Saltar's Point (27 page)

In the basement of Talcott manor Brenda stood trapped behind a wall of energy. She had tried without success to breach it many times. With every effort she made, the translucent walls closed in about her an inch at a time. The demon had grown strong, too strong for her. She withdrew her hands and looked about her. It was a room that she had never been in before, but she knew she was in the basement somewhere within the demon’s lair. Consisting of black brick walls the room was perfectly cubicle, spanning forty feet long, wide, and high.

She had been here for weeks, at least as far as she could tell. The passage of time for those beyond the world of the living was a difficult thing to gauge. In the center of the room sat a large pile of wood consisting of an array of logs and sticks, branches and roots, anything flammable all lumped together in a massive pyre, a funeral pyre. Lying on top was a vision so horrifying it was difficult to imagine. The corpse was putrid, nothing but a mass of rotted flesh and black bone. It was tall, nearly seven feet from skull to the cloven hooves. The skull itself was elongated almost like that of an ox, with two sharp slightly curved horns that jutted from the head mounted above two closely set eye sockets black as midnight. Razor sharp teeth grinned out at Brenda in a macabre smile. It was here that the demon drew its power, deep within the walls of the Talcott mansion basement, for the corpse that she gazed upon was the earthly remains of the demon itself. Brenda shuddered at the thought that this creature had once walked the earth, just as she had. Now its only desire was to awaken once again. She didn’t know how it had gotten here and she didn’t care, all that she knew was that someone had to stop it.

Brenda had tried several times to communicate with Abby, but the field of energy was too strong. It extended upward, blocking her from the floors above. The more she tried, the stronger the force became. In desperation she tried to reach outward. To find someone in the town beyond that could help. The sheriff had been here before, she had sensed his presence and knew him to be a good man, but all of her efforts to reach him telepathically had failed. He was strong willed and his mind was sealed. There had to be others, those weak enough to hear her cries for help. At last she had focused on one, a woman whose mind was weak, deteriorated by the use of drugs and susceptible to her cries. She was her only hope. She reached outward, focusing her energy. It was a difficult process, her mind felt as though it were going to explode. At last she felt the woman pay heed to her pleas. With all of her mental energy Brenda focused her thoughts into two simple words. Help Abby.

She could only pray that the woman would understand.

At the top of the stairs the demon paused. He had breached the second floor but he could feel his power waning. Oh how he longed to reach the bedroom down the hall, to rip apart limb from limb the bitch that lay within, but he knew at that moment that he could not, not yet at least. Darrow’s last victim had given him strength but it was not yet enough. He felt his physical form waning with each step he took. He peered at his hands, they were almost translucent, fading from sight right before his eyes. The energy that he had absorbed from the kill was not enough to relieve him of the constraints of his earthly body in the basement below. He let out a low guttural scream, the frustration within him was building. He was so close. Close enough to taste her blood. He would bide his time, it would not be long now, not long at all.

TWENTY-EIGHT

In the early morning Randall prepared Aiden to go to the store. He was easy to rouse, always ready to spring from his bed and begin a new day. It was six A.M. and Randall was making breakfast. The popping sizzle of frying bacon filled his small house. Aiden was busy brushing his teeth, working the brush back and forth like his mother had taught him. He was happy to spend his days at the store. Grandpa always made him feel special and always had something for him to do to help out like a big boy, but he missed his mother terribly. He stood on the plastic stool that Randall had bought him, allowing him to reach the sink. When he was finished brushing he smiled at his reflection, looking at his baby teeth and admiring the job he had done. Mommy would be proud.

He placed the cap back on the toothpaste as he was instructed and then wandered into the kitchen. Randall heard him approach and looked back over his shoulder from the stove.

“Hiya champ. How’d you sleep?”

“Good. I guess.”

“You guess? Well either you slept well or you didn’t, so which is it?”

“Good.” He looked down at his feet, avoiding eye contact, he didn’t want Randall to think he was a baby, but he couldn’t help but feel sad.

“You miss mommy don’t you.”

Aiden nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well let me let you in on a little secret.” Aiden was all ears. “It’s okay to miss your mommy, I miss her too.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Uh huh, very much. But don’t you worry, she’s going to be home very soon and then we can all be together again. Now why don’t you hop up on your stool and have some breakfast?”

Aiden climbed up and took his perch on the stool. Randall set a plate down in front of him with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Aiden liked Randall’s cooking, he made the eggs fluffy and the toast was always done just right. He liked the house too, it was much better than the small apartment he and his mother lived at in San
Francisco. Yeah, he decided he liked it here and it would have been perfect if his mother wasn’t sick.

When they were finished eating Randall loaded him up in the Cherokee and dropped him off at the store, Cletus was waiting to take him and Aiden ran up to hug his great grandfather at Bernie’s front porch. Randall gave them a little wave that Cletus returned in kind. With that he sped off, heading for the station, he had a lot of work to do.

His cell phone rang, cutting through his frazzled nerves. He looked down at the display, it was Ellie. Randall opened the flip phone and placed it to his ear.

“Hey darling, how’re doing?”

There was a slight hesitation on the other end. When she spoke her voice was shaky. “Not good. Can you come by?”

“I’m on my way to work, can it wait?”

“No.” the tone in her voice left no room for argument. “It can’t. Something happened and I don’t know how to explain it, but I really need you right now.”

He didn’t need this right now, but what else could he do? He loved Ellie with all his heart, but she was beginning to interfere with his work. The decision weighed heavily on his shoulders.

“I’ll call Denny and see if he can cover for me, then I’ll be right over. Just hang in there.”

“Thanks,” was all she could say.

Randall pulled into the rehab center and clicked off the ignition. Inside he did the usual formalities, working his way past the receptionist, explaining that he had to see Ellie unannounced. She relented and Randall trekked back to her room. He knocked gently on the door.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and stepped inside. The first sight of Ellie made his breath catch in his throat. She looked terrible. She had lost weight, but that was to be expected, hospital food was never very good. But it was her complexion that raised the most concern within him. She was pale, white as a ghost you might say, and that was probably due to the fact that Ellie believed she had seen one. Her eyes were dark and heavy, large black rings lined the upper portions of her cheekbones. She was covered in a thin sheet of perspiration, giving her the appearance of an anorexic that had been jogging for a week without much sleep.

“Hey baby. How are you feeling?” He dreaded the response, knowing in his heart what her response would be.

“Not good.”

Randall strolled over to her bedside and sat down, the springs creaked in squeaky protest. He placed his hand on her cheek lovingly, trying his best not to let the concern he felt flow through to his eyes.

“Has it been that hard?”

“Harder than I thought.” She admitted it with great reservation. It was a difficult thing to admit your shortcomings, but Ellie was past the point of trying to retain her self-dignity. “How are you doing?”

“Good.”

“And Aiden?”

“Well you know, he misses you, but he’s getting along fine.”

“It’s been hard on him.” The pain registered in her face.

“Of course. But he’s doing as well as to be expected. We’ve been fishing a lot when I can find the time, and Cletus has got him busy around the store.”

Ellie chuckled. “I bet he has, he was always one to instill a good work ethic to anyone who’s willing.”

“Yeah, he had him sweeping floors yesterday. The broom was taller than his head, but he seemed to be making due.”

Ellie tried to find an easy way to broach the subject that she had called Randall here to discuss, but there didn’t seem to be any easy avenue to take. She drew a breath and found the best spot to begin.

“Randall, do you believe in God?”

The question caught him off guard. “Yeah, I guess. As much as the next man anyway. Why?”

“And if you believe in god do you also believe that there is evil?”

“Of course. I see it everyday in my job, people do evil things all the time. If they didn’t we wouldn’t need cops.”

Ellie tried to steady her hands but they had begun to shake uncontrollably. “No, I’m not just talking about the evil that men do. I mean do you believe that there’s evil beyond the world that we live in?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you believe in the supernatural?”

He chuckled. “Like ghosts and stuff?”

Her irritation flowed to the surface. “Goddamn it Randall, I’m serious.”

Her tone took him aback. “No, not really. I mean I guess I’ve never really given it much thought. Why?”

“Because I do.”

There was an awkward silence. “Ellie, what are you talking about?”

“Last night,” she began “last night I saw something that I never thought I’d see, and it scared me to death.”

“What are you talking about baby?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about from the beginning then.”

Her sweating had grown more perfuse. “Okay, but only if you promise not to think I’m crazy.”

Randall didn’t like where this was going, but he did his best to remain composed. “I’m listening.”

Ellie began to recount last night’s events. She told him about her experience in the

bathroom, the unexplained specter, the terror she felt, and the ash she witnessed on the wall. Randall sat listening attentively, not wanting to distress her with his doubt. The drugs in her system along with her own detoxification process were obviously causing her to hallucinate. When she was finished he sat at the edge of the bed dumbfounded. She read his emotions like an open book.

“You don’t believe me.”

“No it’s not that Ellie, it’s just that it’s a lot to take in.”

“You think I’m crazy.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Of course not, I just think that maybe the drugs they have you on are causing you to see things, that’s all.”

She lost her temper. “Shit Randall! I’m not seeing anything. I know what I saw and it was real, as real as the hand in front of my face, and it scared me beyond any terror I thought I would ever know.”

His mood became more somber. “I’m sorry Ellie, it’s just that it’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“Well that maybe so, but it’s the God’s honest truth.”

“What did the words say?”

He asked the question without emotion, playing along with her little game, not expecting what he was about to hear.

“They said. Help Abby.”

His respiration stopped in his throat, it was all a coincidence he was sure, but the words Jack Darrow had said earlier still rung in his ears. “At home, taking care of Abby like always.” No it was just a coincidence that’s all. He tried to convince himself, but the doubt hung in the air like cigar smoke.

Darrow took a deep breath. The exhilaration was still pouring through him. It was all he could do not to scream out with euphoria. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, the rich smoke filled his lungs and tingled the nerve endings in his fingers. At last his master had let him kill the whore that he had kept hostage in the basement for several days. He relished her screams, her agony, the power he wielded over her, all of it. It made him feel good, better than he ever had before. He had gotten a taste for it now and there was no stopping him, not until he was caught, or dead. He took another long swallow from his bottle of whiskey. He had reached the point where the alcohol began to soothe him to his core and he relished the feeling.

The sack had plopped into the water of Sequoia Lake, emitting a satisfying splash. He had weighted it down with three large stones, weighing approximately five pounds each. Since he had cut away the flesh and organs from the body, there would be no tissue left to bloat with decaying gasses and bring the corpse to the top. He was satisfied. The skeleton would rest at the bottom of the lake for eternity. He had burned the soft tissue in the fire pit behind the mansion. The putrid aroma of burning flesh had filled his nostrils, making him giddy. Those pigs, those wretched pigs would have nothing to hang their hats on. It was the perfect crime.

On the way home he had hummed to himself, a catchy little ditty that his mother had taught him. The Goddamn bitch, may she rest in hell. The headlights of the Econoline had shown bright before him, illuminating the road as the tires ate up the distance between the lake and Talcott Manor. He pulled into the long gravel drive and stopped the van underneath the carport. He opened the door and strode up to the manor. His strides were light, he was in a good mood and he wanted to share it with somebody. Abby would have to do. He turned the lock on the front door, listened to it click, and went inside. The mansion had its usual musty smell, an odor that signified too much space for too few occupants. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the rich smell of solidarity and began to climb the grand staircase. As he passed the top banister something caught his eye, he wasn’t sure why he noticed it, but he did. It was an insignificant little feature, a blemish really, but it stood out to him as though it were showcased in a neon sign. At the top of the banister wedged in between the post and the rounded knob that capped it off there was a mark worn into the lacquer finish. Darrow knelt down and examined it more carefully. The lacquer had been worn away all around the wedge as though someone had sanded it with a wire brush, or possibly a rope pulled back and forth around its circumference. He was no sleuth and at first the blemish confounded him. He scratched his head as if trying to stimulate blood flow to his feeble brain. Then he noticed something peculiar. Where the lacquer had been worn away the wood had become rough, creating tiny protrusions of splinters. Lodged just behind one of these splinters was a single thread, a half-inch long nylon fiber yellow in color, the kind often used to make nylon rope. He plucked the fiber from the splinter and held it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it to his face to examine it more closely. Anger began to well inside of his stomach as he recalled something the demon had said to him earlier. “She has been down on the first floor.” When first he heard this he thought that the idea was preposterous, the demon’s feeble attempt to anger him enough to kill his wife. But now the possibility was too great to ignore. Perhaps Abby was more resourceful than he thought. Perhaps he had underestimated her, but if so, where did she get the rope? And why would she try to leave the second floor anyway, curiosity, boredom, or perhaps she had a greater purpose?

He stood up and tried to control the rage that continued to build within him. No, it wasn’t possible, was it? His invalid wife couldn’t have made it down to the first floor and back up again, especially without him knowing it. He rolled the nylon fiber between his fingers and tossed it aside. It was time to have a little discussion with Abby. If his suspicions were true then she was exhibiting unacceptable behavior. He began a slow methodical walk to Abby’s bedroom.

Abby had heard him enter the mansion. She could always hear the way his boots echoed as he climbed the oak staircase. She lay peacefully within her bed, but when his footfalls suddenly fell silent for a few minutes she began to get an alarming feeling in the back of her neck. Surely Darrow was not smart enough to learn of her escapades. She had been down the steps a couple more times since she found a way to descend to the first floor. Her mind raced as she tried to think about any possible evidence that she may have left behind. No, there was none, she was sure of it. She had been very meticulous not to leave any evidence of her passing behind, she was just being paranoid, and that was all.