Pretty Baby
Page 11
CHAPTER TEN
Garret’s eyes opened slowly when he heard the faint, faraway sound of tinkling music. He glanced up at the ventilation shaft and stared at it for a moment, the tune bringing back the usual memories.
Then the voices began.
He leaned forward to listen. He couldn’t understand what was being said, but his eyes quickened with concern when he discovered it was a man’s voice. Something wasn’t right. Why would a man’s voice be coming from the same place where the music box was playing? The only voices he’d heard coming from that room were Lucretia’s. He’d heard crying, razor straps cutting into someone’s flesh, but never a man’s voice.
It wasn’t unusual to hear voices, he heard them from time to time. The guests talking, music playing, TVs blaring, or Lucretia during one of her passionate encounters with a vibrator.
But this was different.
He instinctively knew that this man, whoever he was, was trespassing in areas of the inn he wasn’t allowed. And if that were true, then he must be looking for something. Evidence? Evidence of what? Garret thought of all the midnight diggings he’d heard just beyond these walls. If she was doing what he thought she was, then there must be any number of missing persons out there. People that had checked into the inn, and then disappeared. With all the legends and mysterious goings on connected with the inn, it had most certainly gained a tarnished reputation, but no one had ever ran an investigation into the strange happenings here. New hope surged within him. At last maybe Lucretia was going to have to pay for her sins. The idea was intriguing enough to keep him listening.
Straining at times, he managed to pick up a word here and there until a thought occurred to him. If he could hear voices through that antiquated old ventilator, there was a chance he could be heard as well. Quickly turning the wheels of his chair, he hurried over to the shaft and stretched upward, lifting his head.
“Hey!” he yelled. “I’m down here … in the basement. Can you hear me?” He paused, and heard the voices become abruptly silent.
Shadoe’s head jerked toward the ceiling. “What was that?” Then he looked at Julita. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” she said timidly.
“Hello!” Shadoe yelled, his eyes elevated upward. “Hello!”
Garret’s old eyes sparked with new life when he heard the faraway voice. “Can you hear me?” he yelled. “I’m in the basement!”
Shadoe looked at Julita. “You must have heard that.” His eyes scoured the ceiling. “Where is it coming from?” His search stopped when he saw a ventilator shaft tucked neatly away from the main part of the room, hardly noticeable. He ran to it. “Hello!” he yelled.
An excited smile pulled at Garret’s lips. The voice was still faint, but the words came through with much more clarity. “Hello, my name is Garret Van Dare, and I’m trapped in the basement!”
Shadoe’s eyes filled with shock. Then he looked at Julita. “Did you hear that? Did he say he was trapped in the basement?”
Julita shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said in a timid, frightened voice.
He reached over and grabbed her sholders. “What the hell do you know about this?” he demanded. “Is there someone in the basement?”
“No....” She shook her head, tears beginning to fall. “No … I don’t know.”
She still seemed to be hiding something, making his anger spiral once again. “Julita, stop all this playacting, and talk to me” he bellowed. Taking hold of her shoulders, he shook her. “Don’t you understand for God’s sake, someone’s life may be in danger!”
“I don’t know,” she sobbed, looking at him in fear.
“Speak up for God’s sake!” he shouted angrily. “What do you know about this? Is someone down there?”
“I don’t know … I … really, I d-don’t know!”
“All right, damn it, so don’t tell me. I don’t know what the hell is going on in this place, but believe me, I’m going to find out.”
“Find out what....” she whispered, her face showing confusion. “I d-don’t know what you mean.”
“Are you in on it?” he asked, his hungry eyes looking the voluptuous child/woman up and down. “My God, I hope not.” He turned to leave the room, then noticed the mask in his hand. He turned and tossed it to her, but it landed on the floor in front of her bare feet. “Here’s your mask. Sorry to throw a damper on your plans. Try seducing some other sucker. I’ve got other things to do.”
Julita looked down at the mask that lay on the floor, crouched down, picked it up and clutched it to her. She stared sadly at the door he had slammed through, and knew her chances of leaving this place had gone out the door with him. For the first time in her life the thought of suicide flitted through her mind. Lightly, of course. Not landing anywhere. Not taking root. But it was there … and it was a tantalizing idea.
* * * *
While Shadoe was hurrying down the steps he remembered the door he’d seen beneath the staircase. The door could lead anywhere, but he was counting on it leading down to the basement. Since the inn was full, he knew everything would wind down reasonably early. And with no expected guests, Lucretia would probably do her paperwork in the study. Then at a certain hour the recessed lighting would come on and the inn would sink deep into pools of shadow.
That was when he would make his move.
* * * *
Garret sat beneath the ventilator shaft still looking up into it. The music and the voices had stopped. Had they heard him? He thought so, but wasn’t sure. Suddenly he leaned forward coughing. It was a wonder he had the strength to lift his voice above a whisper. He was getting weaker and weaker. If Lucretia didn’t bring him some decent food soon he doubted he’d be strong enough to even sit up. He’d be bound to his bed, unable to do anything but lay there and die. He leaned his head back, almost too weak to lift it. He had to keep his mind on the man in the attic. If he had heard him, maybe, just maybe…
His eyes closed. It wouldn’t be long now. One way or the other, if someone didn’t find him soon, Lucretia would be burying him along with her other victims on the north side of the inn. Everytime she disposed of a victim, the next day a tree or a bush was brought in and placed over the grave like a headstone. The yard must be full of foliage or unique-looking statues she used to top graves. On windy nights he could hear her digging and imagined what her wild-eyed scrawny figure must look like in the dark. Even the rain didn’t stop her. If someone had to be buried, she took care of it.
Someday it would be him.
He sat there with his head leaning on the back of the chair, his weakness exhausting him. He dared to hope that maybe someone had heard him. And if they had, to have the good sense God gave a sand flea to not mention it to Lucretia. He hated to think of what he would have to face if she found out. No doubt about it, his time of demise would comer earlier than expected.
* * * *
When Shadoe reached his room, his phone was ringing. He ran for it, taking a belly flop across his bed and grabbing for it. “Hello!” he barked into the receiver while rolling over and getting tangled in the cord.
The woman was unprepared for his loud voice. “Oh … I … I’m sorry, did I disturb you?”
“No, not at all,” he said, trying to untangle himself. Giving one too many tugs on the cable, the phone clanged to the floor. “Oh, hell!” he grumbled, then reached down and picked it up quickly. “Hey, I’m sorry. I dropped the phone.”
The woman on the other end chuckled. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, this damned telephone wire is all twisted up. Hold on a minute while I untangle myself.” Dropping the receiver, he carefully lifted wires over his head and from around his chest until he was free. “Thanks for waiting,” he muttered. “Damned things could kill you.”
“Is this Mr. Madison?” she asked, looking at the name on the package.
“Yes.”
“I’m Ms. Robbins from the gift shop. Your pictures are ready.”
“Well, Mr Madison … that’s because there were so few pictures on the roll.”
“Do you know if they came out all right?”
“I have no idea, sir, the package is sealed.”
“Could you check for me?”
“Certainly,” she said, wedging the telephone receiver between her ear and her shoulder while she tore into the package.
Shadoe could hear paper rattling.
Reaching in and pulling the pictures out, she looked at them. “Let me see now,” she said, shuffling from one to the other. “Yes, they seem quite clear. Pictures of some old house or church … in a wooded area….”
Shadoe felt like shouting, “Yes!” It was the church. So he wasn’t crazy after all. He had proof.
“Two very good ones of our incredible sunrise. You also captured the inn very well, and the grounds as well.”
“Thanks a lot. I’ll be right down for them.” Shadoe started to hang up, but heard the woman say something else. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Will you pay cash, or should I add them to your bill?”
“The bill,” he decided quickly. “Just add them to my bill, and I’ll pay for them when I leave. And thank you. Thank you very much.”
* * * *
That night Shadoe waited for Julita’s timid knock, but it never came. He was almost sure it wouldn’t, not after the awful things he’d said to her. She would probably avoid him from now on, and even though it bothered him, he knew he had to keep his mind on the important things. Ordinarily a night of the hottest sex he’d ever had with a little tease like her might be uppermost in his mind, but not tonight. Tonight he had other things to do. He knew he was right on the verge of a big discovery, and had to keep his mind clear and his hormones in check.
While watching the hands of the clock move painfully slow, the time finally came, and Shadoe grabbed a flash and crept out of his room. He took his time, creeping smoothly along, watching for movement other than his own. He hesitated with every step he took, not wanting to run into the same thing he had the other night. When he finally reached the stairway, he crept down, then took a sharp turn and hid himself behind the tall lattice that obscured the door.
Standing perfectly still, he looked out between the squares and waited a while, just to make sure no one was around. Seeing no one, he turned the knob and opened the door. A rush of cold air hit him in the face, pungent with the damp smell of wet dirt and mold. He clicked on a flashlight and looked down through the dark tunnel of narrow steps that seemed to fall sharply into nothingness.
The cement steps were cracked and cobwebs danced overhead, suspended in the cold, damp air. Closing the door behind him, he began his flight down. To his ears, his scraping shoes sounded louder than a freight train, and he cringed with every step he took. He felt a cold, damp mist tickle his neck, reached back and found he had torn a cobweb from the wall. He brushed at it wildly as it draped across his shoulder, and the light jumped around crazily. Finally seeing the silken threads float toward the steps, he continued down, hanging on to the rail that seemed to be coming loose from the stones that in the narrow shaft took on the color of ghostly gray. Finally at the bottom he swept the light around, seeing more of the odd-sized concrete block walls. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, he was forced to take in a lungful of foul-smelling air.
He followed the narrow hall until he saw an iron door. Oh, God, how was he going to get past that? he wondered. He looked around, but there was nowhere else to go. If anything was down here, it was beyond that door, and he had to get it open. He tried the door, but it was heavy. With every bit of strength he had, he slowly opened it to a little chamber that housed rusty yard instruments that were caked with dirt. Overhead he noticed a wire with a naked bulb hanging down. He reached up and pulled a knobby chain, and the bulb flickered to life, the weak globe doing a poor job of revealing the dark corners of the room. The odor of wet dirt was gagging him, so he reached up and shielded his mouth and nose with his hand while he flashed the light around until his eyes anchored on a wooden door directly ahead of him. He quickly doused the little light and weaved through the yard instruments to the other side of the room.
When he finally paused in front of the door, he shuddered, realizing that he was surrounded by the deepest darkness he’d ever known. Feeling like he was in the center of the earth instead of the belly of an ancient old inn, he lowered his hand and carefully turned the knob, wondering what he would find beyond. Would it be another door? Another chamber? The maze in the belly of this old mansion was intriguing, but terrifying. Holding the knob in his hand, he turned it, hearing the old hinges squeak with pain as he pushed it open. Slowly the picture of a flickering light, a bed, and four walls of broken bricks and mortar came into view. Even though the dim light didn’t give off much illumination, Shadoe could see someone lying in the bed. As he crept closer, he gasped at the hollow, skeletal face and body that lay almost undetected among a tangle of sheets and blankets.
“Garret Van Dare,” Shadoe muttered. Looking at the old man, he could see the pallor of death on sunken cheeks, shadowed eye sockets, and a thin, papery skin, almost transparent. Shadoe could almost see the prints of his teeth against the thin skin … something like a macabre skull grinning up at him in death. Shadoe couldn’t keep a chill from dancing over his spine, and up his arms. No wonder she had said he was dead, he was right on the threshold. He knew instantly that it must have been his voice he heard through the ventilator. He swept the light around, seeing exposed pipes that leaked, a cement floor, and a crude wall that looked more damaged than the others. The floor was littered with chips of brick and broken mortar. In one corner, beneath the overhead pipes was a sink streaked with rust, a dirty mirror full of rust patches, and a commode that barely served its purpose. Through an archway was another part of the basement filled with broken furniture, boxes, trunks, high windows, and a cement floor that was cracked and broken.
With the sweeping light continuing its search, he found the ventilator system within its bright circle. Looking back down at the old man, Shadoe’s eyes searched his face once more, and Shadoe was surprised that Garret Van Dare had summoned the strength to yell. He imagined that the old cuss was strong despite the way he looked. It pleased Shadoe to believe that. To believe that the old man had refused to die, to have the strength of character to go on. He also knew he was probably a lot younger than he looked. His hair had receded a little, but was still thick and curly. It hung below his collar and was uneven, as if the man had chopped on it himself. Not completely white, but getting there. His face was not only lined with age, but had the suffering and anguish of hard times tattooed upon him. Shadoe looked closely at the old face. Despite all his wear and tear, the old man had an elegance about him that told Shadoe he had been someone at one time. Still looking down at the near-corpse on the bed, Shadoe knew he had found one more victim of the evil-eyed Ms. Van Dare.
He saw a chair at the end of the bed, moved away, and sat in it, thinking about what Lucretia had said about him being dead for fifteen years. My God, had he been down here that long? Now that Shadoe had found him, he worried about him. If the old man died tonight, then Shadoe had come too late. “God,” he prayed softly, “please let him live.” He repeated the prayer over and over while he watched the old man sleep.
* * * *
The next morning, while Shadoe was dozing in his chair, Garret began stirring. Because Shadoe was hidden in a dark far corner, Garret didn’t notice him right off, and went about his usual morning activities of lifting himself into his chair, washing as best he could, brushing his teeth, and using the bathroom in a jug, then flushing it down the commode.
He’d been wheeling around in his chair for a bit, when he came to a complete halt, his eyes falling on the young man asleep in the chair. He hadn’t had time to react when he heard someone outside the door. He knew it was Lucretia with h
is breakfast. My God, she’ll see him, he thought. He just had time enough to quickly grab a sheet and throw it over his head when Lucretia entered. The old man quickly wheeled away, not wanting to draw attention to it. He slowly turned his chair around and watched her as she lowered his tray on the mobile table, then wheeled it over to him.
He looked down at what she had brought him and closed his eyes while anger seethed within him. With the odor of rotten fruit and sour cottage cheese smothering him, he lost all control and threw the tray into the air.
“Is this what you call food?”
The clatter of the tray and the loud voice woke Shadoe, giving him a slight start. His eyes opened to see the sheet over him and didn’t move. Through the white material he could just make out the old man in the chair and Lucretia leaning over him threateningly.
“Pigs eat it. I don’t think it’s too good for you!”
“Then feed it to the pigs. Better yet, eat it yourself.” He felt especially venomous today, so he continued. “Go ahead, you pig, eat it. I dare you to bite into one piece of that fruit. It’s rotten, Lucretia, almost as rotten as you are! And I can smell the cottage cheese from here! It smells like something you dug out of the garbage!”
“You bastard. I’m getting sick and tired of your mouth. I’m the only reason you’re alive and you know it.”
“Don’t do me any favors, bitch! If this is the way you feed your guests, I’m surprised they don’t turn you in to the Board of Health.”
“That does it, old man. I’m not going to stand around and listen to your mouth one more minute. Hell will freeze over before you see me again.”
She turned to stalk out, but caught a look at the sheet thrown over the chair. “What is your sheet doing draped over the chair?” She turned to him, her eyes demanding an explanation.
“I … I … just had a … well a wet dream, and....”