He turned to her sharply. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I did at the hospital. And I’m telling you now,” she said. He gripped the wheel for support. He couldn’t believe she had kept that from him.
“Do you want to go home and get changed?” he asked instead. If he knew Sara at all, he knew she wouldn’t stop until she got her answers. He needed to stay close to her and hoped whatever protection he could offer her would be sufficient.
“No, let’s go there first. The faster we get this over with, the faster I can sleep,” she said as he turned onto Highland Ave and headed north, the pink hued Hollywood sign glowing like a beacon ahead of them.
“As you wish. Do you want to contact Barney Leonard?” Johan slowed the car as the orange-pinkish light gave way to the blue and neon of the Hollywood Boulevard skyline.
“No. I want to speak with the manager, Diane Lawrence. I’m hoping she’ll give us permission to go to the eighth floor.”
“Louise Fairbanks’s room wasn’t on the eighth floor?” Johan said, slowed the car down and pulled into a line of numerous red taillights. “Damn. I forgot the time,” he said. The LA Basin emptied through four main arteries at four o’clock every weekday. One of the arteries was Highland Avenue, and its traffic wouldn’t lessen until at least seven o’clock. “I should turn off.”
“It’s only a couple of blocks, Johan,” she said. She rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. “Getting there once the sun has set is better anyway.”
They slowed to a complete stop. Johan’s thoughts turned back to the night of the séance. He’d gone over the sequence of events numerous times and each time reached the same conclusion. Sara’s blackout happened because Louise Fairbanks touched her. He was sure of it.
The traffic started to move and when he touched the gas pedal, the car lurched forward. Sara’s eyes flew open.
“Sorry.”
“We’re almost there anyway,” she said, sat up straighter and rubbed her face. The purple smudges under her eyes grew darker as she turned to face him.
“I met Diane Lawrence once when Barney called in Fredrick to set up the cameras. I think we can use that to ingratiate ourselves to her. Say something like he forgot to take down one of the cameras and we need to go pick it up.”
“Were there cameras on the eighth floor?”
“Yes, Fredrick set them up on that floor. He wouldn’t tell me why either. He did take them down but since so much has happened, I’m sure she won’t remember that,” Sara said. Johan had his doubts about that but didn’t say anything. Maybe this Diane would do his work for him and not allow them back into the damn place. He turned onto Hollywood Boulevard and felt his pulse pick up.
The night crawlers slunk among the tourists on the sidewalks as Marilyn Monroe and Spiderman impersonators plied their trade. Johan stared out into the crowd as the hairs on his neck stood up in fear. He’d only felt this fear in the presence of Luther.
The light turned red, and he looked forward again, while scanning the crowd out of the corner of his eye for him. The man whose face was in perpetual motion, a smudge where the features of a face should be. The most powerful demon he’d ever encountered and one that almost destroyed him while killing the only family he’d ever had. He held such power over him that he’d seduced Johan into hunting him for the last ten years. He hadn’t seen him in three years. Until now.
Johan’s hand slipped off the steering wheel and grasped the door handle. Come get me, he heard in his head. Luther was there, calling him.
Come to me.
Johan put the car in park and opened the driver’s side door. He had a foot out of the car when her voice pierced through Luther’s madness.
“What are you doing? Johan, get back in the car!” He felt her hand pulling him back. “JOHAN!” He turned to face her, his eyes going in and out of focus.
Sara slapped him hard, and stars danced in his vision. He placed his palm against his cheek, using the sting to bring himself back. To Sara.
“Johan?” Her voice came out gentle and soft now. He felt her hand on top of his. “Come back to me.” He turned to her and saw the fear in her eyes. “Was it him?” He nodded as he closed the car door to the honks crescendoing behind them. He put the clutch into drive and pressed on the gas pedal. “Are you OK?” she pressed him.
“I’m sorry. I let him get into my head,” he said and turned left onto Ivar Avenue, driving past the Bockerman in search of a meter. He felt her eyes on him, and he tried to ignore her questioning look as best he could.
On the edge of a sea of grey cubicles sat Detective Eva Murphy deep in thought as cops wandered around getting coffee, checking email, and doing the mundane everyday tasks of the precinct. The place looked like any business except for the occasional uniformed policeman who wandered in and out with files. Larson threw himself down in the seat next to her and let out a massive groan.
“Nothing. I’ve found nothing,” he sputtered. “They’re ghosts.”
Murphy took the file out of his hand. “Nothing before Palm Desert?” she asked as her eyes flicked over his notes. “How does a ghost get a nursing degree?”
Larson grimaced and she made sure to give him the warmest smile she could. “We hit shelter. Income is next, right?”
“I know, I’ve been longer at this than you have. You don’t need to be condescending,” Larson said and she frowned.
“I wasn’t trying to be condescending. I was talking out loud,” Murphy said, hurt that he was so quick to jump on her. Larson had a mean streak but tended to keep it in check around her. Today, though, she was his target. Well, screw him, she thought.
“Like I was saying, shelter, income, transportation, and social contact are the keys to finding ghosts,” Murphy reiterated. All she got was a grunt. “Shelter dead ends. We have no idea of profession as he’s always been the retired patient, but she needs nursing credentials.” She turned back to her computer and brought up the database for Death Certificates, typed in Louise Fairbanks and hit search. It took less than five seconds to pull up three relevant people. She clicked on the third and found a record that matched. A woman by the name of Louise Fairbanks died on September 15, 1985.
Larson leaned over. “Hello, Nurse Louise.”
“Yup. I’m assuming the social will match up with our dead nurse.”
Murphy was already typing. It didn’t take long to match up Nurse Lou’s particulars to the dead woman.
“We’re going to need her prints. DNA. Something to identify who she really is,” Murphy said, turning away from her computer.
“She must be in the system.”
“Not necessarily,” Murphy said
“I would think someone who has a stolen identity might be a criminal,” Larson said, the familiar sharpness back in his voice.
“How do these homes monitor their employees? This is an expensive assisted living facility, I can’t imagine they didn’t do an extensive background check on all their perspective employees.”
“You mean like the background check they did on Russell Hall and his neo-Nazi family?”
“Good point. Credit check is enough for them, I guess.” She checked Google for any Louise Fairbanks or Gerald Fairbanks and came up short. “And they have no web imprint.”
“They’re ancient like me, apparently,” Larson said and cast her a side-eyed glance. Not this crap again, she thought. He pushed out of his chair and stood over her as she opened up Lou Fairbanks’ file again. She scanned to their earliest known address, another assisted living home. What was up with the Sunny and Sunshine naming anyway, she thought.
“Mr. Larry Jenkins of the Sunny Days Assisted Living Home, where are YOU located?” Murphy asked the computer screen.
“What did you find?” Larson asked.
“Someone who had to know these two some years back,” Murphy closed the file.
“Field trip?” He rubbed his hands together.
“Your favorite.” She crac
ked a grin, relieved at the change of conversation.
“Getting out of the city is always a dream!”
The back staircase of the Bockerman needed much better lighting, Sara Caine thought, as she and Johan rested on the landing of the fourth floor. They hadn’t been able to find Diane Lawrence in her office and managed to sneak into the staircase before the security guard came back from his bathroom break. Standing there now, she wasn’t entirely sure if this visit was a good idea. Even with its rundown beauty, the Bockerman gave her the creeps.
Many details in the staircase looked original. The wooden balustrade was polished to a veneer that only hundreds of hands could have created over the many years of the hotel. Several lights illuminated each floor making the staircase look straight out of a classic black and white Hitchcock film. Like the staircase from Vertigo, she thought. Her stay at the hospital destroyed any stamina she thought she had, and her chest ached as they proceeded up the stairs.
She snuck a peak at Johan. Since the episode on Hollywood Boulevard, he’d said about four words to her but she was grateful for his company. She could only imagine how hard it must have been for him not to go after Luther. She knew this was his first encounter in years. It was another reason to get to the bottom of what was happening here. She could lose him to the chase at any moment.
“You ready?” His voice echoed in the empty staircase. She nodded and grabbed the balustrade. She could do four more flights, not a problem. She took a deep breath and took the next step.
Sara’s chest exploded in pain as she took the last several stairs and made it to the eighth floor landing with her face burning and breath coming out in small gasps. She felt Johan’s arm on her back and for once didn’t get a shiver at his touch. At least now she wouldn’t tumble back down the stairs. She was more grateful for the support. The ghost had sapped her of all her energy.
“We should have taken a break,” he whispered.
“I wouldn’t be able to start back up,” Sara gasped, doubled over. She needed to slow down her breathing. She took one deep breath and held it in. After a minute, she let it out slow and easy. In and out, in and out. It took another several moments before she could fully straighten out.
“Wanna just leave?” Johan said with a grin.
Sara shot him a dirty look and pushed the door opened. She peeked her head out and found the hallway empty. They stepped out of the stairwell and stood in silence. The only sound of life was a TV playing behind one of the doors. Sara dropped her first wall and waited.
“Anything?” he asked, his breath lifting the small hairs at the nape of her neck. Against her better judgment, she dropped her second wall and felt utterly exposed.
No one came to her.
Wondering if Johan’s presence was keeping Barbara away, she stepped away from him. “It’s hard for me when you’re so close,” she said and moved further down the hallway, alone. She stopped as the temperature in the hallway dipped to freezing and her breath came out in little clouds in front of her. She’d found Barbara.
Sara shot Johan a look and nodded.
Her ears popped as the pressure dropped. Ghosts gathered energy from their surroundings to present themselves in a solid form and Sara’s eyes strained to see where the ghost was.
The form of a woman materialized in front of her. She wore a yellow, flowered nightgown and small pink curlers that covered her entire head. Her eyes stared in fright at Sara as her mouth opened. Her lips began to move, but no sound came out.
“I can’t hear you,” Sara said. The woman’s eyes widened, and her lips moved at a faster speed. Sara held up her hand to stop her.
“You need to focus your energy. Slow down,” Sara said.
The woman flickered and turned her head to look behind her. Sara stared past the ghost and saw the hallway was empty. The woman turned back and opened her mouth. Her scream echoed and rebounded through the hall. Sara squeezed her eyes shut and clamped her hands over her ears. The air popped again and cut off her scream.
With the ghost gone, she uncovered her ears and opened her eyes.
“I heard that scream,” he said in wonder. “She must have died only recently to have that much power. Did you get the feeling it was the same ghost from the séance?” Johan asked. Sara shook her head.
“Her energy was different. I’m positive she was the same woman I saw get murdered on this floor.”
“But not the entity that caused your blackout?” Johan asked.
“No. She didn’t even try to approach me.” She turned to him. “I think you’re right. It wasn’t a ghost that caused my blackout,” Sara said and felt as though she was driving a car at top speed without being able to see out the windshield in front of her. In other words, completely vulnerable and out of control.
“You need to start wearing gloves, Sara. Just in case,” Johan said and Sara nodded again.
“We should go find Nurse Lou Fairbanks,” was all she said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. Why don’t we wait for tomorrow when you are a bit stronger,” he suggested and Sara agreed with him. She wasn’t entirely ready to see what would happen when she touched Lou Fairbanks.
“Sure, maybe you’re right,” she said and saw his surprise. She went down the hall to the stairs without saying anything else.
Larry Jenkins had been a manager of the Sunny Days assisted living home for the last eight years and loved every minute of it. He’d dreamt of helping people since he was a child but wasn’t smart enough to make it to medical school. He had, however, managed to work in health care professions all his life.
He took great pride in how well he ran Sunny Days. Outside that one hiccup the first year on the job, it had been smooth sailing. None of the residents had left over that specific incident, and he got many letters and emails about how happy the families of his residents were during their stay with Sunny Days.
He should have called the cops back then, but without any concrete evidence all he had was a hunch and didn’t feel a hunch was enough. His face burned as the two detectives sat down in the seats across from his in his bright yellow office. He had put that year behind him and tried to forget it ever happened. He would pay for that mistake now.
“What can you tell us about Louise Fairbanks and her father, Gerald Fairbanks, Mr. Jenkins?” The male detective glared at him as the woman detective smiled in encouragement. He’d never been interviewed by the police before, but he’d watched enough cop shows to recognize the good cop bad cop routine. Law & Order used it all the time.
“What do you want to know? And you can call me Larry, everyone does.”
“Do you still have their file, Larry?” Her name was Murphy, he suddenly remembered.
“It was almost eight years ago, correct? We don’t keep employee files that long,” Larry Jenkins said and felt sweat run down his back.
“Do you remember what her references were?” She pressed on.
He shook his head. “Too long ago.”
“Did they ever call each other by any other names?” The male detective cut in. The man reminded him of a barking Chihuahua.
“Nurse Lou called him Dads. She never used his given name.” His brow creased. “I never heard him use her name. That’s odd, isn’t it?” he asked, but neither of them responded.
“Did they have any close friends? Socialize often with anyone?” the other detective asked, and Larry shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Detectives but it was so long ago.”
The Chihuahua leaned in. “How many suspicious deaths happened at this home before you let them go?” The Chihuahua pounced on him. All the air in the room disappeared. He swallowed hard and wondered where all his saliva went. As his mind raced back to that horrible year, the lump in his throat grew big enough that he worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe. How many residents had he lost? 9-10? He’d pushed that nightmare out of his mind so completely he wasn’t entirely sure how many were natural and how many were suspicious. But, the Do
c had noted his concerns, hadn’t he?
“I’m not sure what you mean by suspicious deaths, but Dr. Riley, our facility doctor, brought something odd to my attention.” He paused and hoped this would be enough for them. “One of our older ladies, Julie Richardson, had an odd marking on her body. She died from a brain embolism but the doc found a small needle mark in her arm. Her records didn’t show any recent doctor appointments so she shouldn’t have had any needle marks on her person.”
“How many other deaths were there?” Detective Murphy asked.
“Huh?”
“Did your death rate increase while they were here?” The Chihuahua detective leaned in closer, and Larry could almost smell the man’s breath. There it was, his worst nightmare. He clicked on the mouse to wake up his computer.
“In general or just that year?” Larry asked, pretending to be nonchalant when he was really screaming inside. He brought up the spreadsheet of the incoming and outgoing residents.
“Please bring up that year, 1994, I believe.” Detective Murphy took out a notepad and waited for him. He found the year they asked for and opened it.
“We had 18 deaths in 1994,” Larry said and looked up to see Detective Murphy scribbling in her notebook.
“What about the year before?” Detective Murphy asked.
Larry opened the file for 1993. “Nine.” This was happening, really happening. He really should have called the cops, he thought for the hundredth time.
“What about 1995?” The Chihuahua said, excitement creeping into his voice. Larry noticed his right hand shake a bit as he clicked on the mouse and worried about his own heart.
“Eight,” Larry whispered.
“And you didn’t find this strange?” the Chihuahua barked at him. Detective Larson was his name, Larry finally remembered and looked the detective square in the eye. He could almost imagine him frothing at the mouth.
“I did…I didn’t. I mean, the residents complained about Nurse Lou and when she left…”
The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 16
