"FBI?" she asked, already reaching for the phone.
“Yep. We're here to see Alvarez," said Elena, flashing her badge. I felt a little burst of pride at watching her work, now that she’d ditched the leather jacket for a knit blazer. Her signature shredded jeans had been upgraded to a pair of fitted slacks. Even her long, wild, hot pink hair had been tamed into a low ponytail.
My partner cleaned up pretty good.
Pretty damn good.
I mean, damn . . .
“Right. Great,” said the officer, looking a bit frazzled. “I didn’t think you’d get here until tomorrow morning."
“Pffft, that wouldn’t be the best use of our time,” Elena said. “Everyone knows all the scariest shit happens at night.”
Fear had crept into the young officer’s eyes again, but as I stepped closer, I realized it had nothing to do with us.
“I’m Jennie, by the way. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you guys. We’re really desperate," she said, bringing the phone to her ear. “They just finished remodeling our building, otherwise we’d ask the city council to move us somewhere else. You're our last resort.”
Jennie dialed an extension on the phone and waited for a moment.
"Yeah, they're here. Uh huh. Of course."
I noticed her hand shook ever so slightly as she hung up the phone.
"I'll take you through to see Alvarez,” she said, stepping out from behind the desk. "He'll be so relieved that you're here."
Johnson and Kozlov exchanged a curious look, then followed me and Elena down the long hall behind the officer.
"I take it you know why we're here," I said to her.
“Absolutely. We all knew you were coming . . . we just weren’t sure how long it would take to get you guys out here. Everyone’s been looking forward to it."
"We hear that a lot," Elena said with a confident nod of her head. “Usually by the time the FBI gets involved, all the cleansing rituals, smudging, seances and exorcisms have failed."
"That's exactly what happened here," Jennie said as she led us down a long, gray hallway. It was like so many I had walked down before. I wondered if there was an unwritten rule that law enforcement buildings should look as dreary and intimidating as possible.
"Alvarez will explain everything," said Jennie. "But I can tell you right now that there isn't a single person in this building who hasn't experienced something. The place is cursed! When I say we’re all freaked out, I mean we are all freaked out.”
"Even you?" asked Johnson with a hint of condescension pulling at his voice.
"Especially me," Jennie said, doing her best not to look annoyed. "I work night shifts at the front desk. I've seen it all. Lights flickering, doors banging, voices coming out of the walls, cold breezes out of nowhere, that feeling you’re being watched, toilets flooding, stuff flying off my desk . . . you name it. I’ve stopped carrying my gun because I’m so damn jumpy.”
“Classic poltergeist,” Elena declared.
“Or . . . ” said Johnson, pulling out his notebook and scribbling as he mumbled to himself. “It could be faulty electrics, a badly-ventilated old building causing drafts and banging doors, and plumbing issues causing the flooding toilets. I’d also point out that if you’re afraid to carry your sidearm, maybe someone with more . . . experience should be working the front desk.”
Jennie’s expression said everything I was thinking. We both wanted the guy to take a long walk off a short cliff.
“Ignore him," I told her. "He's just auditing."
"He's an auditor?" she asked with an incredulous laugh. "He's here to audit ghosts?"
"Something like that," sighed Elena. “Just ignore him. Agent Hawthorne and I are the paranormal experts here.”
We reached Alvarez's office, but the second Jennie raised her hand to knock, it opened before she could connect her knuckles with the door. In the doorway stood a tall, handsome man with a bronzed face and piercing brown eyes. Deep, dark circles lay beneath his eyes showing the sign of too many sleepless nights.
“You must be Agents Rivera and Hawthorne. Please, come in. Thanks for showing them in, Jennie.”
“No problem, chief,” she said before heading back to her desk at the front of the station.
Alvarez’s eyes moved over towards Johnson and Kozlov, but he just gave them a polite nod.
“I didn't know there were going to be four of you,” he said as he led us into his modestly-sized office.
“Usually it’s just the two of us,” Elena said sharply.
“We're here to observe Rivera and Hawthorne while they go about their jobs,” chirped Johnson. “Don’t mind us.”
“That's . . . unusual,” noted Alvarez. “Anyhow, I'm glad you're here.”
The anxiety in his gruff voice was obvious, and as he sat down at his desk his posture showed his exhaustion. No wonder he didn’t think to ask why my partner and I were being monitored by two additional agents.
“A fucking poltergeist,” he said with a shake of his head. “I can't believe I actually brought the FBI in on a fucking poltergeist.”
The four of us pulled up chairs around his desk as he reached into the top drawers of his desk for a bottle of Tums. He popped a few into his mouth, crunching them like candy before slamming the drawer shut.
“I didn't believe in any of this shit,” he said, rubbing at his temples. “I do now though, obviously.”
“Can you tell us when it began?” I got out my phone so I could take notes. Alvarez let out a long exhale, pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his seat, his office chair giving a squeak beneath his shifting weight.
“You bet. It started when we dug up the parking lot,” he said. “That was six months ago.”
Johnson continued to scribble in his notebook while Kozlov simply stared as if she wasn't quite sure where she was. I wondered what was going on in her head, but as I studied her, she sensed my gaze and looked up. Her eyes twinkled for a second and I quickly turned my attention back to Alvarez.
“The parking lot,” I said. “What did you do to it?”
“Nothing too wild,” he replied. “We expanded it to make room for a few more cars. It was first built back in the sixties, when there was hardly any traffic around here. Before that, it was just a dirt road.”
He spun round in his seat to look out the window to where the parking lot lay.
“It was supposed to be a small job,” he said. “Dragged on for a bit longer, though, when the dumbshit driving the excavator crashed into the side of the building. Knocked a chunk clean out the wall.”
“Oh, that's interesting!” Elena piped up. “So it wasn't only the parking lot that was affected. It was the building too.”
“I suppose so,” said Alvarez, rising from his seat. “You can see where it all happened right from here.”
He led us to the window and cracked it open, letting in the warm desert air. “See?” He motioned for us to pop our heads out and look around.
Squishing up beside Elena—who smelled like spun sugar, I looked down and saw a patch of new asphalt where the lot had been extended. Then, as I craned my neck, I saw a block of mismatched bricks on the side of the wall.
“That bit there,” said Alvarez. “It's where they went clean through the wall.”
“What's in that part of the building?” I asked.
“Used to be the old jail cells when the place was built back in the eighteen-forties. Most of that part’s abandoned now. Just used for storage and a locker room. Actually, it’s kinda been ground zero for all the stuff that's been going on.”
“Can you take us down there?” asked Elena.
“Sure. Let's go. ”
5
Logan
We all traipsed out of his room with Johnson and Kozlov staying silent as they trailed behind us. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Johnson still scribbling in his little reporter's notepad. He looked up and met my gaze, his smug little grin still twitching on his lips.
A
nnoyed, I turned my attention back to Alvarez and followed him down the seemingly endless gray hallway.
“Eighteen-forties,” I said. “That's pretty damn old.”
“Sure is. Most of these little relics have been torn down, but the Mariposa Historical Society put a stop to that. They’re the reason Old Town Mariposa still looks a lot like it did back when it was first being settled.”
“I bet a lot of crazy things have happened in this old jail.”
“Oh, yeah. There's been all sorts of wild stuff,” he laughed. “Riots, criminals in and out of here. We've had our fair share of famous murderers being processed in here over the years too. You ever hear of the Keyhole Killer?”
“Uh huh.”
“He was brought in here.”
“No way! I studied him at the academy.”
“Yeah, he was a real piece of work.”
“Who else has been in here?” asked Elena. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. I could tell her mind was running a hundred miles a minute.
“Oh, there’ve been hundreds of folks through here,” Alvarez said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes I look through the old records, you know, just to learn a little bit more about the history of the place.”
“We can help with that,” said Elena. “We'll get started on it right away.”
“Oh . . . you're a history buff, then?”
“A little,” Elena said with a half shrug. “But mostly I’m hoping that something in those files will help us identify your poltergeist.”
“Good thinking,” Alvarez said with a relieved grin. I think he was relieved to be taken seriously. Meanwhile, Johnson and Kozlov were sharing the most skeptical expressions. I held my tongue. They had no idea what they’d be in for.
At the end of the hall, the five of us walked single file down a stairwell and made our way down to the original main floor. The temperature dropped as we descended. I felt a chill rise up my back as the atmosphere changed. The air grew thicker, more oppressive, and as we stepped into the narrow, dark hallway, it felt like we’d emerged into a place far, far away from the remodeled, clean, and well-lit floor above us.
"Wow, there's lot of energy down here," Elena said with a shiver as the door closed behind us. "And it's dark. Really, dark."
"But the lights are on," I noted.
"Yeah, that's one of the weird things down here,” said Alvarez. “You could have a thousand lights blazing down and a hundred heaters on and it would still feel dark and cold. It’s like the walls are sucking the light out of the air.”
He took a few steps towards a gray door, punched in the security code, and shoved it open to reveal an even darker space that smelled like dry rot, old mildew, and wet stone.
"This is where the cells used to be," he said. "Now it's just home to a ton of spiders and some boxes of knick-knacks. Watch out for scorpions. Especially the little ones. They hurt more than the big ones.”
He gestured for us to join him in the darkness. Elena and I went in first, while Johnson and Kozlov hung back.
“What’s the holdup?” I asked Johnson.
“I wasn’t expecting scorpions!” he squeaked, clutching his notepad so close to his chest that he looked like a t-rex.
“Well, we do spray regularly,” Alvarez assured him. “Although they still show up when you least expect it. Especially in dark, damp places like this.”
I could practically hear Johnson’s heart thumping in his chest.
"Carl is a terrible arachnophobe,” Kozlov explained, making her partner scowl. "He can't stand the sight of spiders. I guess it’s even worse with scorpions.”
“You're welcome to wait outside," said Elena, channeling her most patronizing tone. Johnson pushed his thick glasses back into place and put on a determined expression.
"No . . . No. I'm coming."
He tiptoed in cautiously behind us as Alvarez flipped the light switch. The space was flooded with fluorescent light that highlighted every spiderweb in the room.
"Hmmmm . . . " said Johnson, looking around the room. "It doesn't look particularly, um, you know . . . paranormal down here, does it? I mean, it's just a room."
"What were you expecting it to look like?” I asked him. "A haunted house? Some of the most paranormal places happen to be the most boring. That’s how they can hide in plain sight.”
Alvarez looked at Johnson, then to me, sensing the disconnect between us.
“Sure, it's just a room now,” he said, pointing to the shelves of boxes lining the walls. "But decades ago there used to be bars all up along here that caged some of the state's worst criminals. Some of them were killers, rapists, child molesters, bank robbers."
He walked over to a locker against the wall and pulled out a flashlight, shining it towards the far end of the room. There was a faint outline in the brickwork of where the wall had been knocked through.
"That's where the idiot crashed into," explained Alvarez. "Came right on through here. It was patched up pretty quickly though, but after it happened, nothing’s been the same."
“How soon after this accident did the unexplained disturbances start to happen?” I asked. Alvarez’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, that very same night. The crash happened at five pm and that night the fellas working the night shift said they heard yelling coming from downstairs. At first they thought it was someone playing a prank, or that someone had been locked inside, but of course they busted the door open and there was nobody in here."
"And they definitely heard the voice coming from this exact room?" asked Johnson.
"Yeah, they were pretty sure about what they heard.”
"The voice wasn't coming from outside?"
"No."
"And not from some other room?"
"No. Listen, we’re all trained officers of the law. And we know this building like the back of our hand. We know what we heard and where we heard it.”
Alvarez's irritation was evident on his face and Johnson took the hint and stepped back.
“What happened after that," I asked, hoping to get as much information as possible.
“Well . . . all hell broke loose after that. Everyone on night shift heard the voices."
"And what exactly did it sound like?"
"Like a man screaming for his life. Like he was screaming and begging for help. I can tell you, I heard it myself.” Alvarez shook his head in disbelief and ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “It sounded like it was coming from inside these four walls. It was awful to hear. Whoever it was, they were really suffering. They were in real pain. But whenever someone followed the voice it would completely stop the second this door opened."
"Hmmm . . . I know this might seem obvious, but . . . ” Elena stepped around everyone as she surveyed the room. “Do you think the disturbances could be connected to someone who was locked up in the original jail cells?"
"I think it's a definite possibility," replied Alvarez. "But I gotta be honest with you—I have no idea what it could be. Maybe it's a ghost. Or maybe we're all mass hallucinating."
“There’s an idea,” piped up Johnson. "Have you checked for gas leaks within the building? People have been known to hallucinate and see all sorts of things while suffering from oxygen deprivation . . . aliens, pink elephants, ghosts, and all that jazz."
"Actually, that was one of the first things I thought of," said Alvarez. "We had the gas checked and there's no leak. We tested for radon, too. Everything’s normal.”
"Oh . . . " replied Johnson with a disappointed nod.
"So after the voice," I continued, eager to get my line of inquiry back on track, “what happened next?"
"The lights," Alvarez told us without missing a beat. “They started down here. People would come down here for one reason or another and they'd swear they saw torches flickering through this little window in the door here. That’s what they used back in the eighteen-hundreds."
“That makes sense," Elena said, folding her arms across her chest. "I once
worked a case in an old hospital that was built in the late seventeen hundreds. The patients used to see fiery torches all around the grounds at night."
Alvarez's face brightened as he heard this.
"That's interesting," he said, his eyes crinkling at the weathered outer corners. "I'm glad we're not the only ones who’ve seen something like that. Did those hospital patients happen to feel like they were being watched all the time?"
Elena’s mouth stretched into a confident grin.
"Absolutely. It's one of the most common indicators that a place is haunted."
Mariposa’s police chief nodded as he processed what she was saying. I got the impression he rarely opened up to people about what he’d experienced. Now that he had a sympathetic ear, he started to relax in the realization that we didn't think he was a nutjob.
Walking over to the other end of the room, Alvarez knelt down and aimed his flashlight at an inch-thick metallic stump poking out of the floor.
"This is the last thing down here from the old cells," he explained. “It popped out of the floor after that moron drove the excavator through the wall.”
"What happened to the original bars?" I asked, kneeling down for a closer look. I halfway wondered if touching it would send me back in time, and I grazed my fingers against the metal stump.
Hmmm . . . that’s weird.
I hadn’t traveled back in time, but that’s not what was weird. The steel bar wasn’t cold.
It was hot.
"The old bars were torn out decades ago. They were probably sold for scrap metal. It’s a damn shame.”
“Come over here and feel it," I said to Elena. "It's hot to the touch."
She bent down beside us and pressed her tiny fingertips against the metal.
"It feels like a radiator," she said.
“Hold on—I want to feel it," said Carl, shuffling into the small space between me and Elena. We watched as he held his hand on top of the metal and frowned.
"Well, I do have to admit that it's pretty warm, although I don't see how that proves any paranormal activity. It’s most likely conducting heat from a heat source under the floor. Is there a heating pipe nearby? A boiler?”
Catnip & Curses (The Faerie Files Book 2) Page 5