To the right of her bed, a closed laptop sat on top of a rattan table beneath a shuttered window. The cushions on the chair were covered with the same exotic floral pattern as the furniture in the living room. The Voodoo Lily.
Having limited useable space in the small apartment, she kept a two-drawer filing cabinet underneath the table. Gary was drawn to it. Squatting in an awkward position, he bent one finger over the handle of the top drawer and pulled. It was locked.
The bottom drawer slid open effortlessly. An ornate wooden box filled nearly every inch of available space. He rubbed his chin. Reluctant to touch the box, he stared at it as though he had x-ray vision, curiosity eating him alive.
Don’t do it. For god’s sake, leave it alone. He closed the drawer. Something about the odd symbols across the lid had given him the heebie-jeebies, anyway. Her book has some voodoo stuff in it. Must be what it’s for.
“Uuuh-huh.”
He opened the shutters a couple of inches, long enough to see the well-manicured courtyard below surrounded by a wrought iron cornstalk fence. Lightning flickered.
Gary returned his attention to her writing table. Found all sorts of notes. Plots? Titles? Murder? Mayhem? He smiled. Noticed something else. Something he knew right away wasn’t fiction. A sheet of paper, sticking out of the corner of the notebook she brought to the writers meetings had the words Wentzel Farm underlined in red. He eased the sheet out with an unsteady hand and brought it closer to his face.
The current date.
A little drawing of a blackbird with a knife through its heart.
Meeting with Detective Raynor Schein today at Wentzel Farm
He couldn’t breathe while he read the last line.
Now that you’ve seen this, Detective Northcutt, get the hell out of my home.
CHAPTER 72
His head bleeding profusely, Jeff charged after her. He had to stop when dizziness overcame him. Rainwater washed blood into his left eye, impairing his vision. He couldn’t see at all out of his right eye, which was swollen shut.
Resting for only a minute or two, he started running again. He knew where she was going. He’d be there to greet her.
Jeff ran the full length of the road. Waited. Paced. Waited some more. Soaked to the bone and very cold, he pictured his jacket sprawled across the passenger seat of his car. He pictured her haulin’ ass to the highway while he was gone to get the jacket. He didn’t know which thought made him feel worse.
Where the hell is she?
He needed a cigarette. He turned in a tight circle to keep warm and to ease his impatience.
When does this goddamn cat and mouse game end?
He couldn’t believe he’d run off the damn road. He figured he must have slid in the mud.
Wait just a cotton pickin’ minute. It wasn’t the rain, it was... “Oh my god, it was mamma!” She ran out in the middle of the road. I swerved to keep from hitting her. All those years, I thought she was dead. “And there she was.”
>+<|>+<
BJ watched him. She turned, and trotted back to the house. Exhausted and hungry, all she wanted at this point was food and shelter. The storm refused to let up. At least the relentless lightning helped lead the way.
She opened the screen door. Straight-line winds tore it from her grasp where it disappeared from view. She turned the knob. Couldn’t believe the door wasn’t locked. The thought of breaking in through a window didn’t appeal to her at all. She got the penlight out of her pocket, held two fingers over the lens to minimize the beam, and played it around the kitchen. Something on the table wrapped in tinfoil made her mouth water. Hungry enough to eat mud pies, she reached for the dish. A noise outside stopped her. She searched downstairs for a suitable hiding place. Couldn’t find one. She shined the light on the ceiling. Shook her head. They always do that shit in horror movies. Run upstairs instead of outside.
Around here, though, outside is worse.
BJ listened to the howling wind buffeting the side of the house. Hoped the threat for tornadoes had passed. It had been a while since she last heard the sirens.
She gripped the wobbly newel post supporting the banister. Total blackness up there. BJ raised the penlight, half expecting to find someone in the midst of descending. Shivering over her wild and crazy imagination, she tried to hold the narrow shaft of light in place while she climbed, taking one cautious step at a time.
When she reached the top, she stayed put. Excitedly cast the beam about; thinking now was when IT would charge out of one of the rooms and get her. She fought the urge to peek over her shoulder at the dark below.
A quick search through four bedrooms, five closets and one bathroom.
Places to hide? Zero.
“Not one single nook or a cranny, but many a crook and a nanny,” she sang in a tiny voice.
Only one place left to go. BJ walked woodenly toward the third floor stairway. She could hear her heartbeat. She put a foot on the bottom step, took a deep breath, kept going. This time, she stopped on the next to the last step. Listened to the stillness of the old farmhouse.
Had the storm moved on?
Or had she walked straight into hell?
When she reached the top step she accidentally banged into a closed door. Panicked, thinking it might be locked and she’d have nowhere else to run. She took hold of the knob. A twist of her wrist assured her it wasn’t locked. She stopped before the knob turned enough to disengage the catch and open the door.
She backed down two stairs.
Remembered the thing wrapped in tinfoil.
Remembered the thing in the long dress.
BJ had a terrible realization.
Someone lives here. Someone who’s being very, very quiet.
She pressed her back against the wall. Counted to ten. Then twenty. She glimpsed from the bottom of the stairs up to the closed attic door. Anticipating someone jerking the door open and charging out after her, she went down two more stairs to give herself a head start.
This time she waited until a fast count of two hundred.
Climbed to the top step. She nudged the door open with her shoulder. Jumped back when squeaky hinges shattered the silence of the house. She drew in a ragged breath and held it, her eyes never leaving the black space beyond the door. Lightning flashed. Again, she half expected to see someone standing close by.
Someone not the least bit afraid of the dark.
With each flash she scanned the room.
Surely if someone was in there, they’d… do what?
Her imagination had gone into overdrive. Gathering the last of her courage, she crossed the threshold, closed the door behind her. A split-second later she jerked it back open fully expecting to find someone had followed her up the stairs after all. Jeebus!
Someone could still be hiding in the attic, she thought. Waiting for her to get far enough in the room before they cut off her only means of escape.
The A-frame ceiling was high enough for her to stand straight. The walls were nothing more than open beams. No sheet rock. No pink insulation. Exposed wiring ran between some of the studs set about a foot and a half apart. The four corners stood in deep shadow.
There are things in the dark that aren’t there when the lights are on.
She slid her fingers closer together to minimize the beam more while she stood before the grimy octagonal window and searched for movement outside. She froze.
BJ had a sinking feeling someone was behind her.
She jerked around. A sharp intake of air.
Get a grip, dammit.
She played the light to and fro. Boxes of various sizes and shapes were scattered about. Some covered with dusty sheets. Others covered with spider webs. Lamps with and without shades. Flea market knickknacks. Old paintings. Two books. The trunk.
She walked up to a rocking chair.
Gently placed a hand on the top.
A single large tear rolled down her cheek.
CHAPTER 73
The batteries in her
penlight had grown weaker. She switched it off. Took advantage of every flash of lightning to find her way around the room. She came upon a closet straight across from the window. Clicked the light on the second she opened the door. Saw another door, built-in to the back wall, and partly open.
She went in the closet, and opened the second door the rest of the way. Discovered it was more of a panel than an actual door since it lacked the necessary hardware. She saw only more blackness ahead of the beam of the light. Assumed the room was nothing more than a hidden compartment and probably quite small. She entered, using her hand to feel along the interior walls to guesstimate the dimensions, trying hard not think about why the room even existed.
BJ shivered with anticipation, knowing something was about to reach out, grab her, and suck her into the abyss of the house, as in the movie Poltergeist.
She inched further in. Faced the window. Found solace in the flashes of lightning. Decided this would have to do for a hiding place. She tried to shut the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Rubbing a hand over the walls in search of a button or lever to shut the panel she encountered a large spider. She screamed and jerked back so fast she slammed into the wall behind her and hurt her shoulder.
She trembled uncontrollably, swatted her body top to bottom thinking the loathsome creature had jumped on her. Maybe it was a mamma that carried her babies on her big fat body. Hundreds of them. Thousands! Scattered every which way by now. She darted out of both closets still trying to shake them off.
BJ quickly shined the light on the floor. Not one single solitary spider. Adrenaline pumping, she folded her arms tight across her chest, and paced to and fro.
When the flow of tears subsided, she sniffled and cleared her throat, glad no one had witnessed her childish tantrum. She patted her face with her shirt. Once again, she didn’t understand why no one came and rescued her. She shivered, more from the chilly attic than from fear. Very exhausted now, she resumed her search for a suitable hiding place.
A noise from below.
She gasped, stopped moving.
There it was again.
She dashed to the secret compartment. Frantically rubbed the walls for the object needed to close the panel. She patted the doorframe with her fingertips. Found what she’d been searching for. A little lever the size of a thumb. She pressed hard on it. Nothing happened. Tried twisting it, first one way than another. Still nothing. She clamped both forefingers over it and pulled down with all her might.
Argh!
She thought she heard something new. Stopped to listen.
Someone was on the stairs.
Oh shit.
She grasped the lever again, realized it hadn’t been moved in years. Hard as she could, she shoved upwards with the palm of her hand. A faint squeak of hidden rollers, the panel slid shut.
The spider seemed truly insignificant now. She moved to the far corner, turned her back to the door, squatted low, covered her face with her hands, and tried to become invisible. Then remembered she’d forgotten to close the main door to the closet.
Years of accumulated dust had come to life from her movements. Her nasal passages burned with the onslaught of a tremendous sneeze. She heard movement in the attic. The more she tried not to think about sneezing the more she thought about it. She pinched her nose shut, breathed through narrowly parted lips.
Because of her cramped position, her spine did a number on her. Her ears rang loudly, preventing her from hearing what was happening outside the closet. She sucked in her bottom lip, gently blew her breath downward making it sound less raspy while allowing her to hear a little better.
Someone walked toward her.
A new threat descended on her. Rather, ascended. Something was slowly crawling up the inside of her right leg, which was pressed against the wall. She clamped her hands over her mouth. Stifled a scream.
Someone stood inside the closet.
Three feet away.
Only a one-inch-thick panel between them.
She heard the click of a cigarette lighter. Looked over her left shoulder. Through a thin crack at the bottom of the panel she could see light. A welcoming sight indeed, but not one to enjoy, for it signaled danger. The spider forgotten, she strained to hear.
The sliver of light vanished. Whoever was out there walked away, then descended the stairs. Not easily fooled, she remained still. There might be more than one person.
Her mind sketched out one plan after another.
Smack her leg, kill the spider, and leave its guts dripping down her leg?
Stand up; stomp her foot, hope the spider falls out?
Forget the spider. Run nonstop to her car. Drive until she either ran out of road or the car ran out of fuel.
BJ gripped the lever with two fingers. No sooner had she stepped out of the closet than he grabbed her. Wrestled her to the floor. She punched him in the groin. Ran for her car.
CHAPTER 74
When he saw the panel closed, Jeff sensed she was inside. The secret place belonged to him. He resented the thought of anyone else using it. The hidey-hole had been his only place of safety when his father was on a drunken rampage, or when he needed a break from his mamma’s craziness.
While pacing the road watching and waiting for her, it occurred to him she’d either passed out from exhaustion or exposure, or her ass was in the house. He doubted she’d left the property. The place would’ve been swarming with cops by now.
The blow to his manhood, in more ways than one, had left him physically unable to stand. He lay on the floor in a fetal position with a protective hand on his crotch, the other over his re-injured eye. Listened to her running down the stairs. She fell once and yelped. He smiled.
>+<|>+<
BJ jerked open the kitchen door and screamed. Someone with long hair wearing a long dress stood about three and a half feet away with their arms outstretched, fingers clawing the air. His or her mouth had been sewn shut with thick black thread like, like a life-size voodoo doll! She slammed the door shut. Ran up the hallway toward the living room. Hears someone stumbling on the third floor stairs. A flash of lighting showed the front door stood wide open. Another flash, the dark silhouette of a man filled the center of the open space. She clamped her hands over her mouth, backed up further into the living room. In the next flash, the person was gone. The hair on her scalp prickled. Goose bumps rippled down her body. Someone stood behind her. BJ bolted through the door; aware the dark figure might be waiting on the porch to ambush her. She fled down the stoop and around the corner of the house. Plowed into the field of Joe-Pye weed.
She saw something. Ducked at once.
Did I just see a set of headlights go out?
She listened to a car slowly driving by.
>+<|>+<
Jeff chased after BJ. When he came around the corner at the rear of the house he saw someone. He stopped so fast he almost lost his balance. A woman. Standing outside the kitchen door. She turned toward him.
“Mamma?”
He smacked rain and blood out of his eyes.
“Is it, is it really you?”
She gasped loudly. Covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Started running in the direction of the barn.
Jeff charged after her. “Wait for me, mamma.”
The hem of the dress got caught under the toe of her shoe. She stumbled and fell forward. She rolled onto her back, the wet garment wrapping tighter around her knees, but managed to stand up.
Jeff approached, gradually reached behind and eased a handgun out of his waistband.
She screamed bloody murder.
He aimed and fired. Mamma fell backward, her arms outstretched. He stared at her. Brilliant flashes of lightning distorted the image.
She looks like Jeebus Christ on the cross.
He looked closer. She had drawn a black zigzag mark over her lips.
Why, for chrissake?
Jeff went to the barn. Fetched a coil of rope off a wooden peg. Found a cinderblock. Made a quick search fo
r anything else he might need.
Walking back to where he’d left her beneath the old elm he used to call the moss gatherer, his mind and heart were in turmoil. Did he really kill his mamma? Jeff was emotionally and physically exhausted. The cinderblock grew heavier and heavier. He hiked the rope onto his shoulder to free up his hand, and made a futile attempt to wipe away his tears.
CHAPTER 75
Detective Lucas Cantin crept along the muddy road. The vehicle bounced on its shocks with each pothole. He caught sight of a red glow up ahead on his right. Proceeded with caution until he got closer. Braked. Leaned sideways to see though the passenger window. Taillights. He observed the house. The place appeared uninhabited. If the storm had caused a power outage, he figured he’d at least see candlelight.
The deluge slacked off to a light drizzle.
He got out, barely noticing he’d stepped in a big puddle. Lucas approached the vehicle. A squad car. Hugging a tree. He knew for a fact that particular car had been assigned to Officer Jeff Wentzel. Either he wrecked it, or someone stole it and they wrecked it. He looked at the taillights again. No, don’t think so.
Lucas pulled his revolver out of the shoulder holster.
Shining a flashlight in and around the car, the rookie cop was nowhere to be seen. About to walk up to the front door, a flash of light caught his attention. Headlights. Coming toward him at a steady clip. He held the gun down at his side, and waited at the edge of the road.
Detective Gary Northcutt approached. “Glad to see you got my message.”
Message? “What’s going on?” Lucas tucked his flashlight under his arm, the beam pointing behind him. Noticed the rain had completely stopped. His body shivered while he lit a cigarette. Didn’t realize the place had spooked him so much. All of the dark alleys in the city didn’t come close to the eeriness of this farm.
Long Night Moon (Bad Mojo Book 1) Page 21
