Sara Caine woke to a steaming cup of coffee under her nose and realized she had slept through the night. She tossed off the blanket Ritchie had covered her with and sat up, her entire body screaming in pain. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You looked like you needed sleep, girl,” he said and handed her the cup.
“Thank you so much, Ritchie, and thank you for letting me stay here last night.” She noticed the bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?” He shook his head as he handed her a sheet of paper with a list of names and dates.
“These are the deaths recorded at the Bockerman, actually called the Sunshine Assisted Living Facility, going back five years. If you look at the dates—“ He pointed at the first couple. “—they have a death maybe once a month. Sometimes twice. That goes on for about three years and then the rate of death jumps to about three a month.” He points to the bottom of the page. “This is the last four months. The death rate has jumped significantly to about five a month, especially in the last month. Isn’t that weird?”
Sara sipped the coffee and scanned the list. The last six months had been deadly for the Bockerman, especially the last month. Six deaths in the last three weeks alone with the last victim named Barbara Monroe. She pointed to her name. “I bet you that’s the ghost that contacted me last night. She said Barbara and it’s the only Barbara on the list. If she was murdered than we should assume some of these deaths were murders as well. If we take into consideration the previous data on natural death at the facility, I’m thinking three or four of these deaths are murders.”
“That sounds about right. All the causes were listed as cardiac arrest and heart failure. Not sure how to figure out which death is which.”
Sara finished up her coffee, thinking of what the next step could be and came up with a blank.
“Do you think the killer is supernatural?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“No, I didn’t feel anything like that. This one is human. I’m sure of it.” She thought back to the pulling feeling she had on the eighth floor. “She needs me. Everyone is so scared there.” She took another sip of coffee.
“Why do they stay?” Ritchie wondered out loud.
“Where would they go?” Sara countered.
Barney Leonard marched down the hall to Babs’ room. He wanted to be near her, to remember the good times they had there. He needed to remind himself that good did exist in the world.
He tried the knob and was relieved to find it open. He had expected the police would lock it and when he found it open, he knew they still weren’t taking him seriously.
He snorted. They would find out soon enough. Babs was killed, just like the others were. He stepped into her apartment and took in the faint smell of her perfume. She’d told him she wore a mixture of Chanel No. 5 and Chanel’s Mademoiselle as he kissed her neck. Obsessed with having a signature scent, she took to mixing perfumes so no one else would smell like her. He remembered her saying the proper way to apply perfume was to walk into its mist, and he imagined her spritzing the two perfumes into the air.
He sighed at the memory and wished they had kept her things there just a little bit longer. The only thing left in the room was a single bed with a mattress on it. They’d stripped it bare.
He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it used to look like, but his mind stayed blank. His legs wobbled beneath him, and he sank down on her bed. He closed his eyes and imagined her beside him.
The former hotel whispered back about its own secrets and painful memories. It shifted and groaned and trembled. That’s when he heard her.
The footsteps stopped in front of him. His eyes flew open, and there she was, standing in front of him, wearing her pink hair curlers and flowered bathrobe.
“Babs.” His voice quivered as he got up off the bed. “Is that you?” She nodded at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I should have…I failed you.” He sobbed out that last part. She shook her head at him and motioned to the window. “Who killed you? Was it Lou? Did she get in here through the window?”
Babs shook her head and motioned to him again.
“Here,” she whispered. She lifted her arm and pointed at the window before she disappeared.
He closed in on the window to investigate. He dared not touch it in fear of destroying evidence so instead, he studied it as he would a new piece of music gear, trying to figure out its secrets. Both the jamb and the windowsill looked normal.
Could she have meant the view, Barney thought as he stared out onto Hollywood and the Roosevelt Hotel sign. “I’m not seeing it, Babs? Is it the view or the window?” he said to the empty room in the hope she came back to him.
“Bre.....athe.”
He whipped around to see her again, but the room stayed empty.
Breathe. What did that mean? He inhaled and filled his lungs with air. Here went nothing. He expelled all the breath in his lungs and created a circle of dew on the windowpane.
Wait, what was that? As the dew faded from the surface, he caught the edge of something.
Something hand drawn. He sucked more breath into his lungs and exhaled up and down the window where he thought the drawing started.
And there it was. A drawing of what looked like a trident. Three diagonal prongs coming from a vertical line.
He stood back, his mind racing. What the hell was going on? He’d seen this mark before in the old country before on Nazi gravestones. He scratched his head in confusion.
Why would a Nazi symbol be drawn on a window of a murder victim in Los Angeles and in 2005? He mentally did the math. If anyone here at the home were a Nazi, they’d be in their 80’s now. He couldn’t imagine someone that old being able to overpower Babs.
What was the sign doing on her window if it wasn’t made by the killer? He stood and stared as it disappeared in front of him, just as Babs had. She wanted him to know this was here which had to mean her killer put it there.
Diane Lawrence knocked on Lauren’s door and checked her watch one more time. She’d never known her to be late, and it was already 11:30 a.m. She knocked harder and checked the knob. The door creaked open, and her heart dropped. Please God, no, not Lauren. She stuck her head through the door, the blood pounding in her ears.
“I thought we were meeting for lunch. Lauren? Are you awake?” She walked further into the room and saw Lauren in bed, sleeping. “Take a sleeping pill or something?”
She sat on the bed and nudged Lauren.
Lauren didn’t move.
She pulled the covers down and saw the blue tone of Lauren’s skin. And she knew. “Oh my God, Lauren. Please wake up.” She touched her face and checked the pulse on her neck. “Fuck. FUCK. FUCK.” She jumped up, thoughts rushing through her head.
She had to call Dr. Jerris. My God, Lauren. Not her dear Lauren.
“Please Dads. Help me,” Lou Fairbanks begged as she tried to get the sweater over his head. He had allowed her to put his pants on but decided to fight her on the rest. She tugged the sweater down, and he shoved her away, almost knocking her over.
“Jesus, Dads,” she said, surprised by his strength. He plopped down on his bed and turned back to the window. Exhaustion hit her hard enough to make her grab for the bedpost. She could barely stand up, she thought, and checked the time. It was only 11:30.
She sat next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He stayed absent.
“I’m so tired, Dads. Really tired.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she fought back tears. “She came back last night,” she said, but was interrupted by frantic knocking. She stared at the door a moment before heaving herself off the bed. She opened the door to find a distraught Diane. One look on her face told her all she needed to know. Someone else had died.
“Who?” Lou asked.
“It’s Lauren,” was all Diane said.
“Give me a sec. Have you called Dr. Jerris yet?” Diane nodded and hung back as Lou guided Dads from the bed to the dining chair and got him seated. She took a sandwich and a
bag of chips out of the small fridge and put them on the table in front of him.
“Be right back, Dads,” she said, patting him on the back and grabbing her medical bag from under the bed. She turned back to Diane and found her staring off into space. “Diane?” Lou asked her.
Diane’s eyes focused back. “Sorry, I need to plan my course of action,” she said more to herself than to Lou. “Sorry, I mean…” She stepped back into the hall. “I’m in shock. Pardon me for whatever I say. Lauren was a friend.”
Lou nodded and followed her out.
Lou examined Lauren’s body as Diane hovered behind her. She marked down lividity, temperature, and time in her file and straightened when she heard the sudden knock at the door. Dr. Jerris, a man with snow white hair and an orange tan, walked in carrying his own medical case under his arm. How a doctor still used tanning beds in 2005 was beyond her. He flicked his eyes over to her and nodded. Did he think that look worked for him, Lou couldn’t help thinking.
“Good Morning, Diane,” he said in a strong, booming baritone.
“Dr. Jerris,” Diane said and sank into the nearest chair.
“And how are you today, Nurse Louise?” Dr. Jerris pulled the sheets down from Lauren’s body, “Have you notated time of death?”
“I guessed between 2-4 am. Rigor is still set,” Lou replied.
“Good. Good. And this woman? What was her health like?” Dr. Jerris asked.
“Shouldn’t you know that, Doctor?” Diane asked, an uncharacteristic sharpness creeping into her voice.
“No, I wouldn’t. Lauren Dolmar decided to go with another doctor some months back. I haven’t seen her since,” Dr. Jerris said.
Diane frowned. “I’m calling the police. She told me last week she had the heart of a fifty year old per her last physical and even spoke of moving out of here. This scenario reminds me very much of Babs’ death.” She got up from the chair. “I’m going to call them.”
“What about Corporate?” Dr. Jerris asked her.
“What about Corporate? I’m not covering for them anymore. This is wrong. Everything’s wrong,” Diane said and left them.
Lou froze. “What other deaths?”
“She must be talking about the recent spate of heart attacks,” Dr. Jerris said as he bent over Lauren’s body.
“Didn’t you rule them natural causes?”
“I did,” he said, and opened Lauren’s right eye with a thumb. “She didn’t die in her sleep,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, Nurse,” he said and straightened. “If what Diane says is true and the woman was in perfect health…she should call the police. She was over seventy-five. We can’t all expect to live forever,” he said and tried to laugh. It died somewhere in his throat. Lou just stared back at him.
Diane Lawrence stood next to Detective Murphy and Detective Larson and stared as the paramedics wheeled Lauren’s body out of the room.
“So you called 911 after all?” Diane jumped at Lou’s whisper. She shot her a nasty look to quiet her down and hoped the detectives hadn’t heard her. Diane inched closer to the detectives.
“Don’t mention the ghost. They’ll think we’re nuts,” Lou hissed at her back and Diane pretended not to hear her. Did the woman really think she was stupid?
“The Doc and the paramedics say heart attack. Is there any reason you think otherwise? She was seventy five, wasn’t she?” Detective Larson asked as he jotted down notes in his logbook.
“She got a clean bill of health just last week, Detective Larson. I also saw her last night, and she was not exhibiting any symptoms of stroke or heart attack,” Diane said through gritted teeth. “Check with her doctor, you’ll see. There was nothing wrong with her and I believe she was killed in the same way as Barbara Monroe,” she said with as much emphasis as she could muster. Lauren deserved much better than these two, Diane thought, and if she needed to go above them she would.
“We’ve had other deaths before these last two,” Diane snapped.
“What kind of deaths?” Murphy flipped open a little notebook.
“Well, heart attacks—some of them unexplained. The resident didn’t have heart problems, but they died,” Diane said.
“Is that unusual for an assisted living facility?” Larson asked, clearly not buying what she was trying to tell him.
“It is unusual. Some deaths are expected every month, but this is definitely out of the norm,” she said and crossed her arms.
“How do we contact…” Murphy noted something in her notebook.
Diane picked up on her thought. “Family? She didn’t have any…” Murphy looked up at that and Diane gave her a small smile. “That’s not so rare, unfortunately,” she said.
“Have you changed your security since Barbara Monroe’s death?” Larson cut in.
She pulled back on her aggressiveness when she saw she had gotten his attention. “No, we have the same security as before. Cameras at all the entrances and a night security guard, Russell Hall,” Diane said.
“Yes, we’ve already spoken with him about Barbara Monroe’s death. Anything strange or unusual happen in the last couple of weeks?” Murphy asked and Diane knew this was her opportunity to come clean about the ghost hunters, but she wasn’t about to lose their interest with that story. She shook her head and kept her mouth shut.
Larson stuck out his hand and she took it. He pumped her arm up and down.
“We’ll be in touch after we speak with the coroner,” Larson said. Murphy took a card out of her pocket and handed it to Diane.
“If there IS anything else you want to tell us or, God forbid, another incident happens, call us directly,” Murphy said and Diane nodded, her mind already rushing forward to all the things that could go wrong. “Oh, and could you supply us with the names of the recently deceased. The ones you think were suspicious,” Murphy added.
“Of course,” Diane said without any hesitation.
Barney Leonard paced outside Mary Ann’s door, trying to decide whether he should knock. Screw it, he decided, and banged on her door. Mary Ann opened up after several seconds and the look on her face told him all he needed to know.
“How are you doing?” She started first.
“I don’t know. You?”
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “Do you want to come in?” she asked and stepped aside to let him pass but he stayed rooted in place.
“We should probably stay away from each other,” he said.
“So what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to tell you that,” he said, his guilt making him stare at her feet instead of her eyes. He should never have gotten her involved in any of this, he thought. Her thin pale legs stuck out of pink leopard skin slippers and the thought that Babs wouldn’t have been caught dead in those popped into his head. He had done all this for her and had gotten Lauren killed in the process.
Mary Ann sagged against the doorframe, all pretense gone. “Won’t people notice that?” she asked, and Barney shrugged. What did it matter now?
“We aren’t responsible…” She began, but he jerked his head up and stared into her eyes.
“It’s our fault, Mary Ann, and don’t you go believing otherwise. We knew the danger… We poked at the pile of snakes, sat back and watched. Our irresponsibility killed her as sure as that monster did,” Barney choked out.
Mary Ann held up her hand. “NO. NO. I won’t allow us…” she started but Barney couldn’t take anymore. He ran away from her.
“Barney! Barney Leonard. Talk to me!” Mary Ann yelled after him, but he didn’t slow down. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the elevator bay. Acid sloshed around in his stomach as he came to a halt and hit the button. Damn old elevator, it never came when he needed it, he thought.
He checked behind him and saw Mary Ann coming after him, waving her arms to get his attention. He should never have come to talk to her, and ran to the staircase instead. He doubted she’d follow him in there. He entere
d the staircase without looking back and took the first step down when he heard the whisper. Barney stepped back onto the landing and cocked his head to listen. Could it be her?
“Heeellooo.” The word swirled around him, and he welcomed it. He welcomed her.
“Barney.” The voice whispered in his ear. “B...a....r..ney.” It was a woman voice. It was her voice. The air got cold enough to make his fingers freeze and his breath came out in small puffs, just as it did in the dead of winter in the old country. He leaned against the wall, surrendering himself to her, to the haunting, to whatever would happen.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to help you, prove that you were killed,” he cried as he felt his legs give out beneath him. He sank to the ground and covered his face with his hands. For the first time in years, hard sobs shook him. Frustration, guilt, and rage poured out of him and he could do nothing to stop himself.
“Take me with you,” he sobbed to Babs. He felt her near him, heard her breath and he wanted to hold her desperately. The air began to warm up, and he felt her dissipate. The feeling he had that she stood right next to him was gone.
“Stay, Babs, please,” he whispered to the empty stairwell, but she had already left him. Pull yourself together, he thought, and used the wall to get himself back on his feet. Babs came back to tell him what happened, and he needed a way to hear her. Although he had called the ghost hunters under false pretenses, they introduced him to Sara Caine. She would be the one to help him find out what had really happened.
Bright morning light forced its way through the feeble curtains and blinded Lou Fairbanks as she attempted to re-dress Dads’ wound. The paralysis from last night haunted her into the morning and made every piece of her body ache. She regained control of her body later on that night, but the nightmares terrorized her into the morning. Having never experienced that kind of paralysis before that first initial night, she was shocked to have it happen again. She checked for the evil presence each time she woke up from yet another nightmare but didn’t feel it again. That was no comfort to her though, and she didn’t sleep until the glare of the Los Angeles sun chased away all the shadows.
The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 11
