Asylum - 13 Tales of Terror (9 page)

He had excused himself from the house and passed the vacant stare of the widow. His instinct had fluttered with a brief beat back at the station when he saw the files, and it now gave another weak kick of life. His early career had been distinguished; he had risen rapidly through the ranks of the department with instincts that had been razor sharp and honed. He had thought those instincts were long dead, but they had fluttered twice now and he found himself finding a slight tug of the old excitement. He was a hunter on the prowl again; a predator who had found that he still had teeth.

The dating agency was housed on an industrial estate on the outskirts of the city. The buildings were grey and dismal and the last place that Daniel thought anyone would find love. A small cynical part of him wondered at the convenient locating of a dingy motel a stone’s throw away from the agency’s front door.

He waited until after the night had closed in. He called in sick to work and was unsurprised that his absence would not be a shock to his colleagues. He wondered for the first time just how far he had fallen; the reflection in his rear view mirror told a woeful tale of his physical appearance and his fall from grace. He shook the dark thoughts away. Whether this was the start of a comeback or merely a last fling, he would follow it through.

The U+ME Agency wasn’t the sort of place to concern themselves too much with any additional security and Daniel was able to circumvent the lock and alarm with relative ease. He was already finding that the old reflexes were kicking in like a muscle memory. He eased his way into the main office at the rear of the building. The room was a typical offering - grey and functional. The walls were lined with shelves and box files, and there were two matching desks that faced each other in the centre of the room, each with matching computer screens. The office seemed relatively tidy and well maintained. There were several silver metal filing cabinets pressed against the walls, and the occasional green pot plant looked healthy and cared for. There were also many framed wedding photographs on the walls, supposedly speaking to their success rate.

Daniel sat down at the messier of the two desks, deciding that his presence was less likely to be detected there. The adjoining desk seemed clear and clean, almost deserted. Whilst the desk looked polished, there was a phone caddy and he lifted it to find a dust ring underneath. He puzzled at the cleaning process, as though it was perfunctory effort without wanting to disturb the contents.

He turned the system on and was happy to find that there was no need for a password as the computer booted up. It was a simple task to access the client files; apparently the company was doing fine as there were more than three hundred clients on their books. He already had the twelve names of the dead committed to memory and he typed the first in. He felt a strange stab of excitement and regret as the first name jumped out of the screen. He felt the excitement of the chase, the confirmation of his instinct, but he also felt the stab of regret at so much wasted time.

Ten minutes later he leant back in the leather chair. He had before him twelve names - eight men and four women - all dead of the same strange heart condition, all married and all clients of the same dating agency. He let his mind wander around the edges of the situation; he had twelve adulterers, all at the same agency and all dead. It was a pretty big coincidence. Were they all murdered by spouses? Had all twelve partners teamed together? Had a third party approached them with an offer to rid them of the cheaters? And how had they died? Was there something that had been overlooked by the coroner? All he had at the moment was a whole bunch of questions and no answers; it was time to go back to work.

He called in sick for a second shift on the bounce and barely listened as DS Toulon told him that people were starting to ask questions about his competence.
Typical
, he thought,
when I’m half-cut but in the building no-one cares, but when I’m clean and sober and working a case, suddenly everyone was getting worried
.

He showed up at the agency bright and early the following morning after a decent night’s sleep and a slightly less Irish coffee for breakfast. He entered the building from the front door this time and was greeted by a smartly dressed elderly man. The man looked around sixty and was about six feet tall; he moved with ease and seemed to lack the many usual ailments of his age. He wore a pristine white three piece suit teamed with a jaunty red tie; his gold buttons sparkled as did the smile on his face.

“Good morning to you sir,” the man greeted him warmly.

“Hi there,” Daniel replied. His voice was dry and he suddenly realised that he was unused to actually conversing with other human beings. Since Jenny’s death he had lived almost exclusively inside his own head, holding conversations only with her. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Morning,” he bounded with more enthusiasm.

“A little nervous are we sir?” The man smiled, “Well not to worry, we will take great care of you here my friend, please,” the man motioned to him to follow, “My name is Joshua Craven and I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Daniel followed Joshua into the rear office where he had skulked only a few hours before.

“Please, take a seat,” Joshua said as he sat into the very chair that Daniel had sat earlier.

Daniel made to sit in behind the desk opposite.

“NO!” The man suddenly shouted.

Daniel froze in mid air.

“I’m sorry,” Joshua recovered, “That was my late wife’s chair, we don’t use it anymore,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Daniel said swerving to avoid the mistake and taking an alternative seat.

“I’m sorry,” Joshua repeated, “Whatever must you think of me?” he asked his good humor evaporating.

“Oh forget it; it’s no problem, really.”

“I really must get round to moving her things out, but…, you know…” Joshua trailed off.

Daniel knew exactly how the man must feel, as after nine months it still could have been yesterday for him. “May I ask…?”

“Two years, just a little over two years,” Joshua’s voice was laden with heavy grief. “The cancer was sudden and just ate her away. We had been together since we were just children, married over forty years.”

Daniel turned away as the man looked like he was about to cry,
great
, he thought,
this is all I need.

“This business was her idea. She always said that she wanted to bring others together and give them the sort of happiness that we enjoyed.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment,” was all Daniel could think of to say.

“Now I’m afraid that I must ask, are you married, engaged or in a relationship at the moment?”

Daniel felt himself wilting under Joshua’s harsh red rimmed stare and he felt relieved that he had always worn his wedding ring on a chain around his neck. He had never been able to get used to wearing it on his finger and Jenny had thankfully understood.

“No of course not,” he feigned surprise, “Do people really come in here when they are?”

“Oh yes, it’s most unfortunate. Daisy, my wife, was always most insistent that we operate a clean shop, as she put it.”

Daniel smiled back. As Joshua spoke he glanced lovingly at a framed image of a woman who must be his wife. Daisy was a friendly faced woman with white blonde hair and a round face. Her skin was flawlessly glowing and her deep blue eyes sparkled.

“However, as righteous as her intentions were, we still have to find a way to operate in a somewhat dodgy economy,” Joshua said sadly, “But now I’ve asked my question and you’ve given me an answer, I can’t see a tan line on your finger, so I can safely deduce that you don’t wear a ring there. But I can see a chain around your neck and a slight bulge under your jumper, so I can also deduce just what you may be here looking for,” Joshua winked. “Well let’s get started shall we?” He said as he started his engine.

Daniel spent the next two weeks in a depressing cycle of sitting across from women who ranged from the desperate to the predatory. He was starting to think that nothing was ever going to happen, that perhaps he had placed a little too much faith in a fluttering gut reaction. At this point his work colleagues were thinking that he was either in rehab or bottoming out completely. He didn’t care which it was, just as long as they left him alone.

His eighth date had proven to be surprisingly interesting. It was shocking to him that he had suddenly found the company of another woman to be stimulating. He had been going through the motions of the previous dates in the hope of provoking a reaction from the unknown source. As yet he was unmolested; apart from the thigh grabbings of a few older women on the prowl that was. Jennifer was his eighth dinner date, and as well as the name, she even looked like his Jenny. She was tall and elegant, with petite features and a lithe dancer’s grace. She was listed as thirty two but looked younger. She had shoulder length dark hair that was naturally curly, and her eyes were large and the deepest darkest brown. She had cute freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and a small pixie nose.

Daniel was already halfway drunk when she entered the restaurant; it was his third and last date of a busy evening and his senses were buzzing. His eyes were drooping with fatigue; he hadn’t slept much lately and his body clock had yet to fully adjust to working days again. When Jennifer had glided her way across the room he had seen her through the drunken haze and thought that it was Jenny coming home.

The meal had been quick but not painless. Through his bleary vision he was sitting across from his wife again; they were talking and laughing and he was whole again. He barely noticed or cared as she led him from the restaurant, his legs wobbling with the alcohol and the sapping of his strength. Part of him knew the reality; that his wife was long dead and buried, but he could not find enough of himself to care anymore. The grief that had been slowly rotting his insides away was a heavy burden to carry and he was tired, so very tired.

“Jenny,” he moaned softly as she stroked his hair and held him into her chest.

“I’m anyone that you want me to be lover,” she murmured back.

Daniel was vaguely aware that he was in a motel room. The walls were peeling and the bedclothes were less than fresh; he wondered dimly just what the scanning white light would show and shuddered. He didn’t remember how they got here or even where here was. Then her mouth was on his. Tears leaked gently from his eyes as he kissed her back and ran his fingers through Jenny’s soft thick hair as he fell into her embrace. Jenny was back; she was here to love and hold him once again. He stroked her curves and licked her soft skin, and he was lost in her charms.

Suddenly it felt wrong. Something was wrong, something was off; a touch, a smell, a taste. That was it, the taste of her skin was all wrong. Jenny would always use a cocoa butter body cream; he could always taste it on her and smell it when they were apart. Part of his mind fought against it, fought against his withdrawal, fought against his leaving from this soft warm place of her arms. But these were not her arms, and this was not her embrace,

“No,” he slurred drunkenly.

“Oh yes,” Jennifer replied with an attempted seducers tone, “It’s a little late for take backs.”

“No, no,” Daniel insisted as her hands reached expertly for his zipper.

“Yes,” she insisted, playing the game.

Daniel managed with a final herculean effort to pull her hands away from trousers that now seemed about ten sizes too small. “NO!” He slapped her hand away firmly and she fell from the bed.

“Jesus mister, what the hell is your problem?” she snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yes you bloody are, just about the sorriest sack of shit I’ve ever laid eyes on. Just what the hell did you think we were here for?” She grumbled as she snatched up her belongings and slammed the door behind her on the way out.

Daniel stared up at the badly painted ceiling. His mind was spinning, and reeling. He felt sick and disgusted with himself and he also felt more alone than he ever had before. His heart ached with his loss. It felt broken all over again, it felt, it felt....

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe and his breath was stuck somewhere painfully deep in his chest. He felt an enormous pressure on his chest; a vice like grip was crushing the very life from him. He couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t move at all. As the room began to dim around him, he became vaguely aware that he wasn’t alone. The air in front of him was hazy and misty; his fading eyes could just about make out a face as a hate filled glare burned its way through the gloom. The eyes looked oddly familiar; he had seen that face recently. Wisps of hair floated around the face as it became clearer. The skin was translucent, but flawless; the face amongst the swirling mists he knew that he had seen but never met. It was Daisy Craven, she of the flawless skin and the rigid code of fidelity.

He looked down and could see an arm like extension of the mists invading his chest. The ghostly apparition was reaching through his clothing, effortlessly passing through flesh and bone to his heart and squeezing the very life from him. He closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness. He knew that she would be waiting here for him. Jenny would be here, and he would go to her willingly. He longed to see his wife again and fall deeply into her embrace for eternity. He reached for her beyond the darkness. He could just see her slim hand reach out towards him and he smelt her cocoa butter skin.

Then the pressure was gone. It was touch and go for a second, before his breath suddenly exploded from his chest. His face slowly turned from blue, to purple, to red, to pink, and he gulped in great greedy mouthfuls of air.

“No, please,” he rasped to the empty room, “I want to go, I want to be with her, don’t leave me here.”

11.

BLACKWATER HEIGHTS

“What happened then?” Martin demanded as soon as they were back outside.

“How do you mean?” Jimmy said in a teasing voice.

“Damn it Jimmy, you know what I mean.”

“Well we can only surmise on this one, but if you want my opinion.”

“Yes!” Martin snapped angrily.

“Well in my humble opinion, I think that Daisy was pretty keen on making the adulterers pay and poor old Daniel just didn’t fit the bill. He wasn’t there to cheat on his wife. If anything, he wanted to go to her and that just wasn’t part of Daisy’s job.”

“How did he end up in here?” Martin asked nodding towards the room.

“Well think about it. You have a senior detective, categorized as dangerously suicidal and by all accounts a barely functioning alcoholic after the death of his beloved wife. He disappeared from his job for a couple of weeks, didn’t tell anyone what he was up to and when he reappears he’s telling tales of ghosts and murders. Where exactly would you put him?”

“But I thought that everyone here was…, you know…”

“What, a criminal or dangerous?” Jimmy smiled.

“Yeah kind of.”

“There are all sorts of strange fruits under our roof here Martin. Some are dangerous to others, some are dangerous to themselves and some are just lost souls,” Jimmy said with grin that Martin found uncomfortable. “Take this next case for example.”

Jimmy opened another door whether Martin was ready or not.