As he was finishing up the second room, Trent suddenly heard what sounded like a woman sobbing. The sound was so clear, so distinct, and vaguely familiar. He walked into the hallway and as if being carefully led, he headed slowly toward the bedroom that was situated at the end on the right. With each step, the sobbing seemed to get louder and now, just outside the bedroom door, he was sure that the sound was coming from inside the room. Trent slowly turned the handle, then pushed the door open. Immediately, he saw a woman with long, black hair, wearing a brilliant white gown that hung near the floor. She was sitting in an armchair near the window, sobbing and drying her face with a plain, white handkerchief. Her head lowered, she did not acknowledge his presence. As Trent slowly entered the room drawn to the person whose sorrow he yearned to comprehend, not more than a foot away, he stopped suddenly in his tracks and watched the woman more intensely as her face came into view.
"Mother?" He asked.
She kept her head down, wiping her face occasionally as tears streamed down her cheeks. Not knowing if he could trust his own two eyes, Trent instinctively reached out his hand toward her and still failing to make eye contact, the woman slowly lifted a hand toward his. At the moment they were about to meet, she abruptly disappeared. Afterwards, the photograph of Trent's mother holding him as an infant that hung on the wall near the window, began to vibrate, then fell to the floor.
Suddenly, the entire house began to shake violently and loud, booming music invaded the air again. Figurines fell off the bureaus and a reading lamp slid across the carpet. Trent was on the floor holding onto the bed post when the chair that the woman sat in was elevated into mid-air and approximately ten seconds later, hurled out of the open window by some invisible force.
The bedroom soon became as still and dark as night, and a green light gleamed at the center of it. As Trent rose to his feet, he noticed within the light the mysterious woman. She was sitting down and sobbing just like before, but the Evil One stood behind her this time with a large dagger in his deformed hand, elevated above her head. Looking at Trent who was overcome with terror, he laughed loudly, then raised the blade higher.
"No!" Trent cried.
With fire in his eyes and a shrewd, devilish grin, Tarrow brought down the knife with all his might.
Trent collapsed to the floor as the vision faded in front of him. Seeing, whom he had no doubt in his heart was his own mother crying, awoke a connection inside for the woman he barely knew. Convinced that he had witnessed only a vision of a cruel fantasy, he realized then that he may have been searching for answers in the wrong place. He could not quite understand his reasoning, but watching the ghastly assault persuaded him that the death of his friends had absolutely nothing to do with him. He felt now that Tarrow was somehow involved, but he didn't know how. Was it some sort of possession? he thought. How in the world was he getting anyone to commit these murders? As he walked down the hallway again, he picked up photographs that were strewn across the floor and before heading downstairs, rested them on a nearby stand. Almost robotically, he descended the stairway, then headed outside to his car.
Driving away from the house, he noticed the armchair the woman had been sitting in overturned near an oak tree. He stopped and stared at it for a minute, then drove off.
* 4 *
In the steps leading to the station's main door were cracks as big as rat-holes. Upon entering the station, Trent spotted Sparkman leaning over a female police officer, apparently flirting his way to nowhere as the woman didn't seem the least bit interested. As Trent approached, Sparkman looked up, immediately extended a hand, and thanked him for coming. Trent followed him to his office.
"Detective Quint isn't in right now, so it's just you and me," Sparkman said, motioning for him to sit. Trent responded with a nod.
Sparkman cleared his throat while feeling the tension inside the room. "Like I said on the phone, I just wanted to ask you a few more questions to clarify some things." He looked down at the note-pad on his desk, then up again. "Are you all right, sir? You don't look so good."
"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Rough day, that's all. We all have those at times," Trent said.
"You're right. Well, first of all, I need to know who all has entry keys to your building. There's a chance that someone could have entered the place without Mister Windslow's knowledge. We heard he slept a lot on the job."
"Really?"
"Yeah… a lot," Sparkman emphasized. "He could've been asleep when the killer entered the building."
"Well, ah... Mister Darcy and I are the only ones who have spare keys, so I don't see how anyone else could have entered the building, Lieutenant," Trent answered.
As Sparkman was writing, his facial expression altered to a more serious one. "Mister Matheson, where were you between the hours of six and eight o'clock last Saturday morning?"
Taken aback by the question, Trent replied, "At my girlfriend's place. Exactly what are you trying to get at, Lieutenant?"
"Just need to know the facts, sir. See, in this line of work, we can't afford to leave anyone or anything out. May I ask who your girlfriend is?"
"Her name is Tina Sheffield. She's my... secretary at the Trust." Trent wasn't sure why he had hesitated.
"How long have you two been seeing each other?"
"About a year now."
"I see." Sparkman seemed to be contemplating his next question.
Suddenly, an idea struck Trent. "Lieutenant, didn't the police retrieve the security camera videos for review? I would think that everything you need to know would be right there at your fingertips. Our security cameras cover practically the entire building."
"Yes, we did, Mister Matheson. We're still reviewing the tapes. However, it seems like there might be a couple missing. We're not sure about that yet, but whoever it was that was there with Mister Windslow that morning, might have been smart enough to take the evidence with him."
Trent was shocked by the disclosure.
After a few more questions that seemed curiously unrelated to the case, Sparkman stood up. "All right, Mister Matheson, that'll be it for now. We'll be in touch."
Trent left the police station more baffled than when he had first come in. He wasn't sure what Lieutenant Sparkman had accomplished by his broad line of questioning, but knew that the detective didn't climb the ranks on the police force by being dumb.
Twenty minutes later, while walking the corridor of his office, he noticed through partly drawn blinds, a man sitting in Peter's office scribbling onto a notepad. He was certain that it was Detective Quint and immediately thought it all a set up - he and Peter being interrogated separately and around the same time.
"I hope they use their covert tactics to catch the real killer," Trent murmured as he walked on.
* 5 *
The very next day, Solange was suited in a Fung's brown and black striped uniform. The blouse was short-sleeved and knotted at the navel, and the skirt was a flared mini that stopped two inches above her knees. The attire wasn't much to her liking, but in comparison to finally having a job, it was too trivial a matter for her to give a second thought about.
Solange enjoyed working the tables. Sonia had given her a few courtesy tips, all of which she used with every customer she served. Pushing cash into her pocket was, by far, the best part of the job for Solange. She made thirty-seven dollars in tips her first two days and by the end of the week had pulled in around one hundred and fifty dollars in tips alone. Her salary of three hundred, she estimated, combined with tips would be enough for her to soon afford a comfortable apartment.
Sam Fung was very nice to Solange and commended her, every chance he got, for doing a marvelous job. Customers were talking and Fung liked very much what he was hearing. Some first-timers were telling him that they returned on account of the "stunning waitress with the gorgeous smile" - give or take a few words. Others considered Solange their personal waitress and wouldn't allow anyone else to serve them.
Solange and Sonia had become good
friends almost instantly. They worked the same shift and caught the same bus home after work every day. Sonia lived about three blocks away from the motel where Solange was staying and always got dropped off first.
"Once Sam puts you on a shift - that's it. You're stuck there forever," said Sonia one day as they rode the bus together.
"I don't mind. I like the day shift anyway," Solange remarked happily.
"Yeah. It's nice, but too bad the night birds can't get a day shift 'less some day bird leaves."
"What about that girl I replaced?" Solange asked.
"She was a day-bird. Sheila, one of the other night-birds, asked Sam for Daley's shift - the girl you replaced - but for some reason he had her hangin', and when you came along, he let you have the spot instead. Maybe it was your smile that did it."
Solange smiled. "Maybe, it was."
Sonia used the opportunity during the bus ride to confide in Solange about her troubles at home. She spoke of how her husband, Harry, had formulated a schedule for her - giving her approximately twenty-five minutes to arrive home each day after work. He flew into a rage whenever she was even a few minutes late which, fortunately for her, wasn't that often.
"Then comes the hurling of accusations," Sonia stated passively.
"Why do you allow him to treat you like that?" Solange was concerned.
"I don't know," Sonia sighed. "I guess it's because I love him. He's all I know. What makes things even harder on me is that he wouldn't get up off his butt and work! He's been sitting on his rear-end for six months now."
"Why won't he work?" Solange asked.
"He quit his full-time job as an agricultural laborer, claiming they paid the foreigners more than him and blames the government for letting them get away with it. He says it's a nation-wide dilemma and he would have no part of it. Since then, he never once went out to look for anything else to do. Just seems like he likes sitting there grumbling and complaining rather than looking for a job to help me out. Granted, we don't have no kids, but we have bills that I can barely keep up with."
Solange felt Sonia's frustration and didn't quite know what to tell her. She didn't think Harry being out of a job for six months warranted separation or divorce, but that 'schedule thing' and the occasional rage was another story. She hoped the control mechanism that was obviously in place in Sonia's marriage would not escalate to anything physical.
Solange also shared one of her own personal concerns with Sonia which involved finding her next of kin. She felt it would be somewhat difficult to do on her own being new to the country, so Sonia agreed to help her. They decided to start looking into things the following Thursday on their day off.
* 6 *
After retiring to bed for the night, Tina Sheffield entered into dream state almost immediately. Every night for a full week, she had been forced to relive a chapter of her life that had been buried far away in her subconscious mind.
That night, she was ten years old again. Her mother was bedridden, dying of cancer, and she remembered it being the saddest time of her life. Her once happy life on the farm in Texas had been transformed to a painfully miserable existence. The obvious change in her father ever since her mother's grim diagnosis was most discomforting. He seemed indifferent to his wife's condition and disturbed by something he was not readily expressing.
Tina glanced at the alarm clock. It was 10:00p.m. She had just climbed into bed after ensuring that her mother was comfortably tucked in. While at school, she worried immensely about her mother because her father often neglected to feed her on time. Though her mother could not eat much, the liquid meals she sipped managed to keep up her strength for a while.
Moments after getting into bed, with her face turned toward the door, Tina noticed the doorknob slowly turning, then her father entered the room.
She woke up suddenly, sweating profusely despite the cold air-conditioning in the room. Sitting up, she threw the sheet down to her ankles, gasping for air. The memories were so vivid now, as if some cruel force insisted that they never again be forgotten.
She got up and went to the bathroom, feeling the shame and guilt she was all too familiar with. She splashed her face with cold water, then looked into the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she hadn't slept in days. Wanting to have a better look, she moved in closer to the mirror and during her stare, an eerily distorted and malformed image of herself came into view. Shocked at what her eyes were beholding, she screamed in terror, then shut her eyes as tightly as she could to somehow erase the tape and start anew. With heart beating rapidly, she took a few deep breaths in to try and compose herself, then she opened her eyes again. This time, to her relief, there was no distorted face looking back at her in the mirror and she was Tina again.
Not sure if her mind had been playing tricks on her, she flipped off the light switch and headed back into the bedroom. It took nearly an hour for her to fall asleep again.
* 7 *
The next day Tina could barely concentrate at work. She felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. Slight bags had started to form under her eyes and the make-up was barely concealing them.
Tina was sipping a tall cup of coffee when Trent walked in.
"Do you really need that much?" He said delivering her a kiss on the cheek.
"I don't know if this will be enough," Tina returned evenly.
Trent sat down in front of her. "Are you all right, honey?"
"Sure. Why do you ask?"
"I don't know… Guess you haven't seemed much like yourself lately."
"I'm fine." Tina's reply was sharp and abrupt. "Trent, I really need to get some work done here, so if you'll excuse me…" The look in her eyes left no doubt in Trent's mind that he was unwanted there at the moment. Thinking it was the pregnancy that affected her current mood, he quietly got up and started to leave.
"Wanna go out for lunch later?" He offered.
"Not today. I'll just grab a sandwich from the cafeteria and eat in here while I work," she answered.
"Okay then. I love you."
"Love you too." She didn't make eye contact, but continued sipping her coffee.
Trent felt a despondency he could not explain as he walked out of Tina's office. Although it made sense to blame the hormones involved in Tina's pregnancy for her odd behavior, he just felt that it was something more.
Around ten o'clock that morning, Peter barged into Trent's office and stood over the desk, glaring down at his partner with unusual intensity.
Peter had been on edge since the sudden decline in company's profits. They were doing better than ever before, then almost as if a dark cloud had positioned itself over the company, a few long-standing, major clients moved to the competition without explanation.
"We're about to lose another client!" Peter exclaimed, eyes blaring.
"What the hell are you talking about, Peter?" Trent replied, obviously lost.
"Sainville... Meredith Sainville. She gave us written instructions to transfer three million of her funds to her Swiss account - four days ago! Yet, as of this moment, we have no record of those funds ever getting there."
Peter knew that Sainville, like two of the other clients they had recently lost, had fallen under Trent's portfolio and he was beginning to be convinced, more than ever, that his longtime partner had become bad for business.
"I specifically appointed that duty to Esther Satin," Trent said.
"You gave the job to an air-head like Esther? She can hardly remember what time of year it is. What were you thinking, Trent! Have you forgotten our service quality standards and how it is we actually make a living around here?"
Trent jumped to his feet, fuming at Peter's apparent condescension. "Look at this desk, Peter. Do you possibly expect me to do everything around here personally? If I gave it to an employee, I expect to have it done. And to clarify my role even further, if anyone has the right to insinuate or condescend around here, it's me! If you hate the way I do things, then leave! I'll be more than willing to buy you
out!"
As if now staring into the face of his greatest enemy, Peter replied, "I'm not the one here who's messing things up, Trent. You're bad for business and, friends or not, you're the one who's leaving - one way or the other. Forget about buying me out; I'm here to stay!" He stormed out of the office, leaving the door widely ajar and from the open office area, everyone's eyes were on Trent. Afterwards, Trent calmly walked to the door and shut it in their faces. Moments later, he buzzed Esther Satin on the intercom and told her he wanted to see her in his office immediately.
On arrival, Esther knocked softly at the door, then on cue, reluctantly entered the office.
"Close the door behind you and have a seat," Trent said.
Fumbling with the papers on his desk, he asked, "What happened to the transfer I told you to make for Meredith Sainville four days ago, Esther?"
"Oh, I... I'm sorry, Mister Matheson." She pressed her palms against her head. "I thought you told me to transfer from the Gorospe account, not Sainville."
He looked at her with raging disbelief. "Esther, I specifically told you to transfer from Sainville's account. I even gave you a letter as confirmation of those instructions. I didn't give it to Harvey, your supervisor, to give to you, I gave it to you personally. That should have told you something." As he spoke, he struggled to maintain his composure. "I can't believe you transferred money from the wrong account, Esther."
Immortals- The Complete Real Illusions Series Page 16