The Enigma of the Spirits

by Hector, Jr

  The Faceless Man’s Exordium

  Hector Jr.

  Published by Hector Jr. at Smashwords

  Copyright 2015 Hector Jr.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your person enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter 1

  -Javana-

  I stand at the very end of the group as they are held back by police officers. Exclamations, questions, and insults are thrown into the air as paramedics, coroners, and a multitude of investigators buzzle through the automatic doors of the building. Through the gaps created by the turning head and shoulders, I can see body after body being brought out. Some are already in body bags, but their few compared to the bodies strewn over the strollers.

  “We have a right to know what is happening in our city!” I listen to one of them protest.

  I drown out the cacophony of voices as I raise my camera and focus. I zoom in, noticing the personnel in white suits stroll with bloody pieces of body parts that also bore what use to be white suits. “We have a right--” the person is cut short as I catch one of the police officer suddenly throw a punch at a person, sending this person aback. The mob scoots back. The jumble of people forces my camera out of my hands, before I feel someone rear end me with their elbow. All the air leaves my lungs. The sudden shoving and pushing forces me to the ground, forcing the little air that I had begun to breathe out again. White spots dance around my vision as I feel something hard hit me on my cheek, and then on my head. I groan as that same hard pressure continuously assaults me. I try to take a breath, but the constant barrage upon me will not allow me to inhale. I try to scream, but something spilling into my mouth does not let me. Whatever it is, it tastes like metal. The white spots dancing in my vision become all that I see, until only darkness remains.

  Pain jerks me awake. I gasp for air as my surroundings come into focus. It takes me a few seconds to push past the pain and take a good look around me. White tile, two chairs beside my bed with windows behind the chairs, and a wooden-pressed door to my right. I look down at my arm, a syringe sticking into my flesh as a tube traveled up into whatever medicine was being distributed from the pouch hanging just a few inches above my head. I breathe in and exhale, tugging my chest as my lungs burned. Yet, it was a good burn. I look up as the metal chasel of the doorknob rattles against the wood as the handle turns. I watch a man in a white coat come in, his hands burdened with a folder, before standing beside me.

  “Ms. Javana, you are awake?” he asks me. “Are you in any pain?”

  My voice cracks: "There is a burning sensation every time I breathe, and a dull ache travels throughout my body everytime I try to get comfortable, doctor."

  I watch him wrestle with something along the side of my bed. I lurch forward as I begin to sit up. The doctor's hands lift up the stethoscope around his neck, barely avoiding his low-cut bushy, curly, hair as he plugged the ear tips into his ears.

  "Take a deep breathe, please," he asks me.

  I breathe in and exhale.

  "Again," he commands.

  I breathe in and exhale. The cold surface of the stethoscope’s diaphragm leaves my chest as he wraps it around the nape of his neck again.

  "There is no abnormalities within your lungs, or any that I can hear anyway," he says as he opens the vanilla folder and begins to rummage through my medical files. "Tests done prior to your awakening revealed bruising throughout your body, but other than that you are fine."

  I look up at him, his brown eyes and dark-colored skin pairing well with his eastern accent.

  “When will I be free to go?” I ask him.

  He opens the vanilla folder.

  “I would like to keep you overnight for observation, but if need is pressing, according to your charts you are in good health.”

  He looks at me again, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek before speaking: “Ms. Javana, any questions for me?”

  I shake my head. I watch as he turns around and heads towards the door. Silence presses against me as I look out the window, listening to the mechanism of the door knob work as the door opens and closes. It has not been long since I awoke, but ever since then I thought it was morning. Upon a closer look at the darkening clouds as the sun set, and the cars lost their sparkle at the loss of the sun’s rays-- it is about to be night time. I look away and lay my head against the pillow. To stay the night does not sound too bad.

  Chapter 2

  -Javana-

  Their is a lite tug at my skin as the nurse gently unhooks the I.V. from my hand. My simple gray shirt had a few blood stains as it comfortably contorted to my body, and my jeans was full of shoe prints. Did this people bother to at least clean up my clothing?

  “You're all set,” the nurse tells me. I nod. My shoes were lost somewhere in all the chaos, so when I get off the bed, my feet touch the cold stone. “Just head down the hallway until you reach the elevator. You are in the third floor,” she tells me as she turns to leave the hospital room. I follow her out. I stand at the end of the hall as I watch people come and go from other hospital rooms, the nurse that attended me suddenly lost in the sea of doctors, other nurses, and patients. I take one step at a time, grunting at the pain that came from my body. It only takes a few minutes, but it felt like eternity as I stand before the elevator door. I press the button and wait.

  -Ding-

  The elevator doors open. I am about to step in when I hear someone call out my name: “Ms. Javana!” I turn, the doctor who attended me stepping out from the sea of personnel and patients. He stands before me and extends his hand towards me. I look down, my camera in his hand. I can’t help but smile.

  “Thank-you,” I say as I gently take my camera’s sash and wrap it across my torso.

  I take a step back into the elevator, inspecting my old-style-retro camera. A few scratches here and there, and the lens was not broken. Other than that it was in perfect condition. I look up just as the elevator doors closed.

  -Ding-

  I step out of the elevator, bumping hard against a passing samaritan. “I am sorry,” I say. This woman with brown hair tied back into a bunt replies, but her words are cut-off as the elevator doors close on her. I hope she got my apology...

  I stand at the entrance of the hospital, the rain hitting the small roof over me as I wait for the taxi. The sign-out process was a nightmare, especially when I had to wait for my insurance to come through. Then, what little belongings they found on me when I was sent here took more paper-work to be signed. All for my wallet and a thin jacket I had on me.

  A yellow car comes into view as it turns into the pickup area and rests before me. I watch the driver roll down the window on the passenger side. “Are you Javana?” the man asks. I nod. “Hop in,” he tells me. I walk down the stairs and head for the back seats. “Where to?” he says as he looks at me through the rearview mirror, his blue eyes a weird contrast to the aged face and white haired mustache and beard. “To the Avenue Apartments, please,” I tell him. The car lurches forward, the hospital lost as other buildings and pedestrians pass by my window.

  “You out of town?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  “Yes,” I say, my australian accent clearly noticeable. I originally was born in Australia, the country of kangaroos. Yet, I came to the states in my twenties to attend college here. I am 29 at the moment, and just graduated with
a Bachelor’s in Journalism.

  “Where are you from?” he asks.

  “I am from Australia,” I tell him.

  “Oh, I get to pickup and drop of people from all over the world, but I have never picked up someone from Australia,” he responds.

  “We are rare breed over here in the states,” I tell him as I chuckle. We lock eyes in his rearview mirror before I look away and watch the passing buildings.

  “What brings you to the states?” he asks.

  “I came here following a story…,” I tell him.

  “You're a reporter?” he counters.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  Silence fills the inside of the car once again, as the buildings passing by through my window get older and more antique, until at last the Avenue Hotel is right in front of me. “How much do I owe you?” I ask him as I take out my credit card. He turns to look at me and says: “It will be $30.00 miss.”

  I hand him my credit card. I watch as he swipes the card through a credit card machine. I listen to the ping and pong the machine makes before he returns the card to me. “Good-luck miss, and be careful out there. A lot of things have been going bump in the night. Especially the rumors about the murders that happened just a few blocks from here, in a hotel called The Saxons Hotel,” he tells me. “I will,” I respond as I step out of the car. I listen to the car speed away before I walk through the entrance of the hotel. I walk through the lobby before I reach the receptionist. It takes me a while as I check into my room, get the key, and make the last few touches on my reservation before I head up towards my room, which is located on the 6th floor. Again I am going up in the elevator, the music actually good before its doors open. I begin walking through the corridor, my footsteps muffled by the clean carpet.

  At last I arrive at my room. I swipe the keycard and open the door. I gently throw the key into a bowl that lies right next to me as I walk past the kitchen. I pass through the living room before heading into the darkness of the hallway. It is barely one in the afternoon, but I feel like death. My feet drag on the carpet as I head towards the room I see at the end of the corridor, to my left. I fumble with the doorknob before I get it to turn. There is a slight squeak as I open the door. I don’t even take off my bloody clothing, my dirty socks, or even spare my camera as I fall onto the bed. I can feel my body instantly relax and my muscles clamp up, as I struggle to get into a comfortable position. Darkness fills my sight until all I can remember is the last thought I had for that day: Why did Charles have to die?

  Chapter 3

  -Javana-

  I cringe at the sun’s rays coming in through the curtains. I turn around and face the small cabinet beside my bed, the electronic clock showing it was 12:00 P.M. I yawn as I turn again, facing the apartment’s white-colored roof as the sun’s rays began to warm me up. The journey here was one I should have taken many months ago, but Charles’ death forced me in the end. I had met him in college. We dated for about two years, but he moved back to the states because he was offered some sort of job. We tried a long-distance relationship but we could not make it work. He was the one that got away…

  I sit up, straddling the edge of the bed as I put on my pink slippers. Just a few weeks ago I had received news of his passing. I can’t put into words the horror and disdain to be told that your ex-boyfriend was murdered by having his heart ripped out.

  I get up and walk out of the room. The sun pierces the shadows of the hallway as I make my way towards the restroom. The cold doorknob turns as I enter. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and go tinkle before I walk out and head for the living room. The red-colored sofas set a obvious contrast against the gray-colored walls. A small dining table is in the middle. I inhale, the fresh air tainted with the humidity of New-York’s hot day lightly warming me up. I turn to my right as I enter the small kitchen hidden in the corner of the apartment, right next to the entrance. I open the fridge. A few eggs, a pound of ham, and one liter of orange juice is all that I had to make for breakfast… No thank-you. I close the refrigerator door and head back to my room. I change my clothing into something more presentable, but still relaxed enough for this humidity: a caprice topped with a red T-shirt, a bracelet, small earrings, and sandals. I grab my wallet on the way out.

  Once again, as I go down the elevator I am not disappointed at the choice of music. The doors spring open and I walk into the lobby. I sway left and right, avoiding people as they went about their business. I push through the turny-thingy-door-type-of-thing. The cab I catch sitting in front of me reads the number 250. I walk and lean into the passenger’s window and knock. The window scrolls down and the same person who was my cab driver yesterday smiles. “Hey!” he exclaims. “I never thought to see you again reporter lady,” he tells me. I smile-- “Reporter lady?!” He laughs at me and motions with his hand for me to get on the car. “Where to?” he asks me as I get comfortable in the back seat and close the door. In those few seconds as we lock eyes through his rearview mirror, I can’t help but feel a sense of intrusion on his part as I realize one person on this world will know where I am truly heading. The mysterious hotel in which my ex-boyfriend was brutally murdered.

  “To the Saxson Hotel, please,” I tell him.

  “Alright…,” he mutters under his breath as he begins to drive.

  For a few minutes silence fills the inside of the car. I look out the window, the buildings around me taking on a more rustic and antique look. I am at least a block away from where Charles’ died. I have not seen him in almost a year, not since he moved here to New-York about a year ago. Yes, he was born here in the states, but for a short while he attended school in Australia until his sudden departure. I won’t deny that for awhile I was heart-broken. I had never met someone like him, and with psychic abilities to boot. He could be such a dork, but also loving, kind, and never once did I feel the need to question our relationship. Actually, for awhile I thought he was going to ask me to marry him, when out of nowhere he just dumps me and leaves. No texts. No phone calls. Not even e-mails.

  “Here we are miss…,” the cab driver says, breaking the eerie silence within the car. It was two in the afternoon, yet deep shadows latched to the old pavements, to the old walls, and even creepped through the windows of the apartment complex. My door was slightly ajar, but I hesitated to get out. It bothered me that the sun’s rays did not fully penetrate the shadows that should not be present when the sun is so high in the sky today...

  “Are you sure you want to be here, miss?” the cab driver asks me. I turn to look at him through the rearview mirror, his sharp blue eyes captivating me. “I am sure,” I say as I walk out the cab. I let gravity force the door to close. I look out through my peripheral vision and watch the cab slowly die away in the distance.

  I researched about this place. This hotel has had many names, but recently it was bought by a private organization and they re-named it the Saxons Hotel. This building in particular is in one of the oldest parts of New-York, constructed at the end of the 1920’s. I tried to find more about its history, but all I achieved in finding was that a year before this building began its long track in room service, it was a mental hospital. I tried digging more into that, but the paper trail goes cold.

  I look around me, no people in sight or cars coming or going. I had a friend of mine who is good with computers give me the file on Charles. There was not much. The only thing that was ever deduced from the the investigation was that an unnamed force caused the disappearance of a tenant by the name of Hector, the murder of several CSU personnel and a detective by the name of Knox Dockers. This unnamed forced even took the life of a child.

  I walk up to the automatic doors, and pry them open with my hands. Don’t misunderstand, I am not that strong, but they were not fully closed to begin with. Anyway, the hotel was closed down by order of the city and an inquiry from the detective put in charge of late Detective Knox’s case.

  I walk into the lobby. The paper background around me is peeling. The desk in front of
me is littered with papers and even rotten food. No matter how much they cleaned the linoleum floors, I can tell that some stains would not come off. I continue walking towards the emergency exit door that I saw as I came in a few seconds ago. It squeaks as I pry it open. I take a few steps upwards, when I lose my footing as images bombard my mind. I almost fall, but I regain my balance as I take hold of the rail. I breathe in and exhale, a certain image sticking to the confines of my consciousness: Charles was propped against wall, held by some sort of tentacle wrapped around his throat. I could not see the face of his assailant, but the tentacles protruding from his back was more that enough to tell me it was not a he, but an “it.”

  I breathe in and exhale before I continue my trip up the stairs. Coming upon the second floor’s emergency exit, I get another flash of images. I can see the entity phase through the building before its tentacles materialize, as it tried to catch Charles.

  I walk into the second floor, the carpeted floor muffling my footsteps. The case file said that Charles died on the verge of entering the first floor. It does not say from where he was running from. It is a head scratcher, because in the case file, it reports that Charles lived in the first floor. What reason could he have to run from whatever he ran, and why did the entity come after him and not another tenant in that moment in time Charles ran from wherever he ran?

  For an apartment that spans 5 decades, the owners have done a wonderful job in its upkeep. Unlike the lobby, the carpet under my feet releases a faint flowery smell. The paperback background has a geometrical design, its color matching the carpet. At the end of the hallway, a window peers out into another building (from what I can see from here). I stop as I come up to the first door of an apartment. I turn the doorknob.

  “Hello?”

  I turn as I watch a light peer through the emergency exit. Quickly I go door to door, testing if its locked.