Darkside Blues: An Occult Thriller (The Ulrich Files Book 3)

by Ambrose Ibsen

  The roof.

  If Vivian had lured her father to the hotel, then what better place to stage her revenge? From there, he'd be able to watch her suicide, like Ulrich had, again and again. His stomach tossed about in his abdomen at remembering the horrific spectacle but he kept hiking up the stairs anyway, his thighs burning and heart pounding.

  The door to the roof was sitting very slightly ajar, like it had recently been opened, and the pale moonlight coming in through the crack lit up the rest of the way. Kicking it open and rushing out onto the roof, Ulrich took a blast of cold air to the face and winced as he began searching for his man.

  He didn't have to look far.

  "Michael?" Ulrich stumbled as he advanced, spotting Michael up ahead. The man had one foot against the edge of the roof and was slowly climbing onto the stony lip of the building.

  With evident surprise, Michael turned to face Ulrich. His face was pale, washed of color by the intense cold, and his cheeks were marked with thin, meandering lines where tears had fallen and subsequently dried. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice devoid of spirit. Shrugging, he continued his efforts and draped one leg over the building's edge so that it dangled in the air. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. You aren't going to change anything."

  "Michael, wait!"

  The man slung his other leg over and prepared to ease himself off the edge. "No, thanks," he replied. "I think I've waited long enough to do this." He took one deep breath and looked down at the ground before leaning forward.

  21

  "It's funny, Mr. Ulrich. I wasn't trying to fool you, you know. I'm under no illusions about the sort of man I am--about the kind of parent I was to Vivian. I told those lies to save face. But there was one you didn't pick up on."

  Ulrich watched as Michael stared down at the ground, shoulders swaying from side to side as he weighed the possibility of jumping. "And what's that? What did I miss?"

  Michael chuckled. "I told you that I was hiring you because I wanted to know why my daughter killed herself. Well, that was the lie, because I knew the reason all along. You know what I really wanted, detective? I wanted to know whether she'd forgiven me. That's what this was all about. When you came by today and let me have it, I was upset, make no mistake. But it wasn't your fault. To know that she was still suffering all these years, that I'd caused her a decade of suffering beyond death was just..."

  "You wanted to know if she'd forgiven you for being a poor father?" asked Ulrich. "Why didn't you just say so from the beginning?"

  "It's not easy to own up to one's mistakes. To bring a stranger into the fold on a delicate matter like this one. You know, I'd seen her before. Every year, around this time, Vivian has appeared in the vicinity of the hotel. And every year I've tried to reach out to her, to speak to her. To apologize. But it's never done any good. She keeps on walking away, till she gets to this hotel. And then poof. She's gone. I'd hired others to look into it before, but none of them could see her. Not until you came along did anyone else actually see her, to my knowledge. I guess she's real picky about who she reveals herself to. But it doesn't matter. This has been a long time coming, detective. This is what I deserve for having failed my girl."

  "Listen, Michael, I know that you're probably in a bad place right now, but is this really the best way to cope? Come down from there, let's talk about it, yes?" Ulrich took a few steps towards him. "I know you made mistakes. I know that Vivian has a grudge against you and the other people in her life because she felt like they didn't care about her. But that's--"

  "That's the sad truth," replied Michael. "because if we did care, we never showed it. We put her away in a room, kept her out of sight except in those moments when we wanted to garner pity from other parents. I never let my daughter live a normal life, couldn't be bothered to. I wasn't cut out to be a parent, and everything she experienced was my fault. All of that pain was inflicted by me."

  "Michael, please... hold on. That isn't--"

  The man continued, looking up into the sky, eyes narrowed. "I never told you about how Vivian ended up in that wheelchair, did I? She had an injury to her spinal cord all right, but it wasn't the kind that I described earlier. It wasn't some birth defect or accident." Gritting his teeth, the man fought back a fresh wave of tears. Once he'd sniffed them away, he went on. "I hurt my daughter when she was still very young. Always had a temper on me, and early one morning, I'll never forget it, I lost it. She'd been crying and crying. The crying never seemed to stop. And I hit her. Anything to stop that damn crying. But I hit her too hard. So hard that I left her with a permanent injury. They should have hauled me off right then, locked me up for having hurt my own flesh and blood, but Ligeia, she helped cover for me. Came up with a story about how she'd tripped while going down the stairs with Vivian, and that was that."

  Ulrich was nearly knocked off his feet by a gust of icy wind. "You can't be... you can't be serious?"

  "I wish it were a lie." Michael ran a hand through his hair and turned his teary eyes out upon the dim Toledo skyline. "But there you have it. There's my confession. And you know what I did? Instead of dedicating my life to her, instead of being a good father and giving a damn about my girl? I couldn't handle it, so I ignored her. I put her into the care of other people; hired nurses that came and went so that I'd hardly ever have to see her. I didn't want a reminder of what I'd done and that was the easiest way to avoid responsibility for my actions. Her mother was another story. The two of us had never gotten along and I did what I could to jettison her from our lives. Much of what I told you about her wasn't too far off the mark. She was venomous, negligent, but I wasn't any better myself.

  "You know, it takes a great deal of effort to care for someone with a disability like that one, and neither I nor Ligeia had it in us. We didn't deserve to be parents in the first place. And so we looked for ways to pass the buck, to separate ourselves from the reality. I buried myself in my work and Ligeia did whatever she could to distance herself. My daughter grew up alone, almost completely. She didn't go to a regular school; I brought in tutors instead. She never had any real friends, and was forced to live a solitary existence."

  Knowing the full story, Ulrich could begin to grasp the nature of Vivian's grudge. He understood now why it was that she materialized on this rooftop each night to replay her suicide, again and again. "So, that's the whole story, is it?" asked Ulrich, taking another step. He was almost within arm's reach of Michael and was thinking of the best way to pull him back from the edge. "That's everything?"

  Michael chuckled darkly. "Isn't that enough? I'm not a good or decent human being, Mr. Ulrich. And this is the end I deserve. Coming up to this rooftop and ending things the same way my daughter did is the only thing I can offer her. There's no other way for me to apologize, to show my sincerity."

  "You want me to call you a piece of garbage? A monster?" challenged the investigator. "Is that what you're on about?"

  "It wouldn't be a lie if you did," replied Michael, slowly shifting onto his feet. He was standing now, upon the cusp of the building, ready to plummet with a change in the wind.

  "Well, I happen to think you're worse," admitted Ulrich. "If even half of what you just told me is true, then you're probably the most despicable human being I've ever met. And yet, this simply won't do. You think that this is going to make your daughter happy? That this is going to ease her suffering? It won't. This is just another way for you to run away from your mistakes again. That's all it is. Things are too hard, so you're washing your hands of everything, quitting outright. But you don't get to do that. I won't let you."

  Throwing out one arm, Ulrich managed to take hold of the hem of Michael's shirt just as he began teetering over the edge. Digging his heels in, he managed to stake the jumper with his body weight and then pulled back, bringing Michael onto the roof.

  Michael stumbled, looking to Ulrich with a mix of surprise and irritation which the investigator promptly dispatched with a solid right hook. Blasting Michael across
the chin, Ulrich took hold of his collar and forced him to the ground. "You listen, and you listen well. You don't get to end things this way. It's your duty to go on living, to bear this guilt until your dying day. Anything less is cowardice. You're subhuman, Michael, but you're going to carry this weight. Do you understand me? I've met your daughter, I've seen what you drove her to do, and I'm not going to let you off that easily. Until you face what you've done there's no hope for you or Vivian."

  From nearby there came the whine of a rickety wheelchair. "Look there," said the investigator, motioning to the empty, wind-blown seat. "She's here with us. Do you care to see what I've seen?"

  Sitting in the chair, weeping, was Vivian. She covered her face and loosed great, heaving sobs. Then, as she'd done so many times before, she began climbing out of her chair. She looked down at Michael as she perched on the edge and then, with great force, she threw herself off of the roof. Michael watched in wide-eyed terror, pleading silently as the spectacle unfolded. Breaking free of Ulrich's grasp, he bolted across the roof and looked over the edge, screaming. "Vivian! Vivian, no!"

  What happened next chilled even the investigator's blood.

  Down below, in a pool of red, Vivian's body twitched to life. The animated corpse, with its face left completely disfigured by the fall, began its desperate climb up the side of the building. A horrified Michael watched as his daughter scrambled back up towards the roof, howling and sobbing like mad. He pulled away from the edge, averted his eyes, and then looked pleadingly to the investigator. "It's... it's not real. It isn't..."

  Vivian was sobbing in her wheelchair again, and Michael watched as she began the heart-wrenching process once more. He rushed to her side as she lifted herself from the chair, but couldn't intercede in any way. His words failed to reach her and his actions resonated even less. She fell like a stone off the side of the building, only to land and begin the long crawl back.

  For several repetitions Michael struggled to help his daughter, to keep her from jumping. When he realized that he had no recourse, he lost his fight and began to weep, clawing at his face and shouting into the night. Watching his daughter's suicide repeat itself as if on a tape loop was too much for him, and he slouched against the floor with his head tucked between his knees. All the while the spirit continued its ascent and descent, and the air was filled with the sound of her voice.

  “LIAR. LIAR. LIAR,” she said every step of the way, between groans and cries.

  "This is what you deserve," said Ulrich, stepping away from the wheelchair. "Your daughter has lived this every night, repeatedly. This is the pain she goes through. And now it's your pain as well, Michael." He was preparing to drag Michael off of the roof, to return him to the ground floor of the building where he'd no longer be a jump risk, however Vivian appeared to have other plans.

  While glancing affrightedly over the ledge, a white hand reached over and took Michael by the hair. And then another. Ulrich watched as Vivian, bloodied and disfigured, began to pull her father over the side. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, his arms, and did so with such force that Michael couldn't help but succumb. "Vivian, what are you doing?" Asked the investigator as he tried to grab one of Michael's hands.

  It was for naught. Michael was pulled over the side, and Ulrich managed only to get a close look into those beady yellow eyes burning within cavernous sockets. Vivian's reply came from deep within her throat and saw her displaced jaw shift and rattle. "Now he'll listen. Every night, he'll listen."

  "Vivian, wait!" cried Ulrich, reaching over the edge.

  By then however, it was too late. He stared down at the ground from where he stood, one arm hanging limply over the bricks, and could see neither Vivian nor her father. They were gone.

  Canvassing the roof, he called their names several times, voice quivering with disbelief. "Vivian? M-Michael?"

  He was alone on that rooftop, wreathed in silence. There was no sign of the wan ghostly girl, of the hideous specter she'd become in death, of her father or even of the wheelchair. It was all gone, and in their absence he questioned his sanity. How much had been real and how much merely hallucination?

  Standing on that roof for a long while, staring out across the dark city for answers that would never turn up, he couldn't feel the cold.

  22

  The aftermath was a curious thing. Michael was reported missing the day before Christmas, causing a small stir in the local news. His car was found outside the hotel where he'd left it parked on that fateful night, but no other trace of the man had been found. Speculations in the press pointed to a bad business deal, or perhaps a financially motivated kidnapping. So far, no reliable evidence of his whereabouts had come to light, leaving the local authorities scratching their heads. No one had come around to ask Ulrich what he knew, either.

  And he had no plans to share.

  Ulrich couldn't be completely certain, but if forced to guess, he would have bet that Michael was with Vivian. They were in some place together, a place where Vivian would put her suffering on display for him and relish in his pain. It was a space between life and death where there was no forgivenesses, no compassion. It was a place where only Vivian's grudge existed.

  As for what would become of Ligeia and Meredith, the other two players in this family drama, there was no telling. No news had launched of their going missing, and the investigator kept a look out for their names in the papers for quite some time afterward. Possibly Vivian had been placated by claiming her father's soul, or maybe she still had plans for the others, and would one day spirit them away as well.

  Ulrich retired that night and slept away the bulk of the next day. He spent time with Beardsley and didn't much care to leave the house. His dreams were dense and hard to recall, but in them, at the very least, he saw nothing of the ghostly Vivian. Finally, it seemed, she'd released her hold on him.

  Christmas Eve was spent in the apartment eating more Chinese takeout and fraternizing with the cat. He'd been much averse to the record for some time, but in the spirit of the holiday he put on Sinatra's Christmas album and listened to it in its entirety. He couldn't say why, but he found himself feeling nostalgic for it. That dream he'd had the night before, which had allowed him a peek into his childhood, had made him yearn for times long passed. Though the music could only do so much to that end, he enjoyed each number and imagined his mother humming between the verses.

  "What do you think?" asked Ulrich, holding the cat up close to his face. "Maybe we should get out of Toledo for a while, eh? Go someplace warmer for a bit?"

  Beardsley meowed, fought out of his grasp, and then settled on the sofa beside him.

  "Fair enough, then. You're a townie like me, eh?" He chuckled. "Well, that suits me just fine. I don't really do drinks with little umbrellas in them. And that reminds me, tomorrow we've got a dinner date, you and I."

  Going to Harrison's for a big Christmas dinner didn't exactly appeal to him, but he was expected. Wanting to be a good guest, he checked the time and decided to run a quick errand. He'd pick up a little gift for his hosts, something that they'd enjoy with their dinner. Dressing and popping over to the nearest liquor store, he made a purchase and then returned home, turning in early.

  For the bulk of the visit, Beardsley occupied himself with batting ornaments off of Harrison's Christmas tree.

  The small house was packed with guests. Harrison and his wife had invited a number of their friends and family. A friend of Ulrich's, Dean, was there with his wife, along with some others he didn't recognize. It was a spirited gathering, loud, and exactly the sort of thing that Ulrich liked to avoid.

  But it was Christmas, and as such he made due. Ulrich smiled and socialized while chastising the cat and enjoyed the company. Though the case was through and the spirit no longer followed him, Ulrich felt as though he hadn't yet left behind the case of Vivian Poole. Bad feelings still lingered, and solitude still made him feel vulnerable. To that end, this gathering was a perfect antidote.

  Ulric
h presented Harrison with a bottle of fine red wine upon his arrival. "It's an '09 Chateau Durfort Vivens" he explained, earning bewildered looks from his hosts.

  "What, are you a sommelier now, Harlan?" asked Harrison. "I've known you for half my life and I've never once seen you take a drink. What's this about?"

  The investigator smirked. "I have no plans to start now, for that matter." He gave his thermos, packed with fresh coffee, a little shake. "The wine came highly recommended, however."

  Sitting at the table, surrounded by friends, Ulrich ate with gusto. The revelry spanned well into the evening, and when the main meal was complete, Harrison poured his guests each a glass of wine. "It's been lovely spending the holiday with all of you," began the host. "We're on the edge of a new year, and I hope it brings us all a good deal of happiness, health and fortune." He raised his glass. "Anyone else have a toast they'd like to make?"

  It was quite by surprise that Ulrich tipped his mug and said quietly, to himself, "Here's to Vivian."

  The toast earned him a few weird looks around the table.

  "Who's Vivian?" asked Dean, grinning ear to ear, a half-eaten diner roll in hand. "A new lady friend of yours, Harlan?"

  The investigator laughed wistfully. "Not quite. A Ghost of Christmas Past, more like it."

  END.

  Thank You For Reading!

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