Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (17 page)

Shelby came tearing back into the room. The drunken wobbliness seemed to have left her, and was replaced by rapidly coursing adrenaline.  “What in the hell are you doing,” she screamed in shock.

Stammering at first, Steve began to talk. Most of it was unintelligible sounds. “No, it, it cannnn’t, I’m wont sta, not possibl,” finally he managed to string together a meaningful sentence. “Did you see that? Well, did you?”

“See what, Steve? There is nothing to see, other than a raving lunatic with a gun.” Slipping into work mode as a psychologist, she rapidly changed tactics, thinking she needed to handle this situation carefully. The tone of her voice became soothing and calm. “Steve, please put the gun down and have a seat. Everything is going to be fine.”

Steve began to comply, the extreme look of rage and fear began to disappear. He repeated more calmly, “Did you see that?”

Shelby walked over to him, and gently rubbed his shoulder. “Tell me everything you saw, and how it made you feel.”

As he began to tell his story, something was dwelling at the back of his mind; he just couldn’t manage to put his finger on the slippery thought. Those words on the TV, there was something strangely familiar about them.

Without warning the audio on the shattered television sprang to life on its own volition. The deep booming voice of a field reporter came pouring out. “This just in, breaking news from the downtown area. A body has been discovered in the old Horner Bank Building, an investigation has just gotten underway.  This building has been the sight of many problems recently. Only several days ago, a woman was injured there by flying debris.”

*    *    *

It was ten o’clock at night; Liam was still wandering around the downtown. Usually, he was not much of a night owl. Most of the time; he liked to be home relaxing; poring through the many treasures he collected. At least to him they were treasures, many other people, less educated of course, might see them as junk. His house was literally crammed with the items he sought to collect. Some of the rooms were so packed that only small trails about two to three feet wide existed, running between the piles and piles of clutter. If one looked up the word packrat in
Webster’s Dictionary,
it should have listed Liam’s name as part of the definition.

So, he contemplated to himself, what it was that possessed him to be out tonight, aimlessly walking around without a purpose? He knew part of the answer; the incredible anger that had overcome him earlier in the day had not subsided.
It isn’t like me to feel so angry, for so long, but this damn building just calls to me. For some reason, this project seems more important than any of my previous projects. Those causes were wonderful too, why’s this so special?

He was coming around the corner; heading back passed the bank building for what was probably the fourth or fifth time. Liam had lost count at some point. He just kept walking large circles in the area, and always ending up back here. There just had to be some way for him to save this building.

This time around he noticed something was different. One of the side doors was slightly ajar. Walking up to the entry, cautiously at first, he got closer and closer, his curiosity finally taking over. Liam looked around over his shoulders, like a child trying not to get caught. Determining that nobody was looking, he opened the door about a foot, and yelled in, “Hello, is anybody in there?”

The only response that met his inquiry was the slight echo of his own voice in the stairwell, followed by deathly silence.

Throwing caution to the wind, which wasn’t like him, he opened the door and walked in. It was dark, very dark, except for the street light that leaked in through the open doorway. He began to walk towards the stairs, not really thinking about what he was doing, or why.

Slowly, Liam started to climb the first few steps. It was as if he was in some type of trance, and was just watching himself doing these things in a movie.

A moment later, the door to the street slammed shut with a resounding bang that echoed loudly through the stairwell. The place was now shrouded in total darkness. Whether it was the racket of the door, or the darkness, he could not say, but it shocked him back to the here and now. Fear had gotten a strangle hold on him. He went running frantically back towards the exit, slamming into it painfully, as he tried to get out. He began to feel for a door handle or lock. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t thinking straight anymore, and of course the door wouldn’t budge. The hysteria was getting worse with every passing second. The seconds felt like hours, as he continued to struggle with the door.

How could it get any worse?
he thought, before imagining the sound of footsteps.
Oh God, someone is in here with me, but who, probably some crazy person or criminal.
Several times he tried looking over his shoulder, as he continued his struggles, but each time his eyes were greeted by only pitch-black darkness. Not one shard of light seemed to penetrate the stairwell from anywhere. 

Trying to calm himself down, he realized the battle with the door was futile. He tried desperately to block out the noise of his heart pounding in his ears, he needed a plan.

Think, think, I’ve got to relax. Stay calm, that’s what I need to do. Oh, I’m going to die in here, I just know it. Stop that, that is not staying calm, you idiot. Of course you’re not going to die here. What kind of ridiculous thought is that? The footsteps are just in my imagination, and the darkness won’t swallow me up. There is no reason to assume the worst. Maybe, if I feel my way around, I can find a door that leads out into the building. Yeah, that’s an idea, and then I can try to find the way to the main entrance.

Slowly, Liam began to grope his way around the room. He was running his hands all along the walls, searching for another door.

Unbelievably, he felt a hand wrench his shoulder, and the world around him pitched into an even deeper darkness as he felt himself falling backwards towards the floor.

Chapter 16
Sunday September 15
th
, 1929

Sunday September 15
th
, 1929

The car pulled up in front of Sharky’s at precisely eight p.m. The time etched itself in Tim’s mind as he jerked the sleeve of his shirt down to hide his watch. He was wearing a digital timepiece, and grimaced at the thought of this technology being noticed.

Reggie nudged Tim’s arm roughly, encouraging him to get out of the car. The magnitude of this whole ordeal was really starting to sink in. Only this morning, he had been living in 1986, and now here he was in the 1920’s, probably keeping company with a group of mobsters. He had been trying to puzzle through it rationally all day, but none of it made sense. How had he gotten to this time and place, and how was he going to get back? He desperately needed to find a way back; his daughter was depending on him. She had lost her mother only a year earlier and now to lose her father just wouldn’t be fair. Not that Tim suffered from any delusions about the world being a fair place!

He was trying very hard to suppress the fear and anxiety churning inside him, simmering just below the surface. Maybe this dinner would prove to be a temporary distraction from his problems.

Sharky’s was a really jumping place; there was a line of people waiting outside to get in. As they entered, Tim was amazed at the elegance of the establishment.
The name Sharky’s doesn’t suggest sophistication, more of the exact opposite,
he thought.

The entry had plush-scarlet carpeting, and a large crystal chandelier illuminating it. The walls were covered with dark wood, all intricately carved with a real attention to craftsmanship.
Something you just don’t see anymore,
Tim thought shaking his head sadly. Things in the future were thrown together so sloppily, with not much attention to detail.

“Come on, let’s get going. Ain’t you ever been no place classy before? It’s not a good idea to keep the big cheese waiting.”

“Sorry, Reggie, this place just isn’t what I expected.”

A few moments later, Tim found himself sitting down at a large round table with Angela and several other thugs she introduced as Wes, Larry, Tony, and of course Charles. There was something about Charles that rubbed Tim the wrong way from the get go. He shook hands with a vise-like death grip, and his charming smile seemed more like a cover up for a dark sinister side.

Shortly into the dinner conversation, it became apparent that Tim was right about Charles’ smile. He kept flashing it, yet he seemed to be angry about something. That antagonism seemed to be directed against the wait staff for now. Twice he had sent back the coffee for not being hot enough, and now he was busy yelling about the bread being cold. Personally, Tim was finding everything about this restaurant to be top notch. The bread wasn’t cold at all; in fact, it tasted extremely fresh, and came with a delicious apple butter that gave it a really sweet taste. The surroundings and the meal were providing him with a temporary distraction from his troubles.

“So, Tim, tell me something about yourself?” said Charles. His cold grey eyes had a malicious look in them.

Tim had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to work up a back story for himself. As good as Tim thought the story was, he didn’t consider himself to be a polished liar. In reality he was a very honest person, it was just part of his easy going nature. Telling the truth was so much easier; it saved wasting time and effort trying to remember what you had said. “I am an accountant and recently lost my job. I was feeling pretty distraught, and then I bumped into Angela.”

Angela smiled, her perfect white teeth beamed from between her ruby-red lips. “And, what a lucky break that was, an accountant is exactly what our business was missing.” There was a warmth that shone in her green eyes as she completed her sentence.

Any warmth Tim might have felt was definitely not coming from Charles, who had also apparently noticed the kind way Angela was acting towards Tim. “Tim, where exactly did you work, and what caused you to lose your job, was it something dishonest? Are you on the lam?” 

Angela’s sweet look changed instantly. She could see Charles was jealous, and trying to stir up trouble. She gave him an evil look out of the corner of her eyes to show him she had his number, but she let the conversation continue. This was a great chance to learn a little something about Tim, like how he responded to pressure.

Tim thought for a second planning his next move, this wasn’t good at all. Specifics would be a hard thing to cover up if anybody did any digging. Instead, he decided to emulate a politician, and not answer the question directly. “Well, I actually worked at several different places, and yes, I am ashamed to admit there might have been a little fraudulent behavior on my part. But come on now, does the government really need all that extra money anyway? They are the ones ripping us off with overly high taxes. So, I just evened the score a little.”

             
Um, tax fraud, I’m impressed. Even if he isn’t telling the whole truth, he is quick on his feet. His facial expressions during this tale were just slightly different than I have noticed so far. Up until now, I don’t think he has been telling any lies. I need to find out more about this guy, very intriguing.
All of this was running through Angela’s head, before Charles, not happy with the indirect answer, tried pushing his point again.

“Tim, that is all well and good, and I am certain none of us would disagree about the government and taxes. But the question stands, what are the exact names of the businesses you worked at?”

Thankfully, before Tim had a chance to respond, the main course arrived. There was a fabulous selection of food. Tim had ordered himself a large prime rib, and it came out perfectly pink with the au jus flowing off of it. The aroma was heavenly.

The guys began tearing into their food like wild animals; there were no dainty eaters, that was for sure.

“Pass me the salt,” sputtered Reggie in his harsh voice, small bits of food spewing out of his mouth. 

Tony passed it over obligingly, and in his thick Italian accent uttered something about the food being great as usual, even if it didn’t have tomato sauce on it. Everyone chuckled and continued to dig in. The mood at the table had become much more congenial, and Charles had apparently given up his frontal assault on Tim, at least for now.

*    *    *

That was Tim’s first meal with the Torrelli gang. It went from the main course to a round of fantastic-tasting dessert to another round of coffee. Tim ate until he felt he was going to burst, the meal just seemed to go on forever. The whole event was a wonderful distraction.

Now, he was back in his new room at the boarding house. It was late, around eleven p.m., as he flopped down onto the bed, still fully dressed in his suit. Hanging his feet off the side of the bed and using the tip of his foot, he popped off one shoe and then the other. Tim was feeling far too full to bother bending down and taking them off properly.

Sleep was trying hard to overtake him as he laid there with a full stomach after such an eventful day. It just wouldn’t quite come; there was still a nagging worry working on the edges of his mind, and it was trying hard to get his attention.

Suddenly, his thoughts were taken away from both contenders. There was a gentle knocking on his door. Without much thought to possible danger or who it was, he walked over and opened it. Angela was standing there, looking just as gorgeous and fresh as she did at the beginning of the evening.

“Tim, I am glad to see the guys have found you a place. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the dinner tonight. I know I did.”

Tim had to admit to himself that he was enjoying all of this attention from such a lovely woman. Angela was the only thing keeping him grounded in his new found surroundings. “The dinner was great. Thank you, I really appreciated it.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed tonight. Tomorrow won’t be so glamorous. It’s back to the grind. If you’re interested, I think I have the perfect job for you. I wasn’t kidding earlier when I mentioned that the business needed a new accountant.” Without waiting for Tim’s reply, Angela continued on in complete control of the situation, as was her style. “You need to be at the Horner Bank building tomorrow by eight a.m. Here,” from out of nowhere, she produced a card and placed it in the palm of Tim’s hand, “the address is listed on my card.”

Tim looked at it momentarily, the fancy gold typeface read, “Torrelli Investment Management.” Below the title listed in black ink was the building’s address, indicating suite number 713.  “How will I get there? I don’t have a car.”

“Just catch a ride with one of the boys, there should be several of ‘em heading in that direction tomorrow morning.” She turned and started to glide out of the room, stopping, she twirled back to face him. Angela was holding a small package wrapped in an art deco looking paper. “This is for you. You seem like a thoughtful man that could use it.” She placed the package in his hands, and left the room without further pause.

Tim stared at the package resting in his hands. He couldn’t imagine why she was giving him a gift, or what it was.

Sitting back down on the bed, he just admired the present absentmindedly, flipping it over and over in his hands. Tim’s psyche was still busy with everything that had happened to him. Finally, his attention focused solely on the package, and he ripped it open with wild abandon, like a kid on Christmas morning.

Inside, he discovered a striking leather-bound journal. The smooth soft black cover was immaculate. The journal was about the size of a small paperback book, and the edges of the paper had a shiny gold finish. Opening it, he found a note from Angela. The message had been written on a piece of stationery that smelled of her perfume, a light flowery scent. Eagerly, he began to read the note.