Rancor: Sinister Attachments, Book 1 (4 page)

Part of Jess wanted to run up, fling the door open, and surprise whoever was on the other side. But the other part of Jess was afraid of who, or what, may be there. She stared at the doorknob and when there were no further attempts to turn it, she ran into Maggie's room.

“Maggie,” Jess whispered as she shook her shoulder. “Maggie, wake up.”

Maggie opened her eyes and looked at the clock on the end table. “Jess, it's three in the morning. What's going on?”

“Someone was just trying to get in your front door,” Jess said, turning on Maggie's bedroom light.

“What?” Maggie rubbed her eyes. “Are you sure? Maybe you were dreaming.”

“I wasn't dreaming,” Jess said, holding up the can of pop still in her trembling hand. “I was drinking this wide awake, not in my sleep.”

Maggie was alarmed. Who wanted to come into her apartment in the middle of the night? They walked into the living room and looked at the door. Silence.

“I'm afraid to look out the peephole,” Maggie said, crossing her arms from the chill in the air. “Someone might be looking back at me.”

“I looked through it earlier,” Jess whispered. “It's too dark out there to see anything.”

Then they heard a door close.

“That sounded like it came from Debbie's apartment,” Maggie said, looking at Jess.

“You should have Mr. Zimmerman put another lock on your door,” Jess said. She looked around the sparsely furnished living room for something heavy to push in front of the door, to keep whoever was trying to break-in, from getting inside. “We should put something in front of the door, at least until you get another lock.”

“The couch is the only thing,” Maggie said, walking to one end of an old, worn Florence Knoll Sofa. “Help me push it.”

They tugged on the long, mid-century couch. Its metal legs pulled on the rust-orange shag carpet until it was pressed against the wooden door.

“I feel a little safer,” Maggie said, walking back to her room.

“I don't,” Jess said, closing her bedroom door.

SIX

Jess had already showered and dressed by the time Maggie got up. She walked into the kitchen where Jess was finishing a cup of coffee.

“It's been a blast, Maggie,” Jess said, sarcastically. “But I need to get out of here. Do you want to come with me?” 

Maggie laughed. “There has to be a logical explanation for what happened last night.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe Debbie came home drunk and forgot which apartment was hers.”

Jess sat her cup in the sink. “Terrible explanation, I don't buy it. What else do you have?”

Maggie filled her cup with coffee and looked at Jess. “Your imagination ran away with you? You know how you think this place is haunted, and every little thing is a ghost.”

“Nope, that's not it,” Jess said, shaking her head. She picked up her purse and walked toward the couch still blocking the door. “It's quite possible there are crazy people living in this place; you said they seemed a little odd.”

Maggie helped Jess move the sofa so she could escape, pushing the old heavy piece of furniture across the carpet with a dull rumble.

“You babysit tonight?” Jess asked as she walked toward the door.

“Yep,” Maggie said, rolling her eyes. “I can't believe I got myself into that one.”

“I'd get out of it if I were you,” Jess said. She looked toward the living room windows. “You might consider locking your windows because that porch is right there. Anyone could walk right up to them and get inside.”

Maggie looked at the windows and then back at Jess. “I'll suffocate. There's no air conditioning.”

Jess's hand rested on the doorknob. “Don't take any more babysitting jobs. That Debbie seems a little weird to me, and I haven't even met her.”

Maggie sighed.

“I think you should go back to your house. I know you don't want to live there because of the suicide, but at least it's safe.” Jess opened the door and stepped over the threshold. Even though the sun outside was bright, its yellow rays turned a murky gray as they formed shadows against the walls. She shivered. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

Maggie closed and locked the door. Jess was right; this place was creepy, but not creepy enough to move.

She walked to the kitchen and refilled her coffee cup. Outside, the calm lake reflected the blue sky and appeared refreshing. But inside Maggie's apartment it felt damp, and the air smelled musty. She opened a window to let in the clean air. A fan would help circulate the air, she thought. She would have to get one the next time she went to town.

Maggie walked out of her apartment and around the hall corner to the door leading out to the second-floor wraparound porch. She put her coffee cup in the other hand and pushed down the French door handle to open it. The door was stuck. Not necessarily from swollen, summer wood, but more likely from not having been opened in a while.

She used her body to push the door open, spilling a couple drops of coffee onto the wood floor in the process. The warm, pine-scented breeze made the hair framing her face tickle her cheeks as if it wanted her to stay outside and play. She pushed the hair behind her ears and walked in front of her apartment windows. Anyone standing here could look right inside her living room. Not very private, she thought. When she looked closer at the loose fitting window screens, she realized they would be easy to remove or at least kick in to gain entry. But who would do that? The only people with access to the porch are the people who live here.

She looked toward the section of the porch in front of Bruce's apartment, wondering why he had not taken the time to put a chair outside his windows to enjoy the summer sun. Maybe he was not the outdoor type.

Maggie walked around the corner of the porch, to the north side of the building, in front of the bedroom windows. This expanse also led to a small diamond shaped window in front of the stairway.

She walked to the cushion-sized window and looked through it. Her apartment door was closed. She would have fainted if she saw it was open when she knew she had closed it. Thanks, Jess, for making me a nervous wreck.

Maggie turned away and walked to the northeast corner the porch. She stood there, not going any farther because Debbie's apartment would be facing this part of the wraparound. She would not continue exploring.

Looking out to the parking lot, she saw her car, an old rusted Lincoln, and another old gray sedan. She guessed the Lincoln belonged to Mr. Zimmerman.

She looked up to the third floor; there was no porch above her, only the superintendent's residence. Looking back down the length of the porch on the east side of the building she noticed another small diamond-shaped window next to the stairway, another set of French doors, and then Debbie's windows.

She walked past the stairway window and was about to open the door leading back inside when she heard voices coming from Debbie's apartment.

She did not want to listen and invade her privacy, but as she pushed the resistant door, a couple words said with a harsh whisper caught her attention. “Not tonight, later. There is time to complete the task . . . She has no idea what lies ahead.”

Maggie stopped pushing on the door, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She took her hand off the handle and walked back around to the other door. When she opened it, it scraped along the hardwood floor. She had made so much noise opening and closing it, she just knew Debbie had to be looking at her through her door's peephole.

Acting as though she had not heard the person speaking in Debbie's apartment, she casually walked to her apartment, went inside, and closed the door.

Who was talking with that witchy voice? That did not sound like Debbie and certainly not Susie; or was it something entirely different? It was just a whisper. Maybe a grandparent was visiting. Gee, I'm getting paranoid, Maggie said to herself. Get back to work.

She walked into the kitchen, took a black trash bag from the drawer, and walked into the spare room where Jess had slept. Doing the mundane task of laundry would get her mind off Debbie and the possible intruder. Since Susie would be sleeping in this bed later tonight, the sheets needed to be washed anyway.

The washer and dryer were in the basement, at least that is what Mr. Zimmerman told her. Since she did not yet have a laundry basket, she stuffed the sheets and pillowcases into the bag, grabbed a pocketful of quarters, a container of laundry detergent, and walked out the door.

Thinking about what Jess had said about someone trying to get into the apartment, she took the skeleton key and locked the door from the outside before walking past the utility room to the elevator. She walked inside and pressed the button with a big black B on it. As the elevator began closing, she noticed Debbie's door open, but the door clanked shut before she could see who was coming out.

She watched the numbers light up as the elevator descended. It was so slow, she felt like it would have been faster to walk down the stairs.

The elevator jolted to a stop and the door rattled open, revealing a dark corridor with flickering fluorescent overhead lights. The scent of musk and of a dead animal, probably a mouse, made her wonder if she would have been better off going to a Laundromat.

SEVEN

Maggie adjusted the bag of dirty of clothes and held it at her side as she stepped off the elevator and into the dimly lit basement. She knew the washer and dryer were down here, but Mr. Zimmerman had not shown them to her when she came to see the apartment and sign the lease.

She looked down at the dirty concrete floor. Moisture oozed from the corner where the dingy white painted concrete walls met the floor. Looking up, she saw old fluorescent lights flickering and heard them hum a continuous noise down the length of the long corridor.

To the left was the stairway and to the right was an open door to a dark room. Thinking it could be the laundry room; she reached inside and felt for a light switch. Finally finding the switch, she flipped it on. A light bulb hanging from an electrical cord came on, revealing boxes, bins, and items that seemed to be in storage. When she looked farther back into the space, she noticed hospital beds, old-fashioned wheelchairs, and stretchers. The reminders of the building’s history made her shiver. She wondered how many people had died there.

She turned the light off and continued down the hallway. There were two other rooms on the right, but she was not able to open them. Good, they are locked, she thought. She really did not want to see what might be inside them.

The room in the left corner of the basement had a dim nightlight. She could see a washing machine and a dryer inside. Relieved, she walked into the room.

She turned on another flickering fluorescent lamp, causing its electromagnetic ballast to emit a headache producing buzz. She sat the bag of sheets and detergent on the small table and looked inside the only washing machine. It looked clean enough, so she put the required quarters into the slots, pushed in the coin slide, and pressed start.

When she had finished loading the washer, she closed the lid, took the garbage bag, and walked back into the hall. Between the noise and the smell, there was no way she was going to sit in the room and wait for the wash to finish. Instead of taking the elevator, she decided she would take the stairs back up to the second floor; at least they were open and spacious. When she got to the lobby, she saw Ethel come in through the front door.

“Hi, Ethel,” Maggie said, rounding the corner to continue her ascent.

“Hi, dear,” Ethel said, with vocal cords made of sandpaper. “Sorry about yesterday but I had a coughing spell and had to take care of it. I get those every now and then.”

“Not a problem,” Maggie said, standing on the next flight of stairs. She noticed Ethel had stopped and was staring at her as if she had seen something frightful. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, dear,” Ethel said, waving her hand in front of her face. “I sometimes get spells, I’m fine.”

“Spells?” Maggie questioned. “Like a seizure?”

Ethel nodded. “Yes, like that, but not a seizure.”

“I hope you feel better,” Maggie said, concerned for the elderly woman. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” Ethel said. She began walking toward her apartment and then stopped. She turned and looked back at Maggie, who had continued her climb. “Dear?”

Maggie stopped and turned to look at Ethel. “Yes?”

“I hope you don’t think I’m strange, but I’m able to see into the future and I would love to read you sometime. Would that be all right?”

Maggie shrugged. She did not necessarily believe in that kind of thing, but she agreed. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Can we make it soon?” Ethel asked, stroking the beads around her neck.

Her expression was so serious that Maggie was beginning to think Ethel was seeing something that very moment. She nodded and continued up the stairway as Ethel stood there, watching her.

That was strange, she thought, as she continued climbing. When she reached the second floor, she stood there and listened. It was quiet, too quiet.

When she reached her apartment door, she turned the knob, making sure it was still locked. Thankfully, it was. She took the key from her pocket, unlocked the door, and walked inside. After closing the door, she locked it with her skeleton key.

“I’ve got to call Mr. Zimmerman and get another lock on this door,” she said to herself.

She looked at the black rotary telephone sitting on one of the end tables in the living room. Sandpiper Bluff was located too far away from a telephone company to get the Internet through the phone line so she would not bother connecting the old phone. Her cell phone would work fine connecting to the World Wide Web. Especially since the apartments had no cable or satellite hookups.

A portable black-and-white television set was on the other table. It could not be used either because there was no digital converter box.