The Unclaimed Victim

by D. M. Pulley

  Kris inhaled deeply and tried to block out the idea of a petrified soul hanging over her, of her father trapped under the surface of the Auglaize River. Something in the smoke tugged at the corners of her memory. It reminded her of her childhood back home.

  “Lost soul,” Madame Mimi whispered. “If you can hear my voice, come. Come and sit by the fire. You are safe here with us.”

  Kris blocked out the woman’s voice and focused on the memory straining to come back to her. Her father’s pipe? A campfire? Every time she came close to placing it, it slipped away from her. Her father’s garage? The smell of gunpowder? The discharge of her father’s rifle that time they’d gone pheasant hunting?

  The smoke cleared for a moment, and Kris swore she smelled rain. She cracked her eyes open at the hazy circle of faces all bent with concentration.

  Madame Mimi had her eyes closed and whispered, “She’s here.” She waved the smoldering bundle of twigs around some more.

  Kris shook her head and ignored the woman. The nagging smell pulled her in deeper. Birthday candles being blown out? Her grandmother’s living room? Her mother’s cigarette? The thought was startling since Kris had hardly any memory of the woman before she died.

  “It’s alright. We’re here to help. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Madame Mimi whispered. “You can stop running now. It’s over, Rachael. You’re safe . . . He’s not coming back.”

  Kris’s eyes flew open at the mention of her mother’s name.

  “It’s time to rest. Go to sleep. Everyone be still, be at peace with the departed. Show her it is safe to close her eyes.”

  Kris covered her face with her hands, staring into her palms in disbelief. It’s just a coincidence. Rachael is a common name. The group sat in silence for several moments. Kris dropped her hands. They were all in various poses of sleep. Beaded Dreadlocks was hugging her knees. Goatee was stooped over his lap. Madame Mimi had her head tipped back and her hands folded.

  A cool wisp of air fluttered across her cheek. That instant, all eight candles went out.

  Kris sucked in a gasp. She’d been staring right at them and poof.

  “Good night, Rachael. Travel safe,” Madame Mimi whispered into the dark room.

  A quiet chorus of whoas and wows circled the room. Several voices agreed, “Travel safe.”

  Jimmy pulled himself to his feet, and a moment later, a string of purple holiday lights lit up overhead. The circle broke up and stood to leave. “Thank you, Madame Mimi,” several voices chorused as they wandered out.

  One added, “That was super trippy.”

  Mimi began packing up her bag of tricks. Kris considered asking about the ghost’s name but talked herself out of it. Her mother had died in a car wreck, not in a creepy building 180 miles from home, and she didn’t want to give the con artist any more grist for her mill.

  Kris stood up. The walls pulsed different shades of purple. A futon mattress sat in one corner on a low frame of wooden warehouse pallets. The floor was littered with large pillows. A glass bong sat in the other corner next to a large bongo drum.

  The far wall was covered in a web of pencil, marker, and pen lines all written in different hands. Kris walked over to it. Lovingly drawn pot leaves grew next to scribbled graffiti.

  Let go of the umbrella and let in the rain.

  I’m frosting this couch with my head!

  Alice just fell down the wrong hole. Silly rabbit!

  The bizarre statements were mixed with random song lyrics by Jimi Hendrix, Johnny Cash, and Tom Waits. Girlie doodles filled in blank spaces with ladybugs eating flowers and caterpillars crawling on mushrooms.

  A set of words stood out from the others in dark red ink.

  I will go into Thy house with burnt offerings. I will pay thee my vows.

  She frowned as she read it and scanned the wall. Another odd sentence in the same writing sat a few feet away next to a penciled butterfly smoking a joint.

  He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.

  She squinted at the words and took a step back. Feathers? More red letters were set high off the floor.

  For the life of the flesh is in the blood . . .

  and it is the blood that makes atonement

  “What the hell?” she whispered. It sounded like a Bible verse. The red ink looked like blood against the dark purple. She reached up a hand to touch the grooves left by a small brush. They’d been painted on. She turned to ask Jimmy about them but he was talking with Mimi.

  “Thank you for having me, Jimmy,” she said and gave him a warm hug, during which he slipped a rolled-up plastic bag into her pocket. Kris had no doubt what it was filled with.

  On her way to the door, the fortune-teller stopped and motioned Kris over. She reluctantly obeyed. Mimi picked up Kris’s hand, turned it over, and studied her palm a moment before she said, “You won’t find him here.”

  “What?” Kris pulled her hand back as though it had just been infected with crazy. “Find who?”

  “The one you’re looking for.”

  “Wait.” Kris shook her head clear and focused. Of all the people she’d met in the building, Mimi was the only one old enough to know her father, even if she was a nut. She pulled his license out of her pocket. “Have you seen him? He—uh . . . He was telling people he lived here a few years ago?”

  Mimi furrowed her brow at the card and glanced over Kris’s shoulder at Jimmy, then shook her head. No. She studied Kris’s face another moment and said, “You need to be careful. They’re watching you.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “What the hell was that all about?” Kris demanded after the old woman left.

  “What do you mean?” Jimmy smirked. He pulled another joint out of his pocket and offered it to her.

  “You know what I mean.” Kris waved him off angrily. He’s not here. After all that, she’s never even seen him. “The ghosts? The palm reading? ‘They’re watching you.’ Does she think if she scares the shit out of me, I’ll pay her money or something?”

  Jimmy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “She didn’t ask for money, did she? I’m sure she didn’t mean any harm. You alright?”

  Kris had spent the previous night holding a knife, convinced someone was indeed watching and stalking her. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just . . .” I’ll never find him.

  “Hey.” He gently squeezed her shoulders, his eyes soft. “I’m sorry. I thought she’d be able to help.”

  Kris shrugged him off but took the bite out of her voice. “You don’t buy all her mother earth psychic stuff, do you? It’s just parlor tricks.”

  “Call it what you want. Parlor tricks, intuition, hocus-pocus, I don’t care. Mimi sees things that other people can’t see. She’s told me some things I hadn’t even admitted to myself. She’s cool if you give her a chance. She lives across the hall if you ever want to talk to her. You never know. It might help.”

  “Help what, exactly? It’s a scam.”

  Even as she said it, Kris couldn’t help but wonder what Madame Mimi would say about the human remains lying somewhere inside the Auglaize County Sheriff’s Office. She’d probably say whatever would keep me coming back.

  “I hope you don’t give her all your money.”

  “Nah. Mimi and I have an arrangement.” Jimmy winked at her in the most enticing sort of way. He was flirting with her, she realized, and she still didn’t know her way out of the building. And now they were alone. In his bedroom.

  She shifted her weight uneasily. “You give her weed, don’t you?”

  He smirked at her like, So what?

  “So what does that make you exactly, besides a total sucker?”

  He laughed. “A good friend to have. Speakin’ a which, you want another beer? You look like you could use it.”

  Kris nodded despite the red flags waving in her head. He’s a drug dealer. My father would kill me. If he was here. She let out a helpless laugh to keep from crying.

  “Shit. You don
’t have to be a psychic to see somethin’s bothering you.” He lifted her chin. “It’s written all over your face.”

  She gazed up into his deep brown eyes. The lids were heavy with thick, long lashes. They drifted from her irises down to her mouth and lingered there.

  She bit her lips together in self-defense as the thought of kissing him rushed through her. He looked like an amazing kisser. He was the exact opposite of Troy. And she longed to feel anything but this . . . His lips curled into an amused grin that told her he’d seen the temptation all over her face.

  “I should get going.” She pulled away before it was too late and stumbled toward the wall of scribbled artwork and bizarre quotes. “I like the mural, by the way. Who drew all these?”

  Jimmy stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Friends. Strangers. Some of them were already here when I moved in.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Those trippy Bible verses. There were tons of them all over the walls. I painted over most of them, but a few were just . . . too good to let go.”

  Kris scanned the painted red letters again. It is the blood that makes atonement. “Do you think a girl was really trapped in here? You know, like Mimi said?”

  Jimmy gave her a grim nod. “Yeah. I do. At night, sometimes I feel like I hear her crying.”

  Kris raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure it’s not just the wind or something?”

  “Could be. It’s not that hard to believe, though. I mean, these buildings have been vacant since the old Harmony Mission Press closed down in the ’50s. A lot of shady things happened here.”

  The music in the gallery below downshifted into a slow throbbing bass line. Jimmy’s slow gaze wandered over her with the music. Kris inched closer to the door. “Doesn’t that, uh, make you nervous?”

  “Not really. It’s sort of fun living in a haunted house, right? You wouldn’t believe our Halloween parties. Mimi told me once that she could sense that more murders had been committed in this place than in any other building she’s investigated. A serial killer may have even lived here at one time.”

  Everything that had come loose inside her tightened back up at the words serial killer. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I have to go home. Thanks for having me.”

  His eyes bent into a puzzled frown. “You don’t find this murder stuff amusing, do you?”

  “Amusing? No. I don’t find it amusing.” Her pent-up emotions beat against their cages. “I mean, what the hell is wrong with people? They treat serial killers like rock stars, stealing pictures and coroner’s reports like they’re freaking autographs. People died! They fucking died! And it’s like a big joke or a carnival ride to you and your stoner friends. I just . . . I need to get the hell out of here!”

  “Whoa.” He held up his hands in self-defense. “I don’t think it’s a joke, Kris. I don’t. I care about the girl stuck in this room. I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out who she was and trying to find her family. I swear.”

  She caught herself midrant and studied his face. He looked sincere. “You have?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry. It’s not you.”

  “Hey. It’s okay . . . Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “No. I just . . .” She blinked the tears away and headed out of the room. “I have to go.”

  “Okay, but I can’t let you walk home all by yourself at this hour.” He stopped her in the doorway. “C’mon. It’s the least I can do.”

  Kris couldn’t tell if he just wanted to keep working her or if he wanted to make sure she made it home safe. “What about your party?”

  “The party isn’t going anywhere. I’ll probably be kicking those fools out three days from now.” He held her gaze a moment too long.

  She forced herself to look away. For all she knew, he was some sort of lunatic serial killer himself. “I’m fine.”

  He took a step back like he could read her mind. “Listen. I get it. You just need a friend right now. I can be a friend. Okay? But you shouldn’t be walking around here alone, and you know it.”

  It was moments like these that Kris most hated being female. If she were a guy, she could walk wherever she damn well pleased. She could wander the building, searching for her father all by herself. Then what Jimmy said finally registered. A serial killer may have even lived here. Her father may have tracked him to this very building.

  “C’mon. Let me walk you home.”

  Kris felt herself nod.

  Jimmy led her, numb and stumbling, down the hallway to a different set of stairs, down three flights, and out into a large courtyard. It was surrounded on all sides by the walls of the factory. It would’ve been an atrium for the factory workers—a place to smoke cigarettes and see the sun—but it felt more like a gallows. Dark windows glared down in judgment as though waiting for the executioner to appear. She scanned them all for her father’s face.

  They crossed the pavement and under the next wing of the complex into a dark covered loading dock that resembled a cave. The yellow lights of Thurman Avenue streamed in through the enormous iron gate, and she realized she was inside the loading dock across from her house.

  Jimmy led her to a small man-size gate cut into the iron bars. A rusty chain hung from the rails, padlocked shut, keeping the city out and the murdered ghosts of the factory in. Jimmy produced a thin awl and miniature tweezers from his pocket. Kris watched with detached fascination as he picked at the padlock with his tools until it clicked open.

  “Nice trick,” she said. “Are you a burglar too?”

  The twinkle of affection playing on his face went out. The offense registered in his raised eyebrows and flat stare.

  “That sounded terrible. I’m sorry.” And she was. She’d tried hard to shed her lily-white, small-town ignorance when she’d moved to Cleveland, and the shame of having said something possibly racist made her cringe. “No, really. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Hey. Occupational hazard.” He flashed a smile, but it wasn’t the same. He swung the door open for her with a flourish. “After you.”

  The tiny house she rented sat three doors down. She could see by the dark windows that Pete wasn’t home, and her stomach sank. She’d have to brave another night in the creepy house by herself. “I can make it from here.”

  “I know,” Jimmy said and took her arm anyway.

  They walked together in silence under the glow of the streetlamps to her door. No one on Thurman left their curtains open, and only faint halos of light escaped through the edges as they passed by.

  “Seriously, how did you learn to do that?” she finally dared ask.

  He shrugged. “You pick up things here and there. What, they didn’t teach you that in high school?”

  She let out an awkward laugh. “Nope. They taught me to gut a fish and shoot a deer, but nothing useful.”

  He gave her a side-eye. “You killed a deer?”

  “No,” she admitted. “I always made sure to miss. My dad thought I was the most miserable shot in the world.”

  A car sputtered past, splattering slush onto the back of her jeans as she fumbled with her keys. She didn’t want him to come in. She didn’t have anything to drink. There were dirty dishes in the sink and ants in the kitchen and laundry on her unmade bed. But she didn’t want him to leave with her inappropriate accusation still hanging between them.

  She blocked the doorway and gave him a plaintive smile that she hoped said everything she wanted to say. “Thanks for the walk.”

  “It was the least I could do.” He studied her face and the hard edges in his softened. She was forgiven. “You sure you want to be all alone?”

  No, she thought, but she didn’t want to be tempted to sleep with him either. All she really knew about Jimmy was that he hung out with fortune-tellers, dealt drugs, picked locks, and lived in an abandoned building where a girl had been murdered. But he’d been kind to her. He’d had plenty of chances to take advantage of her and had walked her home instead. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for everythi
ng, Jimmy. For the party. For the talk. Really.”

  “Hey, anytime. We’re neighbors, right?” His eyes offered a standing invitation.

  She held his gaze too long. She forced herself to look away and nod.

  “Hey, I hope you find your dad. If you ever need anything, come find me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said and forced an I’m fine smile.

  The relaxed slouch in Jimmy’s step as he strolled away left little doubt that he played with women like her all the time and was quite good at it. He had twenty stoned hippie chicks back in his squatter’s den in the Harmony Mission waiting for him to come home.

  Kris scanned both sides of the street, looking for anything out of place. The same three cars were parked in their usual spots. Overflowing trash cans lined the gutters. Thurman was utterly deserted, but as Kris scanned the dark windows of the Harmony Mission across the street, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was looking back at her.

  They’re watching you.

  CHAPTER 21

  The silence of the tiny house vibrated in her ears under the low hum of the refrigerator and the slow drip of the kitchen sink. The answering machine sat on the counter, dead and unplugged where she’d left it. The creeping feeling that someone, somewhere, was looking back at her stayed with her even as she shut the blinds.

  “Stop being so dramatic. Jesus, Krit,” she said out loud to break the spell. “You’re just tired. It’s been a long, horrible day, and you just need to go to sleep.”

  Kris staggered down the hall to her bedroom and stripped off her clothes. She threw on her favorite flannel pajamas. The chill of the cold snap outside clung to the walls and floorboards, freezing the bottoms of her feet. Spring never seemed to arrive in Cleveland, not in April anyway.

  In the bathroom, the sight of her reflection startled her. She’d gone white as a ghost. Even her lips were blue. She’d been worried she’d have to beat Jimmy off with a stick if she let him in to her house when he probably just wanted to make sure she didn’t collapse and hit her head. The deep purple bags under her eyes were about as fetching as the tangles in her hair. Did I even brush my teeth this morning?