Saltar's Point (37 page)

Aaaaabeeee
iiiitsss meeeee.

Breeeendaaa.

FORTY-FOUR

Connelly looked down at the woman in the wheelchair. Her hair was matted, her nightgown filthy, and she smelled as though she hadn’t had a bath in months. Open sores ran up and down her legs. She gazed outward but her eyes were devoid of luster and at first glance, Connelly was sure she was dead. The entire house had given him the creeps the instant he stepped foot inside and now he was sure he had walked right into a bizarre horror movie, the kind where the wife dies and the psycho husband, full of grief, keeps her rotting corpse as if nothing had ever happened.

“I told ya, she’s a damn invalid.” Jack Darrow said snidely over the detective’s shoulder.

If there was any grief in his voice Connelly couldn’t hear it. He knelt beside the woman and felt her wrist for a pulse; it was there but barely discernable. Suddenly an overwhelming wave of sorrow rushed through the young detective. He didn’t know the woman before him but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. He stood up and faced Jack Darrow who smiled out at him with a missing front tooth. Connelly had to restrain himself not to knock the rest of them out himself, let alone keep his voice level.

“Mr. Darrow, when was the last time your wife saw a doctor?”

“Shit, she’s been to every doctor under the sun at least twice. They all say the same thing, nothin’ they can do for her.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s doing too well, maybe you should…”

“Maybe you should mind your own business Mr. Jennings.” Darrow’s tone left no room for argument. “See the thing is, death’s the best thing that could happen to her now. So don’t you worry your little legal mind over it. She can’t feel a thing anyways. Doctors say she’s been brain dead for over a year now, nothin’ but one big vegetable. Shit, you might as well be lookin’ at a fruit salad for all that its worth.”

Through the haze of the sedative Abby fought for consciousness, vaguely aware that someone was speaking, no not one person, two people! People having a conversation! She hadn’t seen another person besides Jack for well over a year now. But who was it? Who was here? She tried to speak but her mouth felt as if it were super glued in place. Darrow pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. He offered the pack to Connelly who shook his head, contempt still lacing his eyes.

“Suit yourself. Me, I always like a good smoke before I get down to business, shall we?”

Darrow motioned to the door and then led the detective from the room and down the stairs. Had detective Connelly waited a moment longer he might have seen the woman in the wheelchair twitch her fingers, or seen the wad of drool that escaped her lips as she whispered two words: “
Hep mah.”

Help me.

In the living room Darrow motioned to Connelly to sit on the sofa and then he pulled the badly conditioned coffee table closer before plopping down next to the detective.

“Okay, let’s do this.” Darrow said and rapped on the coffee table to signal his eagerness.

Connelly was stalling for time, he had hoped to get a chance to look around, look for evidence, clues, anything that could tie him to the murdered girl they had found in the dumpster behind the
Shell
station. But Darrow hadn’t let him out of his sight the entire time. In fact it seemed that he scrutinized his every movement. There was no way around it, if he wanted a look at the mansion he would have to come out and ask, but he doubted Darrow would be willing to let him do so. Jack Darrow was a paranoid man, and paranoid men were like wounded lions, alert and dangerous. He pulled the fake legal documents from his briefcase and instructed Darrow where to sign. Darrow snatched the gold pen out of his hand and began hastily scratching down his initials on the highlighted sections of the documents.

“You know, this is one hell of a house you got here.”

“Uh huh.” Darrow didn’t look up, his nose pressed close as he fervently worked through the stack of papers.

“I don’t normally do this, but do you mind if after we’re finished I take a look around? I’m kind of an architecture buff.”

What the fuck? God damn nosy lawyer.
“No, I don’t…” And then Jack Darrow paused. Something had caught his eye, as he was leaning over. Just underneath his right elbow he was able to see the lawyer shift his weight on the couch, as he did so his sport jacket opened just a little bit to reveal the handle of a gun.
Since when did lawyers start packing? Fucking pigs! Fucking God damn lousy pigs. I should have known better than to fall for their lying tricks.
“Sure.” He said pleasantly. “Why the hell not? I guess there wouldn’t be any harm, and you’ve been helpful with the whole process.”

He signed the last document and then handed the pen back to Connelly with a wide smile that took the detective aback. Something about the change in Darrow’s demeanor should have tipped the young detective off, but he was too excited about the prospect of inspecting the mansion that it slipped by him.

“Great!” Connelly said and stood up, turning to leave. “I’ll just mosey about and take a look around.”

“Uh Mr. Jennings?”

Connelly turned back around. “Yes?”

“Your documents.”

“Oh right. Can’t forget those.” Chagrin crossed the young detective’s face as he took the stack of papers from Darrow.

“And I better go with you. This is a big house, don’t want you getting lost.” Darrow smiled again.

Fuck.
“Of course.”

Darrow stood up and placed his arm around Connelly’s shoulder, like a long lost brother displaying affection for the first time in years. “Why don’t we start in the basement? It’s my favorite part of the entire house.”

And then Darrow led him to the elevator and pulled the handle. The elevator descended into the darkness, screeching the entire way.

Aaaaabeee. Aaaaabeee.

A flicker of recognition worked its way through Abby’s mind. Someone was trying to talk to her.

Aaaaabeee. Itsss meee. Breeeendaaa.

Who? The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it, it sat just on the outskirts of her recollection.

Breeeendaaa.

And then it came back to her like a tidal wave crashing on the beach.

Brenda!

Brenda, her long lost friend was speaking to her, but how? Why now? And then something Brenda had said earlier registered with her. “But tonight he smells funny, and it’s always easier for me to see what he’s thinking when he smells like that.”

The drug! Whatever Jack had injected into her had opened the door to her subconscious, that’s why Brenda could speak to her.

Brenda is that you?

“Yes!”

Where are you?

“Down in the basement.”

Come up here.

“I can’t.”

Why?

“DEMON!”
The little girl’s thought screeched through her head.
“He’s got some kind of a hold on me. I’m trapped.”

I’ve got to help you!

“No! There’s no time. There’s a policeman here.”

What?!

“A policeman. Hurry Abby, now’s your chance, you’ve got to get out of here!”

I Can’t. Can’t move. I’m drugged.

“You’ve got to try! Try Abby, make some noise, anything!”

And then Abby saw the vase, the vase of flowers that Jack had brought her setting at the edge of the nightstand. If she could just manage to knock it off, then maybe…

Okay, I’ll try.

And with agonizing effort she felt her hand begin to move.

The elevator door opened into darkness. Darrow led the detective out and down the blackened corridor.

“Sorry about the lighting, haven’t had a chance to get it all fixed yet, money issues you know.”

“Yeah well I can understand that.”

“This used to be a funeral parlor you know.”

“You don’t say.”

Connelly was trying to keep up with the small talk and trying vainly to search for clues in the darkened corridor at the same time. It was near impossible to see anything and he had to concentrate not to bump into the walls as they twisted and turned themselves into a labyrinth.
Solid concrete. Not good.

“Yup, a lot of people died in this here house.” Darrow spoke with an edge in his voice.

“You mean they were embalmed here? They were already dead before they got here.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant. Embalming room’s just around the corner, pretty eerie stuff, but it makes for great party conversation.”

“I bet it does.”

“Right through here.”

Darrow motioned to the open door. Connelly stepped through the doorframe and Darrow flipped the light on behind them. As the detective’s eyes adjusted to the light he had to keep himself from shaking. He was not prepared for this. Darrow had turned the embalming room into what looked like a personal torture chamber. Devices of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. The embalming table had been modified into some kind of basin, with raised walls and a drain plug cut through the bottom of the sheet metal.
What kind of sick fuck would?

“Pretty creepy stuff huh?” Darrow’s voice interrupted his thought.

“I’ll say.”

“Yup, that’s how I found it. Seems the old mortician was some kind of weirdo. Still it is pretty interesting. But if you think this is cool wait until I show you the room back over here.” He pointed to the boiler room. It was dark save for a soft red glow emanating from the doorframe. To Connelly it looked like some kind of disturbed darkroom where a pedophile might develop pictures. More disturbing still was the smell. A gut-wrenching stench that permeated the air, like rotted flesh and burnt hair; it assaulted his nostrils and made him want to gag. Darrow pointed again to the boiler room.

“After you.”

Upstairs Abby strained to raise her arm high enough to reach the nightstand. It was an agonizing endeavor, her arm felt like it was covered in concrete and that every nerve in her body had been crushed and damaged, making it impossible for her hands to obey her whim.

“Hurry Abby!”

I’m trying!

“Try harder Abby, Please!”

Finally her hand reached the nightstand, her fingers curling gently on the edge supporting the weight of her arm as her shoulder muscles gave out. She couldn’t feel the table beneath her fingers, she could only look to confirm that she had indeed grabbed hold of the nightstand.

“Come on Abby, you can do it! Just a little further!”
Brenda’s voice was wrought with fear and desperation.

Abby watched as her fingers moved closer to the vase a millimeter at a time. At last she saw her fingers make contact with the vase and it begin to inch towards the edge.

Darrow was still pointing to the door, waiting for the detective to enter when the vase crashed to the floor upstairs.

“What the hell was that?” Connelly asked.

“Fucking cat. Should have drowned the damn thing years ago. It’s always knocking things over.”

Connelly nodded and then stepped into the darkness of the boiler room, Darrow followed and closed the door silently behind him.

“Light switch is over on the far wall, if you don’t mind flipping it on for me.” Darrow said as he moved quietly to the pick axe that was leaning up against the corner.

Connelly moved to the back of the room, searching for the light, blind as a bat. Darrow was used to the darkness, at home in it, and he could see the form of the detective moving in the nearly absent light.

“What kind of cat did you say you had?”

“Uh Siamese.”

Just before Darrow reached the corner of the room, the small radio transmitter that Connelly had buried deep inside his ear crackled so loudly he nearly jumped out of his skin. Did he hear that?
Wooding’s voice was inundated with static, and it was difficult to understand exactly what he was saying but the message was clear enough. Get the hell out of Dodge. Connelly knew what happened, they had lost radio contact while he was in the basement and they were beginning to panic. God damn, he was getting close to something big, he could sense it, and they were pulling him out.

“That’s all right. I think I’ve seen enough.”

He had no other choice, if he lingered they might think something had gone wrong and come busting in looking for him, putting the entire operation in jeopardy. Darrow would secure a lawyer and he would insist on a search warrant for which they didn’t have enough evidence, and he knew it. They were up shit creek.

Connelly’s abrupt change in interest caught Darrow off guard, another second and he would have split the pig’s head in two, lucky son of a bitch.

“But you just got here.”

“Just remembered, promised the wife I’d be home early today. Nephew’s birthday or something like that. I can never keep ‘em straight. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

Connelly was trying to keep his voice level, but the dramatic shift in interest and enthusiasm was difficult to pull off. “Well, thanks for the hospitality. I’ll be in touch.”