Samantha- The Haunting

by A A Bavar

  Schnurr looked up at McKeown, her dark, beady eyes unfazed. “So Mr. Forzley has made a reappearance. Good. Good. Maybe this is the case that will bring him back to us,” she said, took the folder, and flipped it open. A blown up picture of Samantha posing as Wendy with the Hope Diamond necklace around her neck looked back at her. Underneath, handwritten in black was Wendy Jewett.

  “Is this it? Did Forzley say anything else?” asked Schnurr.

  “Nope. He sent me this last night and I haven’t heard from him since. But I already looked into Ms. Jewett. Everything, which is not much, is right there. She’s very wealthy, quite low-key for an artist, and just recently got married to an executive type,” Eric paused, looked at his phone, and finished, “Paul Blast.”

  Schnurr looked up from the report. “I see,” she said with a nod. “What’s your take on this, Eric?”

  McKeown took a deep breath, pursed his lips, and slowly exhaled. “Something doesn’t feel right. I mean, there’s absolutely nothing on her before 2009… no financial records, no bank account, no mention of her as a budding artist, not even a traffic ticket. Then, a series of sudden and substantial deposits totaling over forty million during the last seven years into a newly opened account in Sacramento. I don’t know, it’s probably nothing, but my gut tells me Ms. Jewett deserves a friendly visit.”

  Schnurr arched her eyebrows. “So the picture of Mrs. Jewett with the Hope Diamond doesn’t intrigue you?”

  “It’s probably a fake,” said McKeown. “No one would be that dumb. And we know that the Phantom is anything but that. I mean, seven years and this is the only break we’ve had. Seems too easy. And if what you’ve been saying all along is true, that she’s behind the Federal Reserve truck heist and some of the other artifact robberies during the past few years, then what changed? Why this illogical, borderline idiotic slip?”

  Schnurr smiled, her lips a thin line. “She’s definitely not dumb, and this is not a slip up. I’m quite sure that the necklace in the photo is the real thing,” she said, leaned back, and placed her elbows on the armrest, forming a triangle with the tip of her fingers. “It’s an invitation. She’s luring us in. She wants us to find her. Why? I’m not sure, but I have no doubt it has something to do with the fact that she is not the original Phantom.”

  “Hmm, right. Well, then she got what she wanted. She has quite a place just outside the city in El Dorado Hills,” said McKeown, and crossed his arms. “But why? I just don’t get it! Why call attention to herself now? She was home free, living the good life, and we’d probably never find her. Why put us on her track? And if she did kill the original Phantom, then she’s done for life. Makes no sense.”

  “Maybe she’s bored, or more likely, she has an agenda and we’re a part of it. Either way, we’re going in. If this is an elaborate game, then we have no choice but to play. Take Avila with you. I’ll have Judge DeFazio expedite a warrant for the necklace. Based on the photo, it shouldn’t be a problem,” said Schnurr, and frowned.

  “Will do. Nothing like a cross country trip. We should be able to leave by nine, getting us there by eleven, eleven-thirty the latest,” said McKeown, and turned to leave.

  Schnurr held up her index finger, a signal for him to stop, her eyes fixed on the report McKeown had given her. “One more thing, Eric. I’m intrigued by these monthly payments to the Sierra Vista Palm Psychiatric Hospital. Did you notice them?”

  McKeown turned and faced Schnurr again. “Yeah, but I didn’t think much of it. Could be a parent, or relative she’s taking care of.”

  “Could be… could be,” repeated Schnurr in deep thought. “We should check it out. See whose stay is costing Ms. Jewett sixteen thousand a month. Why don’t you and Avila head there before meeting with Mrs. Jewett. A card up your sleeve is never a bad thing. Also, send a message to Forzley. Let him know the plan, he might have more information to share.”

  “Wendy?” Paul walked into the kitchen, his eyes immediately falling on a note, carefully folded and placed standing up, on the kitchen table. His name was written on it in dark red cursive. He rushed forward, grabbed it, and started reading.

  My dearest Paul,

  Today is the beginning of the rest of our lives together. A rose is beautiful, but you need to know how to handle its thorns, and I need to take care of one; the last one!

  Your one and only love.

  Paul stared at the note and swallowed, his mind trying to connect the dots. He looked up at the kitchen table and for the first time noticed the other three objects lying there and gasped. There, in front of him, was a white rose, the antique envelope opener, and Wendy’s cell phone. He snatched the cell phone and swiped the screen with his thumb.

  “Oh my God! She’s going after Tricia!”

  There on the screen were the messages from Ray from the day before.

  “Why didn’t I get any of these?” he hollered, and ran to the garage.

  Patricia could hear the faint rumble of the subway train as it closed in on the station. Its noise always made her heart accelerate, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to fall onto the tracks. Sometimes it even felt like there was an invisible pull, a magnetic attraction of sorts, which made her want to jump. She shuddered and took a step back from the yellow edge of the platform. From the corner of her eye, she saw something move to her left, but when she turned to look, there was no one there, only the iron column supporting the ceiling. For some reason, the station looked less active than usual, and although everything looked normal, there was almost a desolate feel to it.

  Patricia looked up at the countdown clock. It was 7:43:46 a.m. Her train would be there in fourteen seconds Maybe I should start taking this earlier train from now on, she thought. It’s a lot less crowded. She took out her phone from the pocket of her jacket and quickly texted Anna, Be there in thirty… let’s have that welcome tea!

  Suddenly, Patricia felt a cold breeze brush against the back of her neck and the white fluorescent lights above her started to blink. She looked up, startled, and heard a hoarse whisper in her ear say, “Jump!”

  Patricia whipped her head around, but again, there was no one there. The rumble of the train was louder now, the ground trembling as it approached. The overhead lights were blinking feverishly, a red glow now mixed with the white.

  “Jump!” commanded the voice harshly.

  Patricia felt something push her from behind and stumbled forward, stopping just inside the yellow line. “No!” she screamed, as she turned to face her assailant, but there was no one there. She snapped her head to the left, then to the right just as the train entered the station, the rumbling reaching its crescendo as it barreled towards her, the blinking lights causing everything to move in slow-motion, hypnotizing her momentarily.

  “I said, jump!” The voice was coming directly from in front of her.

  Patricia looked back just in time to see a woman wearing a trench coat and a baseball cap standing in front of her. “You!” she screamed as the woman placed both hands on her chest and pushed her over the edge onto the track.

  “No! Tricia!” someone screamed in the background.

  Patricia landed hard on her back, hitting her head against one of the tracks. She could feel the ground and the rails shake, the vibrations travelling through her like a massage chair high on octane. She turned her head instinctively to the side and saw the massive bulk of the train, tons of hardened steel, thunder towards her. Somehow, none of it felt real. Her head buzzed loudly and as her vision slowly went black, she heard a loud screeching sound which enveloped her and then faded into the recesses of her mind. Everything was so distant, the world, her body, life itself. “Paul…” she mumbled, and passed out.

  Paul bolted forward, waving his arms wildly at the oncoming train before running full speed towards where he had last seen Patricia. The train conductor must have seen him. Almost immediately, the station was overcome by an ear-splitting screech as the train wheels locked into place, a feeble attempt at st
opping the behemoth much faster than physically possible, the momentum of the carriages causing them to skid helplessly forward, sparks flying everywhere.

  Paul ran as fast as he could, his attention fixed on the immobile lump barely visible in the shadows on the track. He collided with two startled bystanders, pushing them violently out of his way, his legs pumping ferociously, trying to regain lost time. From the corner of his eye, he saw the train sliding forward, shuddering intensely as it moved in on Patricia. There was no time to climb down and move her out of death’s way. With a final surge of energy, he took three long steps and launched himself onto the tracks, landing with a loud crunch on his right side beside Patricia’s immobile body. He looked up, the train mere seconds away from engulfing them, severing their bodies in half. Frantically, Paul scrambled towards Patricia, his right hip screaming in pain. He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her off the rail and in between the tracks, then threw himself on top of her. Their only hope was for there to be enough space between the ground and the undercarriage of the train. He turned his head to the side and tucked it between his arm and shoulder. That’s when he saw it. Patricia’s right foot and ankle were still on the rail.

  “Fuck me!”

  In a split-second, desperate attempt, Paul threw his left leg around Patricia’s and tugged with all he had. His harrowing scream was swallowed by the rush of the train as it thundered over them, coming to a stop after what seemed like an eternity.

  Paul impatiently limped to the foot of the emergency room hospital bed, his left ankle wrapped tightly under his torn trousers, and frowned. He was holding his phone tightly in his left hand, his knuckles white from the pressure he was exerting.

  “So what you’re saying is that the same person who came to your house a couple of nights ago, this Samantha…”

  “DesJardins,” completed Paul, stopping to glare at Sgt. Downing.

  “Right,” said Sgt. Downing, ignoring Paul’s angry look. “She was the same person who pushed you in front of the train this morning. Correct?”

  Patricia, who was sitting on the bed with a large band aid on the side of her forehead where she had banged it against the rail, nodded in frustration and said, “Yes, as I said before! And before you ask me again, no I definitely do not know this person and had never seen her before two nights ago. This morning, I was waiting for my train, heard this weird whisper, someone telling me to jump… I mean, literally ordering me to actually jump in front of a goddamn moving train, and when I refused she pushed me. The next thing I know, I’m in an ambulance on the way here. That’s it!” Patricia looked at Paul, grimaced, and held her head.

  Sgt. Downing sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You see, that’s where things get, for a lack of a better word, interesting. Earlier, after you gave your statement, we followed up on Ms. DesJardins, and as you know,” he paused to look at Paul, “she’s been at the Sierra Vista Palm Psychiatric Hospital for over a year. So, unless—”

  “Look, Sgt., we know all this. I was the one who told you about Samantha being committed in the first place,” interrupted Paul. “But I also visited Samantha just the other night, after Tricia… I mean, Ms. Fowler, told me what had happened at her condo. I don’t know how to explain it, how she was able to leave without anyone noticing, but I know it was her.” Paul leaned forward and held out the cell phone for Patricia to see. “We really need to go,” he said to Sgt. Downing.

  “There is one other thing you need to know,” said Sgt. Downing, ignoring Paul’s last remark. “Ms. DesJardins has been in a coma for the past couple of days.”

  “What?” exclaimed Paul. “That doesn’t make any sense. I just saw her. How? Why?”

  “Not sure. I’m heading there now myself to check things out. Maybe there’s something on the security footage that can help us,” replied Sgt. Downing, and pointed at Paul’s phone. “Judging from whatever it was that you showed Ms. Fowler on your phone, you’re not going to be here when I get back?”

  “No. We’re going to my place… my wife is expecting me, and then to Ms. Fowler’s,” said Paul, his face a blank. He looked from the Sgt. to Patricia and back, then added, “If it’s of any importance, I’m going to move out. I’m leaving my wife.”

  “Let me guess, you and Ms. Fowler… good to know, but it was no secret. I’m sure your wife will find it important, though,” said Sgt. Downing as he turned to leave. “I’ll keep in touch. I have your number,” he said, patted his chest pocket, and walked out.

  Immediately, Paul hobbled over to Patricia and held her hand. “How’re you feeling? Are you okay?”

  Patricia nodded.

  “Are you sure it was Samantha? I mean, could it have been—”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but there is one more thing I need to clarify,” said Sgt. Downing as he walked back into the room, looking down at his notes. “Mr. Blast, you and Ms. DesJardins were an item before she was committed to the hospital, correct?”

  Paul turned, still holding Patricia’s hand, and put his free hand in the pocket of his pants. “Yes, so?”

  “And you lived with her in the same house you’re living in today?” continued the Sgt., ignoring Paul’s question, his eyes unwavering.

  Paul let go of Patricia’s hand and took a step forward, holding his hands out in front of him questioningly. “Again, yes! And again, so?”

  “Simply getting the facts, Mr. Blast. Bear with me. Just a few more questions and I’ll be off,” replied Sgt. Downing, and paused, allowing Paul to say something if he wanted to.

  Paul crossed his arms and shook his head impatiently, then nodded okay.

  “That’s where you met Mrs. Jewett, who actually owns the mansion on El Dorado Hills and is very close friends with Ms. DesJardins. From what I understand, Mrs. Jewett was her mentor and sponsor. Right?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know that until she visited. To be honest, I don’t know much about their relationship, but from what Wendy told me afterwards, they were very old friends. I think they went to the same school or college.” Paul glanced back at Patricia and tried a timid smile.

  “Whose decision was it to have Ms. DesJardins committed?” continued Sgt. Downing.

  “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but let me be very clear about one thing,” said Paul, holding out his index finger. “Samantha and I were done even before Wendy showed up. She was behaving in a way that honestly scared me, and I was ready to move out when Wendy came to stay and told me about Samantha’s depressive and psychotic tendencies. She told me that this had happened before and that she would take care of it with Samantha’s doctor. A couple of days later, Samantha was gone, and that’s all I know about that.”

  “Okay,” said Sgt. Downing. “So how is it that you stayed in the house?”

  Paul blushed. “Wendy offered me a deal in return for keeping quiet,” he said softly. “I know, it sounds terrible, but it was a win-win. Samantha’s career was skyrocketing… some of her paintings were selling for millions, and Wendy didn’t want the news of her condition to get out. For me, I loved the house and all the social perks, so I agreed…”

  Sgt. Downing exhaled and half-smiled like a disapproving father. “And then you two love birds fell in love and got married. Is that what you want me to believe?”

  “No. Far from it,” said Paul. “Marriage was my idea, but not because of anything romantic. I looked at it as a bullet proof contract, the perfect collateral for me to get what I was promised in exchange for keeping quiet. Wendy is very wealthy, probably has teams of lawyers at her disposal, and I was afraid she would squeeze me out once Samantha got better. So what better guarantee than getting married? No prenup, and fifty-fifty on everything.”

  Sgt. Downing raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Fifty-fifty? Sounds pretty excessive for just keeping your mouth shut. No? Honestly, a leak like that would probably make her art even more valuable.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Didn’t think much about it,” replied Paul.

  “Okay, so you f
ell backwards into a truckload of money and now want out because,” Sgt. Downing motioned towards Patricia with his head, “you fell in love with Ms. Fowler. Okay… okay. I can see that. Hell of a love triangle, but I’ve seen worse. One last thing, where did Mrs. Jewett’s wealth come from?”

  Paul frowned for a second then shrugged. “No clue.”

  Paul drove in through the gates and stopped. “The first thing I’m going to do after the divorce is change this gate. The new ones will say P&P,” he said, and smiled at Patricia. Patricia smiled back uncertainly. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be just fine.” Without closing the gate, Paul drove up the path, carefully turned the Veneno around, and backed into his garage space.

  “I’m scared. What if she does something crazy,” said Patricia. “Maybe we should leave… let the police come and handle things?”

  Paul turned, grabbed her hand, and held it in between his. “It’s going to be fine, don’t worry. Wendy only wants to figure out what to do about Samantha, and she needs me to agree. She’s just as worried about this whole situation as we are. Samantha’s the problem, the crazy one.” Paul smiled. “Look, I’ve already told Wendy what I want and she’s completely okay with it. After all, she needs me to keep quiet. She doesn’t care about you and me. All she wants is to have Samantha under control again, and I believe her.”

  “But what about this morning? The note? The rose? The same envelope opener the Joker used to cut me with? I mean, how?” Patricia shivered, her eyes scared.

  “That wasn’t Wendy. She didn’t even know about it until I told her, which makes things even better for us. She thinks Samantha somehow broke in and left them here before going to the station after you,” said Paul. “Look, the cops are going to the hospital – they’re probably there already – and there’s no way for Samantha to get away from them. Then, once you ID her, all this madness will be over. They’ll put her away for a long, long time.” Paul reached up and gently touched Patricia’s cheek. “I’m going to go up to talk to Wendy, get somethings, and come right back. If anything happens, I’ll text you. But if I’m not back in fifteen minutes,” he looked at the dash clock, “by 12:55, you leave. You get in the driver’s seat and just go. I left the gate open, go to your condo and I’ll meet you there.” He smiled again and nodded confidently. “Don’t worry, it won’t come to that. It’s just a precaution,” he said, leaned in, and kissed her. “I love you.”