The Journey of B.J. Donovan (Moonlight Murder Duology Book 1)

by S. A. Austin

  They got in the elevator, much to his chagrin, and rode it up to the third floor. The woman not only showed him which unit was BJ’s one bedroom apartment, but she also unlocked the door and gave him permission to enter on his own.

  Gary thought it interesting she didn’t knock first. “Muchas gracias.”

  He waited for the hum of the elevator motor before he closed the door. Stayed where he was, taking in the décor. Red. Silver. Black. Very nice. A place for everything, everything in its place.

  No sooner had he moved away from the door than he was overcome with dread.

  This is it. Get the hell out of here, or do a quick search and find out where she might be. Either way, if she catches me in here… “Damn, she knows my car.” …it’ll be over between us before it ever gets started. I have no right or reason to be here.

  “Absolutely none.”

  He had to know.

  Convinced he’s helping her didn’t stop him from feeling guilty as sin. He continued wandering throughout her apartment. A faint scent of jasmine hung in the air. Reminding him of his bathroom after his estranged wife showered.

  Gary found himself at the doorway to BJ’s bedroom.

  The first thing to catch his eye was the red-framed silver-faced clock with large black Roman numerals, hanging on the wall. A silhouette of a black widow spider filled the center. The hour and the minute hands were its front legs, one bent to make it seem shorter than the other one. The clock was stopped at thirteen.

  Beside the bed, beneath a shuttered window, was a closed laptop on a rattan table, along with an electric hurricane lamp, blank writing paper and a pen, and the ashes of a stick of jasmine in an incense burner. The cushions on the matching chair catty-cornered beside the table were embroidered 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 black two-drawer metal 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 backward. It was locked.

  The bottom drawer slid out effortlessly. Inside of it an ornate wooden box occupied nearly every inch of available space. He rubbed his chin. Reluctant to touch the box, he stared at it pretending he had x-ray vision, curiosity eating him alive.

  Don’t do it. For God’s sake, leave it alone.

  He shut the drawer. The odd symbols across the lid had given him the heebie-jeebies.

  Her book has black magic stuff in it. Must be what it’s for.

  “Uuuh-huh.”

  He parted the shutters wide enough to see the well-manicured courtyard below surrounded by a wrought iron cornstalk fence. A clap of thunder made him close them tightly.

  Gary re-examined her writing table. A variety of notes piqued his interest.

  Plots? Titles? Murder? Mayhem?

  He reminisced about their first meeting, when she shared her new novel and—

  His heart iced over.

  A yellow-lined sheet of paper sticking out of the unzipped yearly planner she brought to the writers meeting had WENTZEL FARM underlined twice in red ink.

  He eased the paper out with an unsteady hand.

  The current date.

  A little drawing of a raven with a knife in its heart.

  Meeting with Detective Raynor Schein today at Wentzel Farm.

  His body tensed when he noticed a five by eight legal pad, almost hidden under the planner.

  Centered on the top line were the words WENTZEL CABIN.

  Underlined in red, but not dated.

  A little drawing of a black panther.

  Loud thunder and a sudden downpour jolted him. “Wentzel cabin?”

  CHAPTER 72

  His head bleeding profusely, Jacob 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 other eye. It 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.

  Jacob ran the full length of the road. Waited. Paced. Waited some more. The rain intensified dramatically. The temperature seemed to have plunged by twenty degrees. Soaked to the bone and very cold, he pictured his black leather jacket sprawled across the back seat of his car. He then pictured her haulin’ ass to the highway while he was gone to get the jacket. He didn’t know which scene made him feel worse.

  Where the hell is she, dammit?

  Having a nicotine fit, he turned in a tight circle to keep warm and to ease his impatience. Hugged himself, massaged his forearms. Drew air in through puckered lips, pretending to smoke.

  “I’m either going to freeze to death or die of lung cancer before this shit is over.”

  When does this goddamn cat and mouse game end?

  How in the hell did he run off the road?

  “I guess I skidded in the mud.”

  No. Hell no. It wasn’t the rain, it was....

  “It was Mama!”

  She ran out in the middle of the road toward the woods. I swerved to the right to avoid hitting her and hit a tree. All these years, I thought she was dead.

  “And there she was.”

  * * *

  BJ tucked the flashlight in the deep pocket of her hoodie, heavy end down. Holding it in place with her wrist, she 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 and sailed it up and away. To her great relief, the back door wasn’t locked. An earlier game plan of breaking a window to gain access really bothered her. She was glad it hadn’t come to that.

  BJ removed the flashlight, spread her fingers over the lens to minimize the brightness, and played the beam of light around the kitchen.

  On the table, a disposable aluminum pie pan covered with tinfoil made her mouth water. Hungry enough to eat mud pies, she reached for pan. A noise. Outside. She searched downstairs for a suitable hiding place. Nothing. Nowhere. She shined the light on the ceiling.

  They always do that shit in horror movies. Run upstairs when they ought to run outside.

  “Around here, though, outside is worse.”

  She listened to the howling wind buffeting the house. Hoped the threat for tornadoes had passed. She’d lost track of the last time she had heard the sirens.

  She gripped the wobbly newel post.

  Total blackness up there.

  BJ raised the flashlight expecting to find a person, more dead than alive, in the midst of descending the stairs. Without actually touching the stairs. Shivering over her wild and crazy imagination, she tried to hold the shaft of light in place while she went forward, taking one cautious step at a time.

  When she reached the top she stayed put. Excitedly cast the beam about, thinking now was when a Thing would charge out of one of the rooms and grab her.

  A quick search of 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.

  The third floor staircase had an unvarnished wood railing on one side. The other side was attached to the wall. Feeling anxious, her legs threatening to buckle under her, she made herself go toward the stairs.

  No sooner had she put a foot on the first step than her hand swung forward into a damn spider web, the sticky threads clinging to her fingers. She put the light on her. Yelped in fear at the sight of it. Swatted her wrist long after the spider had fallen off of her.

  Soft mewling sounds escaped her lips. She steered clear of the awful bug, the size of a huge flying cockroach, before it had a chance to jump on her shoe then crawl up her back and disappear in her hair.


  BJ listened to the stillness inside the old farmhouse.

  When she reached the last step she found a tightly closed door. She started to panic, thinking it might be locked and she’d have nowhere else to hide. A quick jiggle of the knob assured her that it wasn’t locked.

  She backed down two stairs.

  Remembered the thing in tinfoil.

  Remembered the thing in the long dress.

  Had a terrible realization.

  Somebody lives here. Somebody who’s being very, very quiet.

  “Somebody who does not belong here.”

  She pressed her back against the wall. Counted to ten. Then twenty. Looked from the black abyss at the bottom of the stairs up to the closed attic door.

  Anticipating somebody jerking the door open and charging out after her, she went down two more steps to give herself a head start.

  This time she waited until a fast count of fifty. Came up to the top step. She pushed the door open, the screech of unoiled hinges echoing loudly made her gasp.

  Lightning flickered. Once again, she half expected to see a person standing close enough to touch her. A person not the least bit afraid of the dark.

  With each new burst of lightning her eyes swept the room again.

  Surely if somebody was in there, they’d… do what?

  “Why am I so sure it’s a human being?” she whispered.

  Her imagination had gone into overdrive. Gathering the last of her courage, she crossed the threshold and closed the door. A split second later she rattled the knob with a shaky hand and reopened the door. Fully expected to find she’d been followed after all.

  They could still be hiding in the attic.

  Waiting for her to get further into the room before they cut off her only means of escape.

  BJ looked for any signs of life without leaving the security of the open doorway, keeping her back to the door and not to the stairs.

  Nothing changed. Nothing moved. She crossed the doorsill. 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. One window. Four corners in deep shadow.

  The hair on her scalp prickled.

  There are things in the dark that aren’t there when the lights are on. So they say.

  She brought her fingers closer together to minimize the beam even more. Standing before the dirty window she watched for movement outside.

  She froze.

  BJ had a sinking feeling...

  She twirled around. Sharply inhaled.

  Get a grip, dammit.

  She played the light across the floor. Boxes of various sizes and shapes were scattered about. A few were covered with dusty bed sheets. Others covered with spider webs. Lamps with and without shades. Flea market type knickknacks. Old paintings. Two books. The trunk.

  She gently lay her hand on a rocking chair.

  Large tears brimmed in her eyes.

  CHAPTER 73

  The flashlight bulb seemed dimmer than before. BJ switched it off so the batteries might last longer. The sudden blackness made her heart skip a beat. She clicked it back on.

  Dammit.

  Steeling herself for battle, she bravely turned it off again, lowered her arm to her side. Taking advantage of unremitting bursts of lightning she made her way from one part of the room to the other, still unable to shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

  She came upon a closet. Many open and empty boxes were stacked haphazardly on both sides of it. Directly across from the closet was the large octagonal window.

  BJ turned the light on, aimed the beam at the center of the closet door. Readied herself to run if somebody, or some thing, was hiding in there. She yanked the door open, jumped aside out of reflex. Oddly, the only thing in there was another door. It was built-in to the back wall and three-quarters of the way open.

  She went in the closet. Discovered the inner door was more of a sliding panel than an actual door since it lacked the necessary hardware. Heavy blackness ahead of the light. She reckoned that the room was nothing more than a hidden compartment. Possibly quite small.

  She entered. Used her free hand to feel along the interior walls to estimate the dimensions. Chose not to think about why the room even existed. Why build a closet in an unfinished attic?

  BJ shivered with anticipation knowing she’s about to be dragged into an alternate universe.

  Somewhere in a dark place somebody is watching me?

  Someone outside is watching the flashlight going on and off?

  She did her best not to let her imagination get the better of her. Turned off the flashlight and tightly gripped the handle, prepared to use it for a club.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she thought for sure an inorganic life form was lying in wait in the compartment. She re-entered the closet by shuffling backward until she cleared the opening, unwilling to turn her back on the compartment beforehand. Spun around.

  A couple of inches away from the side of the window stood a woman with long and stringy black hair, wearing what appeared to be a pale blue nightgown. With her hair over her eyes she looked like a banshee.

  BJ’s heart throbbed. She fought to quiet her breathing. Glanced back at the compartment.

  How did the thing in there get out here?

  Bravely, she clicked on the flashlight. Such an overpowering sense of relief she almost laughed. The woman, the thing, was nothing more than an old dress form mannequin. The long hair was just a large feather duster hanging above it on a two-inch nail.

  “Jeebus. Christ.”

  The second she’d talked herself into hiding in one of the empty boxes she changed her mind. There’s a good chance they’re already occupied with spiders or cockroaches or termites or silverfish or scorpions.

  She inched deeper into the closet. Glanced back at the window. Took solace in the short-lived but steady bursts of lightning. Concluded this would have to do for a hiding place.

  BJ soon learned that the compartment door was stuck in place. Gliding a hand over the wall in search of a button or lever to close the panel she encountered a spider. She screamed and jumped back so fast she crashed into the wall behind her, hurting her shoulder.

  Trembling uncontrollably she swatted her body, top to bottom, thinking the loathsome creature had hopped on her. A Louisiana jumping spider! Or maybe a mama that totes her babies around on her big fat body. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Scattered every which way by now.

  She darted out of the compartment and the closet still swatting them off of her.

  Spiders are a night creature. They’re linked to darkness and hidden evil.

  BJ shined the light on the floor. “Ah!” Not one single solitary spider, much less a whole family. Adrenaline pumping, she folded her arms tight across her chest, paced to and fro.

  When the flow of tears subsided, she sniffled and cleared her throat, glad no one had witnessed her childish behavior. She patted her face with her shirttail. Resumed the hunt for a suitable hiding place.

  A noise down below.

  Mice?

  She held her breath.

  There it was again.

  Rats?

  She dashed into the secret compartment. Put the flashlight on the floor. Frantically rubbed the walls for the object needed to close the panel. Patted the inch-wide doorframe with her fingertips. There it is. 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.

  “Oof!”

  A new sound.

  Someone was on the stairs.

  Oh shit.

  She grasped the lever, pulled hard. With a faint squeak of hidden rollers the panel slid shut.

  The spider seemed truly insignificant now. She clicked off the flashlight. Moved to the farthest corner. Turned her back to the panel, squatted l
ow, protected her face with her hands, and made believe she’d become invisible.

  Damn. She’d forgotten to close the door to the closet.

  Years of dormant dust had been awakened. Her nasal passages burned with the onslaught of a tremendous sneeze. She heard movement in the attic. BJ pinched her nose shut, breathed into her hands through her mouth.

  Because of her cramped position, her spine did a number on her. A loud ringing in her ears prevented her from clearly hearing what was happening outside the closet.

  Was somebody creeping closer to her?

  A new threat descended on her. Rather, ascended. Slowly crawling up her ankle inside her jeans. She clamped her hands over her mouth. Stifled a scream.

  A even greater threat was upon her.

  Three feet away.

  Only three-eighth of an inch of plywood between them.

  She heard the flick of a lighter. Across a thin crack at the bottom of the panel a wavering light moved slowly, side to side, then back again. A welcoming sight indeed, but not one to enjoy, for it signaled real danger. She put aside thoughts of the spider, strained to hear.

  The sliver of light vanished. Whoever was out there had walked off. Descended the stairs.

  Really?

  Not easily fooled, she remained quiet. The creeper might have a partner.

  She mentally sketched out one plan after another.

  Slap her leg, kill the spider, and leave its guts dripping down her leg?

  Stand up, stomp her foot, hope the spider falls out? Gets squashed in the process?

  Forget the damn spider. Run nonstop to her car. Drive until she either ran out of road or the car ran out of fuel?

  BJ grasped the lever with two fingers. No sooner had she exited the closet than he tackled her and threw her to the floor. Something else hit the floor.

  His gun?

  Anger overwhelmed her. Had she the claws of a panther or the fangs of a wolf she would’ve ripped his throat open. Perhaps stopped the flow of blood and breath with a snakelike grip.

  She punched him in the groin, and ran toward the door.