The Enigma of the Spirits

by Hector, Jr

  “Who is there?!” a womanly voice asks with a serious tone to her voice.

  I am at the last door, and I am rattling the doorknob, hoping it comes loose or magically opens.

  “Hey!”

  I exhale and turn around, a light blinding me for a second. “Who are you?” I ask as I look away, before the dancing white spots in my vision dissipate and allow me to open my eyes again. Before me stands a stocky woman with brown hair tied back into a ponytail. She is my height, but not once do I think that I am an equal to her; her toned arms deterring me from those thoughts.

  I watch as she unclips something from the holster around her waist. “I am Detective Ariel. ” she tells me as she shows me a detective’s badge. “You are in private property that is under ordinance by the city. State your name.”

  Her cold, hard, stare leaves me speechless.

  “Mam?” she asks, making me even more nervous.

  I swallow, my dry throat making it hard to form words. “I am-- I am journalist Javana,” I tell her.

  “Javana what?” she asks.

  “Javana Greyhaim,” I answer.

  “Well, Ms. Greyhaim, I am going to have to ask you to leave,” she tells me as she steps to the side, her hand extended as an invitation. I start walking. “This place will be in constant supervision Ms. Greyhaim. The next time I or one of the officers catches you in here, you will be arrested and subject to the full extent of the law…. Understood?”

  I can feel her behind me, her stern voice making me feel like if she is scolding a five-year old. I just nod my head.

  It feels like eternity before we both step onto the first floor, and move towards the lobby. We squeeze through the front doors of the hotel and stand on the sidewalk, a police car parked in front of us. The detective walks past me and opens the small door and turns towards me, nodding in the backseat’s direction.

  “Am I under arrest?” I ask.

  “No,” she tells me.

  I hunch my head and make myself comfortable in the back seat. I watch her walk around the patrol car. The “ding-dong” sound protrudes the silence as she opens the driver’s door and hops in. She puts on her seat belt, puts her foot to the peddle, and begins to drive.

  “What were you doing trespassing private property, Ms. Grayheim?” she asks.

  I try to avoid her eyes, which are watching me through the rearview mirror. Instead I look out the small window of the car’s back seat door. Silence stales the air before I decide to answer: “I was looking into a death that transpired there?”

  I look at her through the metal net separating the back seats from the passenger and driver seats, as she suddenly parks the car against the pavement. She turns towards me, her brown eyes staring into the recesses of my soul.

  “You were acquainted with one of the victims here?” she asks me. Her small, rounded face fitted well with the bund she had her brown hair tied back in. Her nose was small and pointy, while her white teeth is a sharp contrast to her rosy-colored skin.

  “Yes,” I answer.

  “Who, Ms. Greyhaim?” she responds.

  I am a journalist. Law enforcement and journalists are natural enemies, but I really am not in a position to hold out information. Yet, why is this detective interested in this information? She did not arrest me either?

  “I am looking into the death of my ex, Charles Dickons,” I answer.

  She turns around and looks out the windshield. “I am the detective in charge of this investigation, Ms. Grayheim,” she responds.

  I am not surprised.

  “Ms. Grayheim, I am sorry but I will have to take you in,” she tells me. “There are questions I must ask you.”

  I look away and instead watch the buildings and people walking on the pavement. I am not surprised. From the impressions I saw, Charles was killed by something supernatural. Things like that do not leave clues, evidence, or even an impression for humans to decipher. I smile. It seems I will get an upfront seat on this investigation.

  Chapter 4

  -Javana-

  The cold surface of the table stings the underside of my forearms as I wait for detective Ariel. I am in some sort of interrogation room, and like in the movies, that one-side-view window is in front of me. I can see my reflection on its surface… I wonder if people are on the other side?

  I look towards the door as Detective Ariel comes walking in, a vanilla folder in her hand. She sits in front of me and throws the file upon the table. It skids against the surface of the table and lands in front of me. On the tab of the file, Charles’ name is written.

  “Tell me, Ms. Greyhaim, just how much of Charles Dickons do you know?” she asks me, sitting across me.

  I gesture with my hand towards the file. She nods, giving me permission to open it. It is only four pages, but his name, birth-date, and other confidential information is here… I see. I look at Detective Ariel, my suspicions from earlier confirmed: They did not have much to go on.

  “To my knowledge Detective Ariel, the information you have here is correct, ” I tell her.

  “Are you sure?” she responds.

  I nod.

  “Why are you here, searching for Charles? Did you not know he was living in the states?” she asks, trying to ascertain her suspicions of me possibly lying.

  “No, I did not. Just on the eve of asking me to marry him, he disappeared. I did not know he had returned to the states until a few weeks ago, when I heard of his death,” I tell her.

  “How did you hear of his death?” she asks.

  “I got an email from a person named Hector,” I respond.

  She reaches across the table, closes the file, and then gets up with the file in her hand. Silence once more fills the blank room as she steps out, the “click-clack” of the door echoing within the wall. Not even five minutes pass before Detective Ariel comes in with a man walking in behind her. Detective Ariel sits as the man stands beside her.

  “Ms. Greyhaim, this is Agent Rosswell,” she tells me.

  I look at Agent Roswell. His well-trimmed, gelled, hair rose into a spiky thing atop his forehead. You can tell he had just recently shaved, as his lite-brown skin looked baby-smooth. He had an average nose, but his grayish eyes is the thing that perplexed me the most.

  “Hello, Agent Roswell,” I said to him.

  “Hello Ms. Greyhaim. I have been asked by the city of New-York to look into this matter. Please, bear with me,” he responds.

  I nod.

  “I do not know if you know this, but before Charles Dickons’ murder, another tenant from that particular apartment complex mysteriously disappeared. His names was Hector Ochoa,” he says. “Only yesterday did we have the chance to recover of what was left of CSU, and the previous detective who was investigating this case,” he finishes telling me.

  “How long ago did the previous detective, Charles, and Hector suffer this calamity?” I ask.

  “It has been a week, Ms. Grayheim,” he responds.

  I am in shock. I thought it had been months since Charles’ death. I was not aware that others had been murdered as well. Yet, if that is the case, then how could have I received an email from someone who has disappeared, especially dating back months? I have never met this Hector person. Was he a friend of Charles?

  “Am I under arrest?” I ask them.

  Detective Ariel looks up at Agent Roswell, before both shake their heads as they look back at me. I stand. “I will excuse myself then Agent Roswell and Detective Ariel. This is a lot to take in,” I tell them. Agent Roswell nods at me. Detective Ariel stands abruptly from her chair. “I will take you home, Ms. Grayhaim,” she tells me. The stern look on her face tells me she will hear nothing about it. She has decided.

  “Where are you staying, Ms. Greyhaim?” she asks me, as I am looking out the window of the back seat’s door, the buildings becoming rustic and antique. I look at her through the rearview mirror. “I am staying at the Avenue apartments,” I tell her. She nods. I look out the window again, trying ver
y hard to zone out but failing miserably. Pedestrians walk on the sidewalk, while others are crossing the streets. Yet, I can clearly see ghosts and low-level demons among them, all tainted by different decades and even times.

  Since I was a young girl, I could see what others could not. For a very long time I thought I was crazy, and treated myself accordingly. I was a loner throughout much of my life, until college. It was there that I discovered I was not alone, and it was then that I began to hone my psychic abilities. Charles helped me a lot, but he never allowed me to forget of how much I helped him.

  “We are here,” says Detective Ariel.

  I open the door and take a step onto the sidewalk, when Detective Ariel’s stern tone in her voice forces me to look back.

  “Do not go anywhere Ms. Grayheim. We will be needing your help…,” she tells me.

  I nod, and begin to walk away from the patrol car. I walk through the revolving doors and into the lobby. Yesterday, when I arrived there was only people, now ghost and spirits mingle with the arriving tenants.

  I sway side to side as I walk closer to the elevator doors, trying my hardest not to go through any of the ghosts and spirits. I do not want to witness any of their memories or emotions within my mind. I slip into the elevator as its doors close behind me. I press the 6th floor button. I feel someone behind me, but I know it is not alive anymore. The music playing is not that bad, but I honestly just want to get to my apartment.

  -Ding-

  I begin to walk, my footsteps muffled by the carpet. I shiver as a spirit suddenly appears before me, not giving me the chance to avoid it. I gasp as I see in my mind’s eye the last few seconds of her life. I get out the key-card and swipe it over the sensor above the door knob. It clicks and opens. I rush in and close the door. I lean against the framed wood and slide against it as I land on the floor, breathing heavily. It has been a long time since I last experienced so many spirits, ghosts, and demons in such a crowded city.

  Charles, what really happened to you? What killed you?!

  Chapter 5

  -Javana-

  I gently sink into the leathery texture of the sofa, as I wrap my hands around a steaming mug of coffee. I bring it closer towards me and inhale the nutty aroma. After having a nervous breakdown at the entrance of the apartment, it was after an hour before I came to my senses. Being in a city full of people, demons, ghosts, and spirits, all living together in an unseen harmony was quite shocking.

  I am about to take a sip, when I hear a knock at the door. I inhale, suddenly very frustrated and annoyed. I exhale, the nutty aroma of my coffee causing me to grumble at the inconvenience. I walk around the low-set table and head towards the door, the person knocking louder.

  “Who is--?”

  I do not get to finish asking my question as I peer through a gap on the door, the face of Agent Roswell and Detective Ariel making me forget about my coffee.

  “Ms. Javana, can we talk for a moment?” Agent Roswell asks me.

  I nod and step to the side, opening my door and gesturing with my hand, giving them permission to enter. Detective Ariel enters and Agent Roswell follows, both looking around my apartment.

  “Would you both like something to drink?” I ask them.

  They both shake their head. I catch up to them after closing my door, the warm mug in my hand tempting me even more than before… Why could they not wait? It has not been even an hour after their interrogation…

  “Ms. Javana, from where are you originally?” asks Agent Roswell as he sits where I was sitting. I watch Detective Ariel sit across Agent Roswell.

  “I am from a small city in the U.K., Bridlington, to be exact,” I tell him as I sit on the other end of the couch in which Agent Roswell sat.

  “There is little to nothing about you Ms. Javana. You moved to the states several years ago, finished school in that time, then you moved back to the U.K. After that, suddenly you appear again, disrupting an ongoing investigation involving the disappearance of a tenant, the murder of your supposed ex, the massacre of an entire CSU unit, and the murder of a detective.”

  An uncomfortable silence creeps upon us. I am looking at both Agent Roswell and Detective Ariel, watching them both stare back at me.

  “I am here at the bequest of a stranger’s email, but more importantly because--”

  I look at Detective Ariel as she raises her hand before her, gesturing to me to stop.

  “Ms. Javana, we are not here to accuse you of anything,” she says.

  “On the contrary, we are here to ask you for your help,” says Agent Roswell, as Detective Ariel and I look towards him.

  The living room goes quiet again, as I look at Agent Roswell and Detective Ariel, while they in turn look at each other. The mug I my hands wrap around is cold to the touch, and the nutty aroma that filled the living room can barely be smelled.

  “Would you excuse me for a moment?” I ask as I get up. They nod at me. They begin to whisper as I enter the kitchen. I head for the microwave that lies against the wall next to the refrigerator on my right. I open the little door and insert my cup of my coffee. I set the timer for three minutes and press the button on the very bottom of the number pad. I rest my hands against the counter, as a gentle hum protrudes the silence of the kitchen. I watch my cup revolve over the glass surface of the plate, a nutty aroma wafting through the air, when I feel something touch my left hand. I look. “Help them… Javana,” whispers this thing touching me. The ‘beep’ sound dies away as the thing before begins to take form. The silhouette solidifies into the one person I came here for: Charles. His face was pasty and blood trickled down his lips. His hair fell and cupped his face, clumps of blood pasting his hair into lumps. His brown beautiful eyes were devoid of life, but the most striking thing was the gaping hole in his chest. There was no heart…

  “Javana, help them. There will be more…” Charles’ whispers to me.

  I try to speak, but I am breathless and I cannot seem to be able to move my tongue or lips. Shivers run down my body as I feel his cold hand against my cheek. I gag as the smell of rotten meat fills my nostrils. This is Charles, but I cannot help myself as I recoil as I watch him lean closer. I gasp as in my mind’s eye I witness Charles’ last moment. I can feel the same tugging sensation he felt. I sense within my thoughts, that same nagging sensation he had before he knew it was his heart.

  “Help them, Javana. This is only the beginning of something that should have ended long ago…,” he tells me before I suddenly find myself alone in the kitchen.

  “Ms. Javana?” I hear behind me, startling me. I feel something grab my shoulder, causing me to turn suddenly. Agent Roswell comes into view.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, as he looks at me with a raised brow.

  I nod.

  “I just lost track of time,” I tell him as I open the microwave door and grab my coffee. The hot mug is warm to the touch, sending shivers throughout my body. I breathe in the nutty aroma, trying very hard to get rid of the rotten meat stench clinging to my nostrils. I walk past him and head into the living room. I sit next to Detective Ariel this time while Agent Roswell sits across us again. I take a sip of my coffee before I give them my answer.

  “I will help you, but on one condition,” I tell them.

  “Yes?” Detective Ariel asks.

  I look at them both before I speak. “I want all access to the case files and any resource you both have at your disposal as we work on this case.” They both look at each other and nod.

  “We will agree under one condition. Why do you wish access to all our pooled resources?” Agent Roswell asks.

  I look down at my coffee as I speak: “Because I have found out that this span of murders may not be the first, but of many.”

  Chapter 6

  -Javana-

  “Why do you wish to start here?” I ask Agent Roswell, as the automatic door slides open.

  We are at the Saxon Hotel. After our little discussion yesterday in the afternoon, and my reunion with Ch
arles, they left my apartment. It was only then that I allowed myself to cry as I slowly sat on the floor with my back rested against the door. For an hour I cried, memory after memory and emotion after emotion playing before my mind’s eye. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get Charles’ death out of my thoughts. The splatter of his blood. The “squish-squish” sound that I kept hearing as whatever that was ripped out his heart. I could hear the bones as it opened its mouth and ate the heart. Yet, as I sat there and emptied my tear ducts, in all of these emotions and thoughts, I kept feeling this vague impression within Charles’ memory that whatever-that-thing-was was not supposed to have a mouth.

  After an an hour or two, with my eyes red and burning, I got up and laid against the couch. I did not intend to go to sleep, but I did not realize I actually did until I woke up four hours later. I was sweaty and I could hear my heart thump within my chest. I sat up and laid my feet against the soft texture of the carpet, as I rubbed my face between my hands. The face… The face with no eyes, no mouth, no nose, not even eyebrows kept appearing in my dreams.

  After a few minutes I got up and cleaned myself as much I could. Afterwards I made myself something to eat, and planted myself in the couch again with my laptop on the small little table. I finished my meal as I was watching Netflix. After that, hours passed on as I watched show after show. By the time I knew it, it was one in the morning, and I was only conscious enough to be aware that I had my head against the sofa’s arm-rest. My vision was slowly fading into the darkness, but just before I lost consciousness I could have sworn I saw someone standing before me. He was chubby, had a nice tan to him with his hair pinned behind his head within a bunt.

  The door squeaks as Agent Roswell, Detective Ariel, and I begin to walk up the emergency stairs.

  “In the report of Detective Knox, it says that Charles was found sprawled at the bottom of the second floor stairs, laying over a pool of blood. No evidence was ever collected or found that hinted of anyone actually placing the body there,” Detective Ariel says out loud. “CSU also processed Charles room, which found only that he was sexually active. Many of his partners were found and questioned, but they all had alibis that checked out. The IT forensic department found no anomalies on his computer or Ipad.”