by K. R. Rowe
What had the old woman said? It’s hungry again. What did she mean? What’s hungry? Allie took in her surroundings, her gaze sweeping over the roadway. An unexplained chill had blown in with the clearing sky and a low mist flowed across the uneven stones; some crumbled and darkened with age, others unblemished and almost perfect.
Why were they so different?
The mist swirled around a rust covered lamppost, caressing the pitted surface, before settling into a soft gray shroud at its base. Not twenty feet away, a refurbished street light clicked to life, illuminating the hazy street.
Her brows furrowed; her gaze skipping between the two posts, before scanning once more across the varied stones in the street. It was all too weird.
New and old.
Curling her nose, she coughed when the stench of decay stole in with the fog. Then it came again; a strange sensation of chills inching up her pants legs. Intense cold climbed her skin followed by heavy fatigue. It coursed through her limbs, weighting her feet to the street.
What’s wrong with me?
Blinking hard, she rubbed her eyes, fighting the forces pulling her lids shut, but finally gave in and slid them closed. She expected darkness to blot out her vision but instead, a walnut door flashed behind her lids. She stood before it, her body not feeling quite like her own, her clothing from a different time, a different era. Her hand lay flat upon the door’s marred surface, her wedding band bright against the filthy wood.
The gold ring caught and held her gaze. I’m not married! Who am I? Where am I?
A smeared red stain ran down the door’s face. Crimson streaks painted the tile at her feet; the darkened trails running the length of the hallway and disappearing down the stairs. She wanted to follow the drag marks, to see where they led, but she had no power—something else controlled her movements.
Feeling trapped, like a prisoner inside this unfamiliar body, she scraped her toe through the middle of the darkened mess. Although the outer edges had thickened, the center smeared scarlet and fresh beneath her feet.
Fear spiraled through Allie. Evil filled this place; she could feel it. The urge to run overwhelmed her, but her feet remained immobile. Instead, she trailed her fingers down the wooden surface and curled her hand around the cold crystal knob; the latch clicked and the door creaked ajar. Pushing it further, she peeked inside the low-lit room. To her left, a row of small cages lined the wall; some open and abandoned, some filled with rodents clamoring for escape. Catching the draft from the open door, a lantern swung overhead, splashing light across a sturdy wooden table. The air stank of death, but she held her nose and stepped further into the room.
Allie spoke but she didn’t recognize her own voice; the pitch higher, the timbre different, her words not of her choosing. “Gramma Hoffius?”
The old woman stood on the far side of the room, her back turned, hunched over an old wood stove, unaware of the young woman’s presence.
Clearing her throat, she called again. Like a familiar tune, the words fell naturally from her lips, but Allie had never recalled knowing her grandmother. “Gramma? It’s me.”
The old woman spun toward her, squinting into the bright light spilling through the open doorway.
“Who is it? What are you doing in here? No one’s allowed in here.”
“I’m sorry but—”
“Out, out!”
Allie backed up. She didn’t understand why, but this frail old woman frightened her.
“Gramma, it’s me. I need you. I can’t find Noah. He’s been gone since yesterday and I’m worried.”
The old woman’s expression softened. “Oh dear, I didn’t recognize you. The light behind you is too bright for my tired old eyes.” She shuffled toward Allie and took hold of her elbow. “Come, Isabella, let’s talk in the hallway.”
Isabella? I’m not Isabella! Allie struggled to tell her, but the words wouldn’t come.
She tried to turn away, to go with the old woman and get out of this place, but something drew her further into the room, pulling her from her grandmother’s grasp. The old woman grabbed for her again, but Allie yanked free from her feeble grip. In the room’s center, blood glossed the surface of the scarred oak table. Long slow rivulets dripped from the table’s edge, darkening the floor with crimson. The remains of a carcass littered its surface, but Allie couldn’t tell if it were animal, human, or something else.
A rat perched atop the table, oblivious, face stained scarlet, strings of entrails hanging from its teeth. It looked up from its meal and chattered in irritation. Pulling a long length of intestines from the mess, the rat jumped from the table, dragging the chunk of innards through the open doorway and disappearing down the hall. Allie stepped closer, catching a glimpse of something familiar. In the corner, a leather helmet and goggles lay discarded; the helmet split, the goggles twisted, their glass shattered. Why did her grandmother have Noah’s things? Confusion peeled away, her mouth dropping open with a shocking realization. She turned back to the corpse on the table.
It’s human.
She staggered closer, bile rising in her throat, vomit threating to spill from her gut. A hatchet lay at the end of the table, and next to it, a wedding band caked with blood.
Lifting the ring, she wiped out the center and read the inscription, “Forever your love.”
It matched the one on her finger.
It belonged to Noah; her husband. A man Allie had never met, yet the spirit whose heart pounded in her chest desperately loved him. The room spun, her very soul ripping from her body. Allie didn’t know this lady, but she somehow knew the woman did things, acts against the law, against God and nature, and this was too much to bear. Noah was precious, a gift, and he had belonged to her.
Now he was gone, and the good in her life had died with him.
She rested her hand on the hatchet’s handle, the blade scarred but still sharp and caked with Noah’s blood. It should have repelled her, but instead, she found comfort when her fingers curled around the handle. Closing her eyes, she summoned one last vision of her beloved, but darkness circled in, covering her husband’s face in shadows. A tear scorched a trail down her cheek, and splashed to the blood slickened table.
Unable to see Noah’s face, she lifted her lids and spoke. “Grandma, why?”
Hatred blazed in her grandmother’s eyes. “He wasn’t fit for you, Isabella.”
Allie wanted to scream at the old woman, I’m not Isabella! But the scene from the past refused to halt, and like an old movie, it continued to play. She was powerless to stop it, or her own actions, and she was the leading lady.
“That wasn’t for you to decide!”
“I warned the boy.”
“I loved him! How could you do this?”
“He’s where he belongs. He’s where he’s always belonged.”
Allie’s voice caught in her throat; the fear of something greater than death welled inside of her. “What did you do, Gramma?”
The old woman sneered. “Now he serves Siddous.”
All sensation left Allie’s body. Fury took control and coursed through her veins, filling her limbs with hate. Yanking the hatchet from the table, she swung, wedging the blade in her grandmother’s throat. Eyes wide, mouth agape in disbelief, the old woman dropped to her knees. Allie held tight to the handle, twisting it loose as the old woman fell, her head nearly severed, her life’s blood soaking the floor beneath her body. Allie knelt beside her, driven by a rage she couldn’t control, and curled her fingers into the dead woman’s hair. Wedging her knee against the body, she swung the hatchet again, cracking through bone, gore spraying her face with each blow.
The bone popped and the head snapped from the torso. Allie yanked the skull loose, tearing the neck free from the last strip of mutilated flesh holding it in place. The hatchet dropped from her blood slickened hand and clattered to the floor. Glaring into the wide fixed eyes of her grandmother’s face, she spun the head in front of her.
“I don’t care if I go s
traight to hell,” she whispered into the dead woman’s ear. Her lips curled back, she snarled; teeth stark white against blood splattered skin. “I’ll bring him back.”
* * *
“Ma’am, Miss Kent?” A deep male voice cut into the vision. “Are you all right?”
A warm hand curled around her upper arm.
“Noah?”
“Noah? No ma’am, its officer Chambers, Phillip Chambers. We met yesterday.”
Allie’s eyes rolled from the back of their sockets and focused on the detective.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Shaking the images out of her thoughts, she tried to clear her mind of the gruesome scene. “I—I’m fine. I just feel a little weird. I just stopped for a second to—”
“You’ve been here for quite some time. I’ve been down at the crime scene, looking for things we might have missed, and I almost walked right past you. I barely saw you.”
She looked up. “But I’m under a streetlight.”
He shook his head, his eyes filled with confusion, gaze shifting between her and the light. “I know, that’s what’s so weird. You were just … dark.”
She stared at him. “What? But I—”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
She stuttered, still a little confused. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just feel like I’ve had some kind of nightmare.” Did I fall asleep in the middle of the street?
“You’re shaking.” He slid his jacket off and draped it around her shoulders.
She didn’t feel cold, but his warmth permeated the jacket, comforting her. It smelled of him, male and inviting. She leaned toward him, and his arms circled around her. Replaced with his warmth, the ugly vision fell away. Unaccustomed to being held, she savored the moment until he stepped back and finally spoke.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No it’s okay,” Allie said.
“Come on. I’ll walk you to your apartment. You shouldn’t be out here.”
Chapter 5
Witness
The police station’s outer room bustled with activity. Behind him, officers ushered a trio of loud angry prostitutes past the open door and led them into booking. They reminded Phillip of a group of cackling hens, and he couldn’t ignore them. He hopped up from his seat, closed the door and went back to his research.
“Look,” Phillip said, pointing to the computer screen. “The same thing happened back in the twenties, the same kind of murders, same area, but no arrests.”
Detective Rush stood behind him, his sweat slickened brow reflecting the light from the fixture above. His gray hair, usually combed in neat lines across his balding head, stuck up on one side when he pulled off his cap. He stared at the computer screen; his thin weathered face pulling into a thoughtful expression.
“Any witnesses?”
“Just one; a kid named Griggs.”
“What’d he say?”
“The report says that they threw out his statement—says he had a vivid imagination. He told some kind of story about a demon living under the street.”
Detective Rush laughed. “Yeah, you’ll get that with kids sometimes. Is he still alive?”
Phillip read further. “Well, the report says he was about eight at the time, so he might be.”
“Look him up. If he’s alive and you get an address, we’ll pay him a visit.”
Phillip stared at the monitor without looking up. “I think I’ve finally met someone.”
“You met someone? A witness? Or someone with information?”
Phillip chuckled. “No, I meant a girl.”
“Oh, a girl.” Concern creased the older man’s brow. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I can get, I guess.”
“Have you asked her out?”
“Not yet, but I was thinking about it.”
“Well, tell me more about this girl.” Rush pulled out a chair and took a seat next to Phillip. “Where did you meet her?”
“At the crime scene. She lives in the apartment building there.”
Rush chuckled. “That’s a strange way to meet a woman.”
Phillip couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a strange guy.”
“It beats picking up women in bars, I suppose.” Rush patted him on the shoulder. “Just take it slow, son. Fate can be cruel. It takes away things we love, makes us believe we are worthless, and then turns around and gives us a beautiful gift.”
“And she is.” Phillip leaned back in his chair and sighed, remembering her chocolate covered face and mismatched shoes. She was beautiful and messy in a sweet kind of way, and damn near perfect; except one thing.
“Is something wrong?” Rush asked.
Phillip hadn’t realized his smile had disappeared. “Oh no, I was just thinking, but it’s probably nothing.”
“Is she married?”
“Oh no, nothing like that.” Phillip turned toward him. “A few nights ago, when you asked me to stop by the crime scene, I was just poking around out there and I found her standing in the middle of the street.”
“What was she doing?”
“Just standing there.”
“Loitering?”
“Well, not really.”
“She wasn’t breaking the law, was she?”
“No but, it was weird. It was like … she was in a trance.”
“Is this girl an addict?”
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
“Mental problems? Or was she drinking?”
Phillip scratched his head and went on. “No she wasn’t drinking, at least I didn’t smell it, but the whole incident was just plain strange.”
“That does sound strange.”
“Not only strange that she was there, but I barely saw her.”
“Was she hiding from you?”
“Not at all. She was in the middle of the road, under a streetlight, but at the same time, there was no light on or around her.”
“That is odd.”
“Like darkness surrounded her and blocked out the light. Not only that but the air was colder where she stood, and there was this stench, I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
The older man chuckled. “Dark, cold and hard on the nose; sounds a lot like my ex-wife.”
Phillip looked up, a snippet of conversation flashing in his memory. “You know, she said something about a nightmare.”
“A nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“Narcolepsy, you reckon?”
“That might explain it.”
“You know, my great granddad—God rest his soul—used to fall asleep standing up. It was the strangest thing. But I suppose you won’t know until you spend time with the young lady.”
Phillip smiled. “That’s my plan.”
“And tell her to lock herself in at night from now on.”
They both looked up when a young rookie tapped on the door and pushed it open.
“Detective Rush, they have new information on that Airport death. You’re needed in forensics.”
The older man patted Phillip’s shoulder. “Go check out that witness and give me a shout later.”
Chapter 6
Drunk in the Hallway
Glinting from the band of Phillip’s stainless steel Seiko, the yellow-orange sun blazed high in the cobalt horizon, streaking warm amber shafts across the bright blue afternoon sky. The day was still early and he had a little spare time before heading back to the station. His witness, Mr. Griggs, would be an interesting fellow. An old man now in his 90’s, he had been just a kid when the same type of murders happened years ago. In the report, he’d talked of witchcraft and demons living beneath the street and Phillip could understand why his statement was disregarded. Nonetheless, it would be an interesting story to take back to his boss and he looked forward to the change of scenery.
Even though he didn’t believe in this nonsense, it could still turn up a lead to something else. He would not leave a stone unturned. Having experience with groups
of sadists before, he knew these types of killings were right up their alley.
He’d driven out to the edge of town to interview his elderly witness, but the gentleman wasn’t home. Since he’d pass Allie’s apartment on his way back to work, he wanted to stop by, just to check to see that she was okay. He’d not stopped thinking about Allie since he’d met her. Not only was she beautiful, but he’d seen a spark of interest in her gorgeous green eyes. Although she seemed independent, he still worried about her. With her living alone, so close to the scene of this murder, the next time, instead of finding her sleepwalking in the street, he might find her dead in an alley.
When he stepped into the lobby of her building, the stench of something akin to body odor assaulted his nostrils. He coughed, covered his nose, picked up his pace, and headed for the elevators. A sign adorned the half open doors. Out of Order.
Not a problem.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it to the third floor in under a minute. Until now, he hadn’t had time to get nervous, but standing in front of her door trying to catch his breath, his stomach flipped in his guts. Before he knocked, he straightened his tie and tucked in his shirt. Lifting each arm, he checked to be sure the fast tromp up the stairs hadn’t left his underarms soaking.
His stomach fluttered again. Why am I nervous?
The door rattled when his knuckles touched the wood, the sound cracking off the walls in the silent hallway. He waited—nothing. Holding up his hand to knock again, the door swung open, leaving him standing with his fist in midair. Allie smiled and his mouth went dry. She looked even more gorgeous than the last time he’d seen her. How was that possible? He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and forced out a few words.
“Hi, ummm ...”
“Officer Chambers?”
He cleared his throat but the words jumbled in his head and disappeared before they made it to his lips. “Phillip—you can call me Phillip.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to say more, but he lost himself in her deep green eyes. Aware of his mouth hanging open, he couldn’t close it, and no other words would come. He gazed at her for what felt like hours, at her tousled red hair and flawless skin, until a question spilled from her soft pink lips.
