Deadliest Intuition

by E. Raye Turonek

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to boss you around like that. What I meant to say was, I’d love for you to stay the night with me.”

  Gertrude blushed. “I’d love to stay the night with you. I’ll grab my things, and we can be on our way.”

  “Hurry up,” he said jokingly.

  “Boy,” Gertrude sang, shaking a warning finger at him as she trotted off to do just as Ronald had instructed.

  On her way by the kitchen, the phone rang. Gertrude snatched the cordless phone up off the wall. “Hello,” she spoke softly as not to disturb her aunt.

  “Hey, girl, it’s me,” Brenda answered on the other end of the line.

  “Hey. What’s going on? Have you heard from Tiffany?”

  Brenda lugged the bag of garbage up the driveway with one hand while she held the cordless phone to her ear with the other. “No.” She huffed in frustration. “Unfortunately, I haven’t. I just wanted to call you to say thanks again for lunch. I really needed that. It helps to have someone to vent to.”

  She cooed. “Anytime, Queen. That’s what I’m here for. We’ve got to help keep each other’s crown straight.”

  “Tell Ronald I said thank you as well. He really went over and beyond by going with us. I just wish those guys were more helpful. Nothing but scum is what they are.”

  “I got yo’ scum, bitch,” a voice whispered as the hand with the dingy, worn, black sleeve wrapped around, covering her mouth to silence her. The trash can fell to the ground, spilling out smaller bags onto the driveway.

  Brenda’s heart pounded as her bulging eyes welled up with tears. Once they focused on Joey’s face, she knew her chances were slim to none. She tried screaming, but Daryl’s grip was so tight it nearly pushed some of her teeth through her closed lips. The phone in Brenda’s hand was her only out. She swung an arm back over the opposite shoulder, cracking him atop his skull. Once, twice, then a third and final time before he was able to contain the blows.

  His surroundings got hazy before Daryl had his fainting spell, which didn’t matter because the moment he’d released her, the grip of the pistol in Joey’s hand came crashing down against Brenda’s head hard enough to knock her out instantly. He let the cordless phone hit the ground but caught her body as it fell.

  “Can’t damage the merchandise, Joey.” Daryl winced from the pain as he tapped lightly at his forehead to check for signs of blood. She’d done a little more than penetrated the flesh, but it wasn’t leaking by any means.

  “Hello, Brenda? Are you there?” Gertrude called out from the other end of the telephone.

  Daryl picked it up off the ground and, with gloved hands, placed it near but not on his ear. He let her call out to Brenda a few more times before hitting the power button to disconnect the call.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Gertrude remarked as she hung up the phone.

  The perplexed look on her face instantly spoke to the protector inside Ronald. “Maybe she got upset and decided she didn’t want to talk anymore.”

  “You think so? I’m sure she’s fine. Call back. See if she answers.”

  It made her feel better that Ronald wasn’t making it seem as if she were exaggerating. Ronald truly cared, and Gertrude loved that about him.

  She picked up the phone doing just as they’d discussed. Three times, in fact. Each time the phone just rang, then switched over to voicemail.

  With a concerned expression, Gertrude turned to look Ronald in the eyes. “She’s not answering.”

  “Let’s ride by there. Come on.” Ronald threw up his hand, ushering her to come along.

  “Are you serious? That wouldn’t be too much trouble? Or too intrusive on our part?”

  “It’s called being a concerned friend,” Ronald rebutted, quelling her fears of being too much.

  Gertrude rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him as she leaned into the safety of his chest. Ronald embraced her, rubbing his hands across her back. It comforted him to know she needed him. That had been a compulsion of his since he was a boy. Dr. Martyr, his psychiatrist, had told him it was because of his inability to save his sister. Cecilia needed him, and he’d failed her. The incident created a need to be needed, a compulsion to save. It was his pleasure to ride by Brenda’s house.

  It took them about half an hour to get there. As they pulled into the driveway, the headlamps of Ronald’s vehicle illuminated the bags of trash in the driveway. The mess was there, but no Brenda. “Is her side door open?” Gertrude rolled down her window, noticing the front wasn’t.

  “I don’t know.” Ronald shifted the car into park. “Let’s go see,” he instructed before popping off his seat belt.

  They got out of the car, stepping over and between the bags of garbage. That’s when Ronald’s foot kicked it across the pavement. It was Brenda’s cordless phone. Both looked at each other, equally concerned.

  “Where the heck is she, Ronald?” Gertrude immediately began to panic.

  “I don’t know, baby. Calm down. We’ll find her.” He tried quelling her anxiety.

  Gertrude tore off toward the side door. The screen was closed, but the main door had been left ajar.

  Ronald rushed up beside her as she snatched at the brass handle to go inside. “Let me go first,” he demanded, bringing her charge to a halt. “Just in case there is someone other than Brenda inside,” he explained.

  She thought the action noble of him. Gertrude was more than happy to step back, allowing her man to lead the way.

  Moments later, a police squad car pulled up to Brenda’s residence. They didn’t know where she had disappeared to. They simply knew something wasn’t right. Brenda had vanished just like Peggy and Tiffany.

  Chapter 38

  Opening Up

  Gertrude sat, worried sick. Her shoulders slumped; her eyes drooped down along their outer edges. The light in her eyes had dimmed. She took the officer’s card after they’d been questioned there at the scene, then turned to walk back to Ronald’s car. He held his arm around her until he’d helped her into the van after opening her door. Gertrude was speechless the entire ride home. She gazed in silence at the waxing moon and scattered stars. How can there be something so beautiful in a world that is so broken? Her eyes glazed over.

  Ronald stole glances at Gertrude from the corner of his eye. How can something so beautiful exist in a world so evil? he asked himself silently. He watched the hope drain from her resolve, wishing he could do something. But, quite frankly, at that point, Ronald had more important things to worry about. The fact that Brenda had disappeared was not a coincidence. He had to figure out how he’d keep Gertrude safe from the same people who were responsible for Brenda’s disappearance.

  Once they had returned home, Gertrude got out, following Ronald up the porch stairs.

  “I’m still staying with you, right?” she inquired sheepishly.

  His face softened. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Ronald unlocked the door, allowing Gertrude to slip inside first. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower before I lie down. It’s been a long day.”

  “I don’t mind at all. Go ahead and wash up. Maybe I can find a movie for us. There’s no way I can fall asleep right now.”

  Ronald locked the many dead bolts lining his door, one after the other.

  “Why do you have so many locks?” Gertrude blurted inquisitively, unable to hold her tongue.

  Ronald turned to face her. “The boogeyman doesn’t knock. He slips right in when you’re sleeping.” He stepped closer. “Or washing little Billy in the tub. He comes when you least expect it. When your guard is down . . . Jogging up the pathway in the park with your headphones on. Not a care in the world . . . That’s when he comes for you.”

  Although his reply wasn’t what she’d expected, Gertrude understood what he’d meant by it. Considering everything that had happened with Peggy, Tiffany, and Brenda, she agreed they should take every measure possible to keep themselves safe.

  Gertrude heard the showe
r water turn on as she fingered through the movies on the dresser to find one she thought they would both enjoy. The smitten young woman could hardly wait for her freshly cleaned king to be at her side. It was all she could think about, finding refuge in his arms.

  Out of nowhere, that closet door creaked open, yet again, beckoning her closer. This time, Ronald had just gotten in the shower. Surely, she would have time to learn at least a little more about him while he lathered up.

  Gertrude succumbed to temptation, heading right back to the mysterious chest in the closet. She kneeled in front of it, then squeezed the button, popping the latch to the side. To her surprise, it worked like a charm. I can’t believe it’s that easy to open. The curious young woman grabbed the first thing she touched. A photo album coated with a layer of dust was the first memory she had unearthed. Gertrude wiped her hands across the picture behind the plastic casing on the front to reveal their happy little family. Mr. and Mrs. Doolally depicted standing with 4-year-old Ronald and Cecilia out in front of the house on Gable Street captivated her.

  She gushed at their precious family moment, eager to dig deeper into his past.

  Gertrude flipped through more photos, each picture looking happier than the last. That was, until the little girl seemed to vanish from the endearing memories. The smiles of her remaining family had dimmed, their postures sulking. Each photo looked more serious than the last. One of the photographs looked to be merely a pile of gray gravel stones. Gertrude flipped to the next page. Her eyes jutted in horror. A woman’s corpse dangled from a rope tied to a metal post. It was the same woman in all the pictures with Ronald. Disturbed by the gruesome image, she read the caption on the old, fragile newspaper clipping, “Buried Alive A Tragedy.” The picture of the property on the paper looked familiar to her. She had seen it just a moment ago, Gertrude recalled.

  “A tragic accident on the border of two cities. Six-year-old Cecilia Doolally crushed to death at an impending residential site,” she read further.

  Something was different about the picture before. It looked like a Polaroid of the actual grounds where the little girl died. Before, wildflowers and a hammock decorated the property. Gertrude turned back to the photo, examining its details. As if it had appeared out of nowhere, she saw it. Cecilia’s little fingers sticking up out of the pebbles.

  Gertrude threw her hand up over parted lips, masking her shock. What am I looking at? What kind of sick person keeps photos like this? She tried telling herself there had to be a rational explanation for it . . . an explanation she’d soon hear since Ronald had just snuck up behind her.

  Gertrude turned to face him, having felt his looming presence behind her.

  “What are you doing with that?”

  She stood before him with a look of fright in her eyes.

  Ronald could tell her trust for him had begun to diminish.

  “I’m sorry. I had no right to go through your things. I was just trying to know a little more about you.”

  “You do know you could just ask. I actually enjoy our conversations.” Ronald reached for the album, and Gertrude flinched. His heart sank. He couldn’t believe her reaction. “Why would you pull away from me like that? Are you afraid of me?” Ronald asked in the calmest voice he possibly could.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I’m not afraid. I promise. Just a little confused.”

  “Can I have the album back?” Ronald extended his hand. Gertrude handed it over to him, that time without hesitation. “What is it you’re confused about?”

  “Why do you have pictures of dead people in your photo album?” Her eyes moved to the book in his clutches.

  He silently walked over to the bed, plopping down on the mattress. He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. There was no easy way to tell Gertrude the story, and hell, quite frankly, he simply didn’t have the desire to. If at all possible, the last thing Ronald wanted to do was lie to Gertrude. As he thought about it, he realized that was only the beginning. She’d eventually find something else, which would compel her to ask even more probing questions—the worst being, what had driven him to murder.

  Ronald swallowed hard before opening the floodgates. “The woman hanging in the picture is my mother.” He opened the album to the exact page depicting her death. “She committed suicide when I was a kid,” he confessed, allowing Gertrude to get a good look at the photo. He remembered the nightmare as if it were yesterday.

  * * *

  It was three years after Cecelia’s death that it happened. Young Ronald strolled up the sidewalk. Sheba was out front as they strutted up the street on their daily walk. Any neighbors standing nearby dispersed for fear of judgment from young Ronald and his faithful pooch, his reputation around the neighborhood having changed over the years. It seemed not a kid within a three-block radius of his home stepped out of line. Young Ronald enjoyed his newfound power. Not a person would dare challenge him. It remained one of the many benefits of his father being Sheriff Doolally of the Detroit Police Department.

  The moment young Ronald had made it to the corner of his block, he could hear her calling out faintly. “Help me, Mommy. Please, help me.” The voice sounded just like his twin, Cecelia. He picked up the pace, Sheba, still out front, leading the charge. Ronald finally made it to the yard, not having heard the cries for help a second time. Maybe he was mistaken, he concluded. There were times when he’d seen things unexplainable. Young Ronald trekked up the driveway, then through the fence into the backyard. The moment he closed the gate behind him, Sheba broke away, giving chase to a squirrel roaming out back. The canine barked viciously as she took off after the trespassing squirrel.

  “Sheba, come back. I have to take off your leash,” Young Ronald demanded, then waited there a moment for the faithful pooch to return. Suddenly, her barking transitioned from barking to whimpering. That’s when he took off to see what was wrong with his best friend. White linen sheets and wool blankets hung on the clothesline behind their garage, making it difficult to see what Sheba was pawing at behind the sunbaked laundry. Young Ronald came closer, lifting the sheet to duck behind it. Turns out, laundry wasn’t the only thing hanging on the line. Mrs. Doolally dangled by her neck, stiff as a board. His mother’s house shoes slipped from her feet, leaving her pastel yellow manicured toes on display.

  “Mommy! No! What did you do?” he screamed, attempting to lift her body from the rope tugging on her neck. “Oh no, Mama. Please, don’t go. Don’t go, Mama,” he begged, sobbing into her wildflower-pattered housecoat.

  * * *

  Ronald held back his tears, not wanting to break down in front of Gertrude. Instead, he turned the page to the picture of Cecilia’s exposed fingertips.

  “The girl under the rocks is my twin sister, Cecilia. My father was the police sheriff at the time, and he’d been to hundreds of crime scenes, seen hundreds of corpses. For some reason, he believed that the soul of the individual is captured in the first picture taken after their death. He found the first pictures taken of my mother and sister’s deaths and kept them here with him.” Ronald closed the album. “That’s why you see these gruesome photos here before you.” He looked up at her, wondering what she thought of all he had divulged.

  Chapter 39

  The Chase Is On

  Sleep that night was a tad uncomfortable. For Gertrude, it was because she had gotten caught snooping and caused Ronald unnecessary pain by asking him to unearth traumatic memories. She lay there with her eyes closed in silence yet fully awake. How can he trust me now? Stupid Gertrude . . . Why can’t I just mind my own business? I had no right to go through his things. Gertrude silently chastised herself.

  Ronald felt uneasy for fear of the collapse of his and Gertrude’s relationship due to the traumatic memories he had drudged up from his past. He worried they were too much for Gertrude, too fast. Anticipating it would soon be over between them, Ronald rolled this way, then that, trying to get comfortable enough to drift off to sleep. To make matters worse, he pondered
Brenda’s whereabouts. What really happened to Brenda, and was Gertrude doomed to suffer the same fate was a major concern. He couldn’t bear her simply disappearing from his life. There had to be something he could do.

  Sitting in a parked car, staked out down the street from Ronald’s house, was none other than that which he feared—Joey and Daryl. There to carry out the next phase of their plan, the two waited for the perfect moment.

  “You think they’re sleeping yet?” Joey turned to Daryl in the driver’s seat of the van.

  They’d been sitting outside the residence since following Ronald and Gertrude home from Brenda’s house. Knowing the area well, Daryl was able to lag further behind when tailing the unsuspecting couple. He himself had grown up on St. Louis, only two streets over from Ronald’s.

  Daryl glanced down at his wristwatch. “Nah. Let’s give them some time to have sweet dreams. We’ll sneak in on them when they least expect it. Once they’re sleeping, snuggled warm in their blanket, feeling safe and sound, that’s when we’ll get inside.” Daryl snickered, assuming what their fate beheld. “It’ll be their last night together. Hopefully, he gets him some.”

  “Get it while you can ’cause we’re about to take it,” Joey remarked excitedly. “Thanks for letting me in on this deal. I really needed the cash for school.”

  “I don’t know why you do this anyway. You could be at home living off Mama and Daddy.”

  “It ain’t in me to be what they want me to be, to act like they want me to act . . . I’m me, and that’s all I can ever be.” Joey shrugged as he peered out the windshield for any signs of movement in the Doolally house.

  “You’re my homeboy, either way.”

  “You trying to back out on me moving into the house? I’ll carry my own weight. Don’t worry about Joey. I put in work.”

  “Let’s hope the ‘merchandise’ pays well,” Daryl mumbled, then sucked at his teeth.

  Joey pointed toward the lot on his right. “What do you think that is?”