by A. A. Vacco
“Don’t you think it would be in a safe? Or destroyed?” asked Alex again, rubbing his chin.
Elle took a few steps across the kitchen. “They might’ve been rich but they weren’t high tech or really safety savvy. There’s no alarm system, even now. They grew up in a town of generally trusting folk, and as a result, I’m guessing, well, more hoping, they went about their cover up job in the same mind set.”
“That’s a leap," said Kat, “But say that you’re right. Where do you think they’d hide stuff?”
“Off the top of my head, attic or a bedroom closet.”
They checked both locations. After a few screams from spider webs, curse words from hitting a noggin or two on the low beams of the attic, and some disturbing finds of old pieces of lingerie in the guest room closet, they ventured to the master bedroom. Kat slid the mirrored closet door open and a whiff of perfume mixed with Old Spice immediately invaded her sinuses. Coughing, she stepped back and shook her head. "Damn, that's strong!"
Combing through the clothing, she pushed back the clothes near the corner of the closet, only to reveal piles and piles of shoes.
"Doesn't look like they threw much out, huh?” commented Alex.
Kat shook her head. "Pack rats."
Glancing up, Alex noticed worn cardboard boxes with crude scribbles for labels on the sides. "What'd ya suppose they kept stored up here?"
With a shrug, Kat said, "Hopefully some damn answers."
Most of the boxes read the usual: "Photos," "Baby Clothes," "Medical," "Auto." When they got past a point where Alex could reach, Elle bumped him to the side and planted a step-stool she’d found in the hallway. She climbed up and reached as far into the corner as possible. She couldn't see anything, but her hand touched another box. With a hop, Elle grabbed a corner of it. Pulling the box toward her, she lifted it over the rest of the clutter. Checking the sides of the box, she couldn't see any type of label.
"Think this might be worth exploring?" Elle asked the other two, stepping down and setting the box on the bed.
Kat sat on the corner of the bed and began removing items from the box. Alex sat on the other side of Elle and joined in on the content exploration. Elle pulled out a folder stuffed with paperwork. Most of it contained old newspaper articles and police reports. There were some receipts and a few notes from a doctor's office.
"Dr. Earnest Karcher, PhD in Psychology and Neurostudies," read Elle.
Kat paused and looked up. "We know that name."
Alex nodded. "Why would the Valors have information from Dr. Karcher though?"
"I mean, Byron worked for them for over ten years. We don't know what the pre-existing or underlying relationship was. Maybe he was related to them. Or they were taking care of him," said Elle.
"Haven't seen one of these in ages!" exclaimed Kat, producing a black, dust-covered tape recorder from the bottom of the box.
She blew a layer of dust off, this time away from the other two. "Looks like there's a tape in there," Kat murmured.
"What are you waiting for?” asked Alex, "Play it."
Kat pushed the recorder's ON button, surprised that the batteries still worked. They all heard static and mumbling for the first few seconds, then:
"Audio log twenty-six. Dr. Earnest Karcher speaking. Patient Byron Easton. Now Byron, you are aware that we are recording. Today's session will focus on a revisit and replay of the events up to and including November fifth, 1983. It has been seventy-two hours since Mr. Easton's last dose of medication. I slowly tapered him off of his medications last week, leaving him without any sedation or stimulating enhancements in attempts to clear his mind for this session. Now, Byron, I need you to just relax, close your eyes, and take some deep breaths. Very good, very good. In, and out, in, and out."
"Doctor, I feel--,"
"Shhhh, sh, just focus on your breathing. Good, great, keep going. Now, I'm going to ask you a series of questions. While keeping your eyes closed and your body relaxed, just answer with the first thing that comes to mind. If you can't remember, that is fine, we are just going to ask some basic questions.
"Mhm."
"Now, Byron, a little over ten years ago, you worked in a small town, correct?"
"Mhm."
"Can you tell me the name of that town?"
"Millerton. Millerton, Illinois."
"Great. Deep breath. There you go. Now, while you were there, you worked for a--,"
"Man, cut the crap."
"Excuse me?"
"I said cut the crap."
"Mr. Easton, might I remind you we are doing this recording session as a court-ordered documentation and I am to follow their protocol...,"
"Crap! All of it is crap!"
"Mr. Easton?"
"You people drugged me. You fed me lies upon lies. You kept me sedated for ten goddamn years. I was in a state of shock, and you threw me in a cell. Then you loaded me up with sedatives and kept feeding me a story that everyone deemed to be true. A story I heard so many times. So much and with so much shit pumping through my veins that I believed it myself."
"Mr. Easton, you were arrested on charges of first degree manslaughter."
"You think I don't know that?"
"My point being, you were arrested. At the time of your arrest, you had a psychotic break, requiring us to intervene with medicine. You were violent toward staff and on occasion, myself. So we kept you heavily medicated for our safety, and for yours."
"But now I'm thinking clearly. Why don't you just ask me what happened?"
"I don't want to send you back into psychosis."
"Risk it. What do you want to know?"
An audible, labored sigh, then, "Alright. We'll do it your way, Mr. Easton. Tell me what happened leading up to and the night of November fifth, 1983."
"He became more and more possessive of the house. I tried to tell you this from the start. He was...obsessed. He'd find any reason to have me fix something, paint something, improve something. It was more than an attraction site; it was a shrine. His shrine."
"Who's, 'he,' Byron?"
"I did everything he asked. Mowed the lawn. Repainted the porch. Every update that rundown shack required. Then he hired those damn interns to run the place over the summer. They come in with their city styles. They're goddamn newfangled ways to make money. They were always trying to make more, even though they didn't do much for the place."
"Byron, who are we talking about? You?"
"Those interns had this plan. This asinine plan. They wanted to record the events. Record the movements. Record the house. You gotta understand, Doc, no one records anything. No photographs. No movies. And above all, nothing leaves the grounds that's meant to stay on the property."
"Why's that?"
"You know what happens when people threaten? He'd become the house's puppet...its security system...its protector. He was in charge of removing threats. That night, my last night there, I worked late. I heard screams, god-awful screams. Then the gun shot. Twice. Then no more screams. Silence. The house stood silent as well. I ran toward the porch, up the stairs, and pushed my way into the main entrance. That's when, that's...that's....oh god!"
"Byron? Deep breath. You're doing great. What did you see when you--,"
"Blood! Blood everywhere. Sprayed on the walls, on the floors. He painted the room red with their blood."
"Byron, calm down, look at me. Here, here, take some water."
"Red, everywhere was red! A sprinkler of crimson splattered over the walls."
"Here, here, drink, drink. Nurse? Can we get an injection of five milligrams of lorazepam ready?"
"No! No! Wake up! Wake. Up. You must! But they won't. Why won't they wake up? "
"Nurse, now!"
"Valor and his fucking shot gun. Took them both, and he might come back for me. Oh god, no, no, no, no!"
"Thank you, Nurse. Byron you're going to feel a pinch. Hold still."
"He shot them! He shot them and I took the fall! All I could see was red
. All there was to see was red. Sprayed. Splattered. All the walls, all over the place. He did this. He did this, and he'll do it again and again, until the house is safe. No one rests!"
"Shhhh, shh, rest now, Mr. Easton. We will resume your medications tomorrow. Thank you for your cooperation. You've been of great help."
Static followed, then the recording stopped. Elle, Kat, and Alex stared at the tape player until they heard the ON button 'click' when the tape ran out.
"Pull the tape out," said Elle, finally.
Kat popped the recorder open and removed it. Elle took it from her and flipped it over, looking for a title or any clue as to why this tape was in the Valors' possession. "Well, what does it say?” asked Kat.
"Just, "Easton 1993," and then a long number."
Alex took the tape from her. "This serial number could be a case number. Either a medical case or a legal one."
Nodding, Elle said, "Sounds about right. The Valors did a great job keeping all of this under the rug. Why wouldn't they still have any piece of damning evidence locked away?"
Kat sighed. "So that night we were attacked, that asshole wasn't coming to rescue us, he was coming to finish us off, if need be."
Elle shuddered. "I hope there's more to it than that, c'mon. This is still the words of a mad man against...," she didn’t bother finishing the thought.
"Against what? A murderer who kept his sanity?" said Kat.
Alex flipped through the remaining contents of the box. He then put everything back in. "Regardless, this is now evidence and if it hasn't been brought to light, yet, I'll need to log it into the system. I'll get a few of my guys to help me sweep the rest of the house too, now that we have a reason."
Kat flopped back and stared at the ceiling. "Before we go all heroic and bring about justice, let's just...lie here for a bit."
Laughing, Elle stretched onto her back too. Alex placed the box of evidence on the ground and joined the lounging duo. "Just a few minutes," he said, "Then we've got stuff to take care of."
Forming a pinwheel shape with their heads toward the center on the Valor’s king-sized bed, each drifted off in minutes.
Alex slept soundest; he could sleep through a nuclear explosion, Cara once informed Elle. The man had a way with ridding his mind of anything for the sake of sleep. A light snore accompanied this restful state, and possibly the notion of a dream.
Elle, being the insomniac, knew she was still partially conscious, but beyond the point of being able to snap out of it. Plus, she reasoned, it felt good to relax, even if it was just a light stupor. Even still, she started to dream.
Kat immediately slipped into a dreamstate. She found herself standing in a wheat field, either at sunrise or sunset, given the way the sunlight tinted the horizon with a golden hue. She turned and looked around. Miles and miles of wheat and tall grasses blew softly as she heard the wind whispering with their movements. Holding out both hands, she felt the air move between her fingers. It felt warm, she noted, no chills or shivers with each faint gust. In the corner of her eye, she noticed something. Turning, Kat saw a small wooden table with two chairs facing one another. With some curiosity, she made her way toward it. No one appeared to be there to explain its existence, so Kat sat in one of the empty chairs. No sooner did she sit down, a pale, blonde girl appeared in the seat facing hers. Kat studied her. She saw dark eyes, painted red lips, and milky white skin. The girl wore a faded patterned dress with a collar embroidered.
“Lucy," read Kat. She paused, then, “Wait, you’re Lucy?”
The figure didn’t appear to hear. It simply responded, “Are you here to help?”
Kat crossed her arms. “Help what? You? Who are you?”
The figure continued. “The others weren’t there to help. They had personal gains.”
Kat felt her face flush. A sinking sensation slammed through her stomach and Genie flooded her thoughts. “What...did...you...do," she stammered.
The figure tilted its head to the side. As it did, two more appeared in Kat’s view. On the right, one wore vibrant robes and sparkling jewelry. Kat noticed the mocha colored skin and hair to match. The second had similar skin tones and clothing, but Kat quickly noted that half of its face was removed. No, not removed. Smashed.
The figure on the left didn’t move or speak like the others. Deactivated?
As the pale porcelain figure re-centered its blonde head, the vibrantly cladded one on the right began murmuring words Kat could not make out. With each word chanted, the blonde figure appeared to gain strength. It became more animated, more capable of interaction, and, more capable of inflicting harm. But why would they be creating such a strong front?
In her periphery, Kat saw another figure. She turned, only to see Alex wandering toward their gathering. He seemed entranced, Kat noted. He stood next to Kat, but remained silent. Kat tried to talk to him, but words no longer formed from her lips. Frightened by this, Kat attempted to raise her arms and alert Alex. No movement. Her arms felt like they were weighed down with cement. She tried to stand but a similar heaviness enveloped her waist and legs. All Kat felt capable of doing was keeping her eyes open and witnessing this destructive trio.
She felt a strong clap on her shoulder. Without being able to turn her head, Kat prayed the hand belonged to Alex. She felt a friendly squeeze, and then saw the movement in her periphery vanish.
Refocusing her attention on the figures in front of her, Kat realized the pale one appeared more lifelike than it had moments before. The chanting gave her this new-found vivacity and continued. “You’re a tougher one," she heard the pasty figure announce. “It takes more strength with you. Our reunion will be your demise.”
Why? thought Kat, hoping maybe they could read her thoughts. Why are you so set on getting rid of me?
“Because," smiled the blonde, “you wanted so badly to rid the world of us.”
With that it leaned forward toward Kat, ivory limbs pressing into the table, and said, “First, the lungs, they must rest.”
Kat felt the air escape her world. She gasped and tried to claw at the blonde bitch, but no part of her cooperated. She felt her lungs collapsing under the suffocating command.
“Now, your heart; the blood flow must desist. I need the pump to silence.”
A drop in Kat’s chest let her know that whatever powers this figure possessed were fully operational. Finding her world growing darker by the second, she tried to see if Alex had returned. Unable to turn her head and without anyone in her peripheral sight, Kat’s dream continued to spin into deadly chaos.
36
A sudden noise startled Elle awake. She sat straight up, but found the other two sound asleep. She brushed the tangle of dark hair from her eyes to glance at her watch that told her it was half past two o’clock in the afternoon. She shifted her weight to check on Alex and Kat. Alex seemed to be coming out of sleep. Elle reached over and shook his shoulder.
“Hmm?” Alex sat up, but his eyes were still closed.
Giggling, Elle said, “Morning, Bright Eyes.”
“Morning," mumbled a partially conscious Alex. Once he found his bearings, he turned to Elle and asked how long they were out.
“Couple hours, I’m guessing. Kat’s still out cold.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “Elle, this will sound crazy, but...,”
Before he could say anything further, Kat began to gasp. Alarmed, Elle jumped to her feet and circled the bed to where Kat lay. Alex sat on his knees, staring at her and whispered, “Should we wake her?”
Elle shook her head, “She hasn’t slept in weeks, I’d hate to disrupt the soundest sleep she’s had in lord knows how long.”
No sooner did Elle say this, that she noticed Kat’s gasping became stronger and her body begin to writhe and shake. The color of her skin started to change from rosy to “Cyanotic," whispered Elle.
“What?” asked Alex.
“Change of plans. Wake her up, wake her up!”
Alex reached over and shook Kat’s
struggling frame, but she choked and writhed nonetheless. Elle jumped up and screamed her name, but without further progress. Pulling her into a seated position and holding her by the shoulders, Alex shook her enough to try and wake her, but not enough to cause harm. No response.
“It’s like rescuing a drowning person without them actually drowning!” shrieked Elle.
“Drowning," repeated Alex, as a thought dawned on him. They kept the water on.
Eyes full of terror, Elle stared at him, then lunged forward to catch Kat when Alex dropped her body and sprinted out of the bedroom. Elle kept trying to wake Kat, unsuccessfully. Every now and then Kat appeared to be able to take a deeper breath of air with Elle’s movements, but beyond that, she stayed in a deep stupor.
Kat’s view of the destructive trio blurred in and out of focus. The wench on the right of Lucy kept murmuring things. Lucy stared at her, orchestrating the malfunction of each vital organ, one by one. Kat wondered what was next, since she could no longer breathe or feel her heartbeat. Seconds, she had seconds, but she could still think, she could still... “Your mind," god no, “it’s been working quite a bit these days," please no, “It must--,”