Dark Side: The Haunting

by J. M. Barlog

  Kate was completely blindsided when Rick placed her in what he called the witness room. She knew from the movies that witnesses don't get locked into interrogation rooms with guards. She lit a cigarette without asking for permission, assuming it was allowed by the ashtray on the table.

  Between puffs, she kept her arms folded across her chest in a cold, unapproachable way, keeping her back to the policewoman. In time, her determination softened and she fumbled with her cigarette, tapping it incessantly on the rim of the ashtray.

  Rick remained alert for telltale signs from behind the mirror. He wanted to let her stew for a while before starting. Each minute alone broke down her resistance by an equal amount. Though he suspected it wouldn’t take terribly long to break her down.

  Kate had been sitting for more than an hour and had given up on badgering the policewoman for information.

  The room's silence seeped into her very core. Only Kate’s own thoughts kept her from raising a ruckus. What the hell was all this about anyway? She was tired of waiting. She took to checking her watch every few minutes. Time was vitally important to her, and this detective was definitely pissing away plenty of it.

  Circles rimmed Kate's eyes, her cuticles were battered and red, and her attempts to hide her nervous tremor failed miserably.

  Time to go.

  Rick entered with a file folder and a hard edge to his face.

  “I'd like to know why I've been kept waiting for more than an hour,” Kate demanded, checking her watch, then noticing Rick's cold, level eyes.

  “Sorry about the delay,” Rick offered placatingly, then he set the folder down on the table before him. He eased his chair closer to Kate, deciding to invade her personal space right from the outset. He hoped it would cut down his interrogation time. Kate already exhibited the first signs of cracking under the pressure.

  “Why am I here?” Kate asked, rising out of her chair. This was to be no follow-up interview and she knew it.

  “Please, Ms. Matheson, just relax; we'll get this over as quickly as possible.”

  “Get what over with?”

  “I just need to ask you a few questions.”

  “About what?”

  Rick withheld his answer. Instead, he paged through his file, rolled a stack of sheets over the top, and then began clicking his pen repeatedly.

  “Ms. Matheson, if you don't mind my saying, you look a bit ragged today. Are you sleeping okay?”

  Kate combed her fingers through her hair, reaching into her purse for a mirror.

  “You think it's easy keeping a struggling agency afloat? I'm handling both mine and Jenny's accounts. You know how long she's been out?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Great. So what is this about? Can't this have been handled at my office, where I could have been working while I was waiting for you?”

  “I don’t think you would have wanted this done at the office.”

  Kate rubbed her hands together in a nervous way. Her throat turned cottony and dry. She struggled in a vain attempt to clear it.

  “Can I get you some water?”

  Rick motioned the policewoman. She left and returned a minute later with a pitcher and a cup.

  “Thank-you, Chatty,” Kate said.

  The ice water soothed her throat, but did little for her nerves.

  “I really demand to know what this is all about.”

  “I think you know what this is about.”

  Kate took to fidgeting with her purse. She wrapped the straps around her fingers in order to avoid Rick's eyes and conceal what they sought to reveal.

  “I'm sorry, Detective, but I haven't the foggiest fucking idea what you're talking about.”

  “Well, Ms. Matheson, we should start with embezzlement. You know, taking money that is not properly yours. Stealing.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Very. But having said that, what I really want to talk about is cocaine. Because I think that's where the embezzled money goes.”

  Kate feigned surprise, while at the same time trying to hide the guilt rushing out of her eyes.

  Rick had hit the right nerves. Now all he had to do was force open the spigot and let Kate reveal her involvement in Jenny's accident. A momentary triumph coursed through his veins.

  “But that's not what I really want to talk about, either.”

  Rick allowed Kate a moment to react. He deciphered the confusion in her eyes, and it sent a sick rumbling through his gut. That one sustained look chipped away at his confidence.

  “What I really want to talk about is Jenny Garrett's accident on September fifteenth.”

  “What has that got to do...with anything?”

  After Kate spoke, her mind began to assemble the insinuations harbored within Rick's statements.

  “Embezzling is a serious matter. But not as serious as attempted murder.”

  “Attempted murder!“

  “Now that I've got your full attention, Ms. Matheson, let's talk. Where were you on the evening of September fifteenth?”

  “I...ah...I was at the Concord hotel.”

  “For how long?”

  “The entire night.”

  “And someone can confirm this.”

  “My boyfriend. But you’re insinuating that I had something to do with Jenny's accident.”

  “When was the last time you drove Jenny's car, prior to the fifteenth of September?”

  “I don't know...”

  Kate paused, racing through her memory in search of something that seemed trivial to her. From Rick's granite expression, it was vitally important to him.

  “We shared the cars. I drove hers when I needed it, and she drove mine.”

  “When was the last time you drove Jenny's car?” Rick hammered the question into her.

  “At least two weeks before the accident.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Sure? I never really thought about it.”

  Rick notched the burner to high.

  “You can stop me at any time and we'll wait for your attorney.”

  “What? You're accusing me of having something to do with Jenny's accident?”

  “The problem is, Kate, it was no accident, and you know that. I just want to know how you set her up.”

  “How can I know that? I had nothing to do with anything.”

  Kate clung to the edge.

  “You want me to believe that? And I'd really like to believe that. But there's that ten-grand-a-month coke habit you're supporting by stealing from your own advertising agency. I think you know damn well what I'm talking about,” Rick said, smoothing the wrinkles out of each word as he spoke them.

  “No, I don't,” Kate stammered. She began to cry.

  “You're in way over your head, Kate. You knew the only way out was killing Jenny for the insurance.”

  “You're fucking insane. I'd never try to kill my friend for money.”

  “No, what about for the coke? You'd kill her to keep the nose candy coming, wouldn't you?”

  “Never! You're crazy. Jenny had an accident. It was just a bad accident.”

  Kate's tears ripped at Rick's insides. He wanted to back off, but knew he had to press until he got to the truth, regardless of the hurt it caused.

  “Who's the boyfriend, Warren Garrett? He the one you've been banging?”

  “What? Warren?”

  “Yeah, I know you were lovers in college.”

  “Warren's a self-centered jerk off. He always was and always will be. You think...I was in bed with Kevin Murphy at the Concord the night of the accident.”

  “Then he'll give you an alibi. Give me a number and we can clear this up right now.”

  Rick shoved a paper and pencil under Kate's hand.

  She stabbed the pencil onto the paper, scribbling numbers.

  “Top one's the office.”

  “You just sit tight, Kate. We'll make a phone call. Now might be a good time to contact your lawyer.”

  That line always got to them
. If Kate were holding anything back, she’d surely cut loose before calling her lawyer.

  Kate wiped away tears but never left her chair. The passing minutes were like a high speed grinder on her nerves. What if Kevin...

  Minutes passed. Kate contemplated every one of Rick’s accusations. Finally, Rick returned with a tired, somber face. His eyes revealed nothing. He sat down next to Kate, pulling his chair closer to hers.

  Kate tried to read into his mind, uncover his thoughts. She felt her heart hammering inside, and the sweat rolling down her back. She needed more water.

  “Convince me you didn't know Kevin Murphy no longer works for Jarvison and Lewis.”

  “What?”

  Kate's eyes widened in fear. Breathing became difficult.

  “He skipped. Up and quit his job two days ago. We're trying the home number. I hope for your sake he's sitting right next to the phone.”

  Rick said no more. He just sat there, staring at her while he twirled the pencil on the table.

  A few minutes later, a uniform entered and signaled Rick.

  Rick's eyes and face turned glacial. His breathing became very light.

  “You didn't know Kevin Murphy's home phone has been disconnected?”

  25

  Jenny lounged on the sofa, her mind as carefree as the sparrows fluttering in the trees beyond her windows. The late afternoon sun warmed her as it poured into the living room. She loved being out of the bedroom, even if it could be only for brief periods of time.

  Occasionally, the sounds of Warren at work in the den drifted down to her. He had truly been wonderful since her accident. Only once in awhile did he complain about the effort it took to care for her. Never once had he said it was too much. He really did love her. So why couldn't she love him back? What was missing in her that kept her from feeling the way she did before the accident?

  But then how did she really feel before the accident? There were those fleeting images that aroused suspicion and confusion in her head. Was there something lurking in her past that now remained buried by layers of amnesia?

  She tried to focus on that night. For a brief moment, she saw herself in the restaurant. Warren sat across from her.

  Of course, I'm happy, she heard him say in her mind. Yet she was uncertain that he meant it.

  Fatigue began to overwhelm her, drawing her toward sleep. It felt glorious to be out of that bed, and moving around the house; even if it were limited to just sitting in a different location.

  But she knew she must end it. She must return to her bed and rest.

  Jenny endured a slight muscle pull when she rose from the sofa. She contemplated first the effort required to get up the stairs, and second, the need for Warren's assistance.

  Warren was busy; she could hear him conversing on the phone while at the same time pounding away at his computer keyboard. He sounded upset. His trading must be going poorly today.

  Jenny sized up the stairs. She could do it. She felt stronger today than yesterday. She had to challenge herself. It was time to give it a try on her own. Time to demonstrate to Warren that she was really back to her old self. The very thought muddled her mind. Only a dozen stairs to reach the top. Just take one stair at a time.

  Beyond the reach of Jenny's ears, within confines of her bedroom, a needle on one of the instruments began scraping across slow-moving paper. First tiny spikes appeared. Then the needle twitched more rapidly, recording large spikes of activity.

  Warren also never heard the sounds. A telephone conversation consumed him. And before leaving, Dwight had forgotten to set the alarms on his monitors to trigger on adverse activity. Though, for Dwight, it mattered little now. He had the evidence he believed he needed to make a mark on the world of paranormal phenomenon.

  Jenny paused at the base of the stairs. So far no more than minor discomfort. She gazed up, the way a rock climber sizes the sheer granite before making his ascent.

  “You can do this. Handrail. One step at a time.”

  It looked easy.

  She resolved that now was the time to scale the mountain alone—to demonstrate that she was ready for that next plateau in her recovery. Negotiating the stairs unaided would surely be a feather in her cap.

  The first three stairs came and went. On the fourth, Jenny stopped. But not because of pain or discomfort. An icy chill swam down to meet her, wrapping itself around her like a swirling winter wind that had come to whisk her away. The chill ignited terror deep within.

  She could do this, she cautioned herself. She could make it to the top alone. Her reward would be a nap in her bed.

  Jenny sucked in a breath and attacked the next three stairs with determined strides. This time a wrenching pain constricted her midsection. She winced, vacuuming in air to fill her lungs and knowing she could go on. Three more stairs. Her chest muscles were like boa constrictors, slowly tightening to make further breathing difficult.

  The stabbing discomfort forced Jenny to pause momentarily, and to consider calling for Warren's aid. Then she decided to try another stair or two. If she could just make it to the second floor, she would take a well-earned rest.

  Ice froze her veins as she stared at the second floor hall. No sounds drifted out of the den. Warren had stopped tapping at his computer. Maybe he was writing, for Jenny could detect a faint scraping.

  With two stairs still before her, Jenny felt the presence. She turned to look behind her, sensing the ghost in her wake.

  “Warren!” she issued in a terrified cry.

  As she came around, a hand pressed against her chest.

  Jenny toppled in a reverse somersaulting action down the stairs, her scream rising up to shake the house.

  ****

  Jenny awakened on a cold table with a white sheet covering her from neck to knees. Warren sat at arm's reach, gripping her hand so tightly she thought her fingers would go numb.

  “How we doin’, honey?” a smiling, embarrassingly overweight nurse asked, examining the contusion on Jenny's forehead.

  Jenny could not even muster the strength to respond.

  “Dr. Morrison will be right in. So just relax.”

  Morrison offered only a perfunctory greeting when he arrived. Jenny could see the disappointment in his eyes. He closed the curtain around his patient, asking Warren to wait in reception while he performed his examination. The nurse retreated to her position at the foot of the bed.

  After peeling back the sheet to expose Jenny's entire midsection, Morrison poked and prodded around her stomach from a number of different angles. He seemed more concerned with her facial responses than anything else.

  “Well, I don't believe you did any damage in there. But we can't always be sure. Jenny, what happened this time?”

  “I slipped and fell while going up the stairs.”

  “How many stairs?”

  “At least six.”

  “Were you alone? Why didn't Warren help you?”

  “Warren was there, but I wanted to try it myself. I thought I could do it without help.”

  “Jenny.”

  The doubt in Morrison's tone made Jenny uneasy.

  Morrison probed further with heel of his hand. He pressed with greater force—as if he wanted to punish her for failing to heed his advice. Though in reality, he needed to work deeper inside her to make certain nothing had breached as a result of the fall.

  “Any bleeding of any kind?”

  “None.”

  “That's a good sign. Any pain in the lower abdomen?”

  “None. Well, a little.”

  Jenny flinched when he pressed firmly with one hand over the other into her lower right quadrant.

  “Jenny, I wish you wouldn't...”

  “I'm all right, right? I didn't re-injure myself, did I?”

  “I'm a little concerned about this area here.” He indicated her lower right quadrant. “I did some fancy stitching in there, and I don't like that it's tender. I’m not taking any chances with this. I'm admitting you overnight.”


  Jenny mustered the beginnings of an objection.

  Morrison's paternal finger silenced her.

  “Just to be safe. If any internal bleeding develops, we can go in immediately to staunch it. Is that okay?”

  Jenny frowned.

  “Best to be safe,” Morrison cautioned, taking her hand into his.

  “If you say so. Warren can go a day without me. He'll probably like a break from playing nursemaid.”

  “Okay then, I'll call for a bed and have you transferred up. I'll let Warren know. You just lie there and let my people take care of you.”

  Warren launched out of his chair the moment Morrison emerged from the examination room.

  “How is she? Is she okay?”

  “I think so. Exactly what happened, Warren?”

  “I don't know. She tried climbing the stairs by herself and must have fallen.”

  Morrison raised a brow, but said nothing while he scribbled his observations into Jenny's records.

  “I'm admitting her overnight. There's some tenderness and swelling. I don't want to take any chances. You can go in and stay with her until we can get an orderly to move her.”

  Warren nodded.

  Morrison watched with concern as Warren headed for the examination room.

  ****

  Rick sat at his desk in the deserted squad room with his head in his hands. A cold cup of coffee and a half-eaten sandwich remained from his supper an hour before.

  For the fifth time, he went over every detail of his interrogation of Kate Matheson. So far, he had almost nothing to link her directly to Jenny's attempted murder. Embezzling was hardly sufficient motive for murder. However, the insurance money gave Kate motive, and she possibly had opportunity if she had used Jenny's car shortly before the accident. And she currently had no alibi for that Friday night when she could have gone under the hood of Jenny's car while it sat in the restaurant parking lot.

  How easy it all seemed to Rick now. Borrow the car a few days before the planned accident. Cut the bolt halfway through with a hack saw and wait until the moment arrives. Ping! Snap off the bolt head and watch the festivities. Warren could have set up the restaurant days in advance. Once the car is rigged and ready to go, Warren gets Jenny to the place, Kate makes the final tap and voila!