Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  Sweat poured down her face and back. The fear hadn’t subsided and the pressure of time was making everything harder. Mariska closed her hand around the rusted, metal lever and tried to move it stealthily. It wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t going to go quietly. Tightening her grip, she pulled harder. It moved, but not much. The scratchy sound of the metal pieces against each other made her pulse quicken. Had it been as loud as it sounded inside the closet?

  She braced herself sideways, with both feet on the wall and both hands on the lever. This time she used her body weight to help force the door to unlock. Gritting her teeth, she pulled with all her might. Her legs began to quiver with effort, and hands threatened to let go, as they were slick with sweat. Please, please, please open, she kept saying to herself. One final strain and the lever gave way. The screech of metal echoed through her eardrums like a trumpet blast.

  Footfalls rushed down the hallway. It hadn’t been her imagination; he’d heard the noise too. The bedroom door rattled as he tried to open it. There wasn’t much time for her to escape. She pushed at the unlocked door, but it didn’t move. It was rusty and stuck in place, just like the lock.

  “Shit.” Mariska kicked at the door. “Come, on. Open, you bitch.” She took a step back and rammed it with all her might. The door gave way, sliding open with a scream of metal on metal.

  Behind her, she heard the bedroom door crash open. The man had broken through and was now trying to push his way into the closet. The boxes wouldn’t keep him out for long. Slam, slam, slam, the man kept trying to force his way inside.

  Mariska looked over the side of the doorway; there wasn’t a landing or stairway. A metal ladder bolted to the exterior of the building was her only way down. It would have to do. She turned around and stepped back over the side, bracing herself with both hands on the doorframe. One step down, and then the next, until she was able to grab the ladder with both hands. The man inside was making progress. She heard the pile of boxes fall.

  Shimmying as fast as she could down the ladder, she made it to the bottom, but there was still at a ten-foot drop to the concrete-covered side yard, below. Mariska looked up as the man’s head poked out from the doorway. Shit, he was close. His head disappeared as she hung from the bottom rung. He reappeared, holding a box over his head. She let go and fell to the ground below. The heavy cardboard box landed right next to her with a crash. He was working his way out onto the ladder, and she struggled to her feet. She scanned the ground around her; she’d forgotten to bring the knife with her, she was now completely unarmed. A new sense of urgency coursed through her body and she ran for the street, preferring the busy street to the deserted alleyway behind her.

  Without looking over her shoulder, she raced down the side of the grocery store and out onto the street. Into traffic, she rushed onward. Tires screeched around her and drivers honked. It was dark, and the street lights did a poor job of illuminating her path. Across four lanes of traffic she ran and stuck to the shadows on the other side of the street. She squatted down behind a blue USPS mailbox and waited for a second. Peering around the side, she searched for her pursuer. He stood across the street, under a light post. Angry looking and fidgety he scanned the street and sidewalks on both sides with his hand shielding his eyes from the light above him. The longer he looked, the angrier he appeared. He took his phone from his pocket and made a call.

  Mariska couldn’t hear what he was saying, but by the way he punched the light post and kicked at the ground, she was sure he was getting the ass-reaming of a lifetime. A few more minutes passed as he searched the darkness for his prey. Then, he turned on his heels and marched back the way he came, toward her apartment. She fought back the rising fear and stood, backing into the shadows next to the tall brick building. The business was closed for the night, but she hadn’t planned on going inside.

  She patted her pants pockets. The bead and tooth were still there, along with her cell phone. Suffering from the physical pain of the assault, the emotional pain of finding Jane murdered in her apartment, she wasn’t sure what to do. She could call Theresa, David, her parents, or the Detective to help her. She was tired, and her pace was slowing down. She wouldn’t be able to keep going much longer, so she pulled her phone out and placed the call.

  “Detective Wulf?” Mariska cried into the phone. “I need your help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A cool breeze came through the open car window, drying the sweat from Mariska’s brow. The city never slept, and now she wondered if she ever would again. Wulf had picked her up at a gas station; she’d been hiding between the garbage can and the last row of pumps. The worry on his face had pulled the tears from her eyes, and that’s where her memory began to fade. He’d had a lot of questions, and she was pretty sure she answered all of them, but specifics didn’t seem to matter right now. Jane was dead, and her heart was broken. It hadn’t been easy, but she’d convinced Wulf to take her by her apartment to get her laptop and a change of clothes she kept in her car. He brought her there to retrieve the items from her car while he officially called everything into the department. Within a few minutes, the parking lot was swarming with cops, ambulances, and a CSI team.

  “Where can I go now?” she asked.

  “I’m going to have to take you down to the station and take a statement.” His face betrayed this tough-guy demeanor. The look of pity on his face tore at her soul, and she bit back a new round of sobs for her beloved, Jane.

  She nodded and rested her head back in the seat while he drove her to the precinct headquarters. A numbness washed over her, and everything seemed to happen as a blur. Somehow, she managed to answer his questions—not that she remembered what most of them were. Although, she’ll never shake the sickening feeling of being asked if she’d killed her friend.

  Detective Wulf looked up from his computer. “How about I get you home? I’d be happy to take you to your parents’ house.”

  She shook her head. “Have my parents been informed about Jane?”

  He nodded. “Yes…I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Is my mom okay?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “How could she be?” Wulf reached across the desk and held her hand. “How could either of you be?”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I can’t face them…I feel like this is all my fault.” She shook her head. “Can you take me to a hotel?”

  They got up from the desk and walked to his car in the parking lot. He unlocked the door and rushed over to open the door for her. She got in and closed the door. He got in the other side and sat in silence for a few moments before turning on the car.

  “Are you sure you should be alone tonight?” He turned to face her, the concern in his eyes brought the tears back to hers.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. Tears running down her cheeks in a steady stream. He pulled away from the station, and she didn’t open her eyes until car stopped and he turned off the engine.

  They were now parked outside his home, a small Spanish-styled two-story, in West Hollywood. The neighborhood was quiet, almost too quiet, by Los Angeles standards. But the sound of a dog barking in the distance seemed to bring her back to the here and now from wherever her mind had taken her for safekeeping. Before long, she started hearing the sounds of sirens in the distance—traffic motoring down Santa Monica BLVD a couple of streets away.

  Detective Wulf broke the silence between them. “I would be happy to take you to your mom and dad’s…or your friend David?” He used his electronic controls and reclined his seat a touch. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for her to answer.

  She shook her head. “I still need to apologize to him, before laying something like this on him.”

  “Apologize? You didn’t mention anything about the two of you having a fight?” He straightened up in the chair and looked at her. His expression was deadly serious, almost accusatory. Like she’d left something out when he originally questioned her.

  “I didn
’t mention it, because it isn’t anything for you to worry about. He got awarded a grant at work. And I flipped out on him.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight…that’s why I was home alone when I found, Jane. I’d left him at the restaurant and took an Uber home.”

  “Why did you flip out on him? Aren’t you friends? Wouldn’t you be happy for him?”

  “Sheesh,” Mariska said. “I’m a real, bitch. Aren’t, I? I mean, he’s my best friend, and I basically accuse him of stealing my grant. My grant. As if I somehow own the Museum’s money.”

  “Wait a second. You’re saying that the same grant that you were awarded was pulled and given to him?”

  “Sort of. There’s only one grant approved every year or two, and it was my year. But since the La Brea Woman’s remains went missing, David pursued his own grant even though he should have known I was going to her back.”

  Wulf whistled high and long. “If he knew that you were getting her back then I’d say he’s cold as ice.”

  “That’s why I got so upset, but then I started thinking…if the money wasn’t going to me, it needed to go somewhere.” Mariska threw her hands up in the air. “Might as well go to him, right?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t tell you about it?”

  “No, he didn’t. But that was because he didn’t have a chance. I mean, it was practically a certainty that I was getting awarded money. Maybe, he’d given up on the idea of even getting it until it was taken from me. I…don’t know.”

  Wulf sat back in his chair and looked out the window. Mariska turned and looked out of hers. There was no way she was going to go to her parents’ house, or to David’s. Too many emotions. Too much sadness.

  “How about I take you to a nice hotel? I’ll come back in the morning and drive you to your apartment so you can get your car? Sound good?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I’d feel safe in a hotel. Not tonight…not, alone.”

  He let out a sigh of resignation. “Okay, you can stay here in the spare bedroom if you’d like?”

  She turned to him and smiled. “Aw, thank you. I didn’t want to ask, but I really hoped you would offer it to me.”

  They got out of the car and in the front door. Once inside, Wulf’s demeanor changed. No longer a hardened cop, but a gracious host.

  “Can I get you something to eat or drink? Maybe a sandwich? You mentioned you never got to eat dinner.”

  “No, thank you. I’m really not that hungry.”

  He showed her through the foyer and into the kitchen, anyway. The room was large and open, with great appliances and finishing-touches Mariska hadn’t expected. Wulf opened the fridge and took out two bottles of water, handing her one.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Come, on.” He motioned for her to follow him into the living room.

  The room was comfortable but didn’t look like he spent much time there. Surprisingly, clean for a bachelor, or at least the bachelors she’d spent time with. The large, plush, leather recliner she sat in, conformed to her body. Immediately, she felt herself relax into it. Her aches and pains began to ebb.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, right now?”

  She shook her head. “I think I have everything.” Mariska squeezed the arm of the chair. “This will do me just fine.”

  “Oh,” Wulf said. “I didn’t mean for you to think you had to sleep out here in the living room. I have an extra bedroom with a decent mattress for you.”

  “It’s no trouble. I don’t mind sleeping out here.”

  He didn’t say anything, but opened the bottle of water and took a few swigs. He put the bottle down on a coaster and let out a sigh. “You’ve been through so much this evening. I bet you’re exhausted.”

  “Yeah, it’s been a shitty night so far.” She took a drink of the ice-cold water. It soothed her sore throat. Her voice was still a bit scratchy from yelling and being choked. “I guess there is something I can use if you have it?”

  “Anything,” he said.

  “Any chance you have some aspirin? I’ve got a sore throat and a killer headache.”

  “Definitely.” He stood and faced her. “Come with me. I have a bottle in the medicine cabinet in my bathroom.”

  He reached out his hand and offered support for her to stand. She took it. Grasping his head, she registered his warm touch. His hand melted around hers and it felt nice. Pulling hard, she stood easily. But whether it was the lack of dinner or mild dehydration, she felt woozy with the change in position. Mariska stumbled forward, but Wulf caught her before she lost her footing. Locked in an embrace, she pressed her face against his chest and held tight to his waist. Despite the late hour, he still smelled fresh and clean. He readjusted his stance and lifted her up and placed her feet back firmly onto the floor.

  Mariska smiled and wiped a stray hair from her face. “Thanks. Not sure what happened, but at least I didn’t hit the floor.”

  “Good thing. Are you sure you’re all right?” He leaned down and looked her in the eyes.

  Glancing away, she felt her face blush. She nodded, and he led her by the hand to the stairs that went up to the second floor. She grabbed her bag as they passed by and went with him willingly. Up the creaky wooden stairs and down the hallway, they passed a bedroom and then a bath. Into the master bedroom they went.

  “Have a seat.” Wulf walked her to the bed where she sat on its edge. Hands in her lap, knees touching each other, her posture was upright and uncomfortable. “I’ll grab you the aspirin. Is extra strength, okay? I think that’s all I have.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom; the light came on as he entered. She craned her neck to see inside, but couldn’t make out much from that angle. “Yeah, extra strength is fine. I’ll take two.”

  Wulf reemerged with the medication and his bottle of water. “Here, you go.”

  She took the pills and stretched her neck from side to side. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked behind him at the clock beside his bed. “It’s really late. I think I better get some shuteye if I hope to be functional tomorrow. I haven’t slept well this past week.”

  “Funny you should say that. I haven’t either.”

  He went to the door. She followed him.

  Mariska grabbed him around the elbow. “Can I ask you a something?”

  “Of course.” He turned and faced her. They stood in the doorway, and she could feel the warmth of his body despite the small distance between them. She took a tiny step back but bumped up against the doorframe.

  She looked away for a second. “Will my parents be interrogated?”

  “About Jane?”

  Mariska nodded.

  “Yes, tonight.”

  The pit in her stomach, deepened. She crossed her arms. “Okay.”

  “Your parents were Jane’s emergency contact, so they were notified immediately, but they’ll be questioned as soon as the detective assigned to the homicide can get there.”

  She shook her head. “Please tell me they won’t be hauled down to the station. I don’t think my mom could take it.”

  “The detective will most likely pay them a house call.” He looked at his watch. “I’m sure they’ve already been questioned if you want to give them a call.”

  “I don’t know what to say to them.” She spotted a small trash can in the corner of the room. She felt like vomiting.

  “I totally get it.” He squeezed her arm. “I’ll show you where you can sleep for tonight.”

  The last room on the right-hand side of the hallway was the spare room. Across the hallway was the guest bathroom. Wulf walked with her to the door but stopped short of going inside with her. He motioned to the bathroom. “Feel free to use the shower. I bet you’d like to clean up a bit. Also, there are some old clothes in the dresser in here. They probably won’t fit you all that well, but you’re welcome to anything in there.”

  Mariska turned to him. “I really appreciate you…for everything y
ou’ve done for me.”

  She gave him a hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. It was his turn to blush. He smiled, nodded and walked back to his own room. Mariska watched him leave. He turned back and looked at her as he closed his bedroom door behind him. Turning back and doing the same to her door, she sat on the bed and contemplated going to sleep. She was exhausted, but somehow, not ready to close her eyes and drift away.

  Kicking off her shoes, she slipped out of her dress and let it fall to the floor. It was covered in dried blood as was her legs and arms. She snatched the dress up from the floor, wadding it up and threw it into the trash can next to the bed. She shuddered and then fought back the tears that were bubbling just below the surface. Mariska hugged herself for a second, stuck in place, both physically and emotionally. She swallowed hard. Her painful throat wasn’t getting any better, and when she looked in the mirror above the dresser, she saw the bruising and swelling from her chin to collarbones. That bastard could have killed her, but he hadn’t. Why? Who was he? Who did he work for? The uncertainty of it all spurred her on and broke her spell of indecision.

  Opening the dresser, she pulled out a large T-shirt and running shorts. At least it had a draw-string to keep them in place. In her panties and bra, she poked her head out of the bedroom and saw the coast was clear. Tip-toeing into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her and enjoyed a nice hot shower.

  Feeling relaxed, refreshed, and ready to settle down for the night, she reentered the bedroom and locked the door behind her. The clothes were loose and flowy, but not warm, and the bedding looked soft and inviting. Pulling back the comforter and sheets, she slipped into bed, adjusting the pillows behind her so she could sit up. Sinking into the mattress and letting the soft, clean sheets caress her weary body, she contemplated flipping the light off and letting herself sleep. But there was so much she needed to know. Sleeping wouldn’t bring her answers. Not, right now, anyway.