound came from around the door, and she waited to die. The evil slithered closer and she was helpless against it. Lou squeezed her eyes shut and felt the tears roll down her cheeks. After all that she’d done, she deserved this. She deserved all of it.
The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 10
