Police believe the remains discovered in the building’s basement were of a family that went missing back in nineteen ninety-five. At that time, the Bailey family, a family of five that included a young son and daughter, had been living in a two-bedroom apartment on the building’s third floor. A neighbor reported the family missing after not having seen nor heard from them in weeks. Police investigating the matter at the time had questioned the building’s owner and manager, a Mr. Paul Scruggs, regarding the missing family. Scruggs told the police that the family, who was several months behind on rent, had departed without notice late one night. He told detectives that he had no idea where the Bailey family had gone and that they had left no forwarding address. Police noted that Mr. Scruggs was acting oddly during questioning, and after searching the Bailey family’s apartment and finding their clothing, luggage, and most of their possessions still there, Scruggs’ became a prime suspect in the disappearance. Police continued to investigate the matter, but without any direct evidence linking Scruggs to the Baileys’ disappearance, the case eventually went cold.
As an interesting side note, Mr. Scruggs was again questioned by the police several weeks later when his wife suddenly came up missing as well. When pressed on the matter by authorities, Scruggs said that his wife had left him after the police scrutiny during the Bailey investigation. He told them that she was embarrassed to be seen with him among the community and had left to live with her mother in Oregon. When asked by police for an address or phone number for his wife’s mother to confirm the story, Scruggs was unable to provide either. After this, the case went cold. Mr. Scruggs eventually died in 2005. He had no close relatives.
The bodies of the six individuals, assumed to be the Bailey family as well as Mrs. Scruggs, were discovered in a rear section of the building’s basement. The area had been bricked off from the rest of the basement. The corpses were bound and covered in heavy canvas bags. And the mouths of all six were gagged with thick leather straps.
Cause of death for the six individuals has yet to be determined. Autopsies on the remains are currently ongoing.”
“Wow,” Julia breathed. “I don’t remember having something like this in Chicago since the Gacy stuff. You think he killed other people too?”
“God only knows. It reminds me of that story…the one about the guy that opened the hotel during the world’s fair,” Josh eyed the ceiling as he tried to think of the book’s title.
“Oh, yeah…that was a good one. Umm…Devil in the White City? The killer’s name was Holmes, I think.”
“Right,” Josh nodded. “I’d like to read that again. It was a good book. I liked how the author bounced back and forth between the Holmes dude and his crazy killings and the preparations for the fair. He did a good job with that.”
“He did,” Julia nodded, moving to the dresser to find a shirt. “He built that hotel with the secret death chambers and trap doors and stuff. The hotel of horrors or something they called it…the ‘horror castle’ I think. He had like an acid bath or something downstairs to dispose of the bodies. Crazy to think stuff like that actually goes on,” she shook her head as she pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it on the bed while unfolding a forest-green T-shirt.
Josh was only partially paying attention again, except this time, it wasn’t the television that was vying for his attention, it was his bra-clad wife.
Watching Julia don her T-shirt, the pure creaminess of her skin would never have hinted that summer had just faded to fall. There was hardly a tinge of tan on Julia’s unflawed skin. Josh counted himself lucky to have a wife who was pushing 40 and still had the skin of a twenty-year-old. Josh liked a good tan on most women. It tended to bring out a certain glow about them, but something about Julia’s pure paleness just worked, and he loved it on her. It fit well with her long, auburn locks.
Suddenly the door to their bedroom burst open just as Julia pulled the T-shirt down over her head.
“Dad!” a shaggy-haired boy came rushing into the room.
“Ever hear of knocking, young man?” Julia scolded.
“Sorry,” the boy sulked for but a second before perking up again. “So, Dad, when are we going?”
“Soon, Justin. Let us finish getting ready. We’ll just be another minute or two. Why don’t you go get your shoes on, and meet us downstairs? We’ll need your help to carry the Italian beef and eggplant parmesan out to where we’re setting up.”
“Okay,” the eager nine-year-old nodded. “I see they’ve got the bouncy house already set up. I can’t wait! I saw Jeremy and Nat already out there.”
“All right,” Josh grinned, glad to see his son so excited. “You just take it easy there, big fella. There will be plenty of time for playing.”
Justin shot back out of the room as quickly as he’d entered.
Josh put his tennis shoes on and accompanied Julia downstairs to where the catered food they’d picked up earlier in the day sat on the kitchen counter.
Justin was already there, eagerly awaiting their arrival.
* * *
It was a decent crowd at the block party. This particular block of Brookfield, Illinois – a middleclass suburb nestled 12 miles from the hustle and bustle of downtown Chicago and home to the famed Brookfield Zoo – wasn’t particularly unique. Thousands of similar blocks comprised the sprawling Chicagoland cityscape. But the people living there felt that it was unique – or at least some of them did.
The families comprising one end of the block had bonded in a way that was indeed unusual among the webbed grid of city blocks laid out in a seemingly endless procession around them. The last three houses on each side of the block’s end, and the fourth house on the even-numbered side, had grown to become a sort of community inside a community. The “Block Enders” they’d come to call themselves, a name that evolved over time into the “Blenders”. The group considered it a fitting title, not only combining the two words of their initial name into one, but perfectly describing how this small cross-section of their community had blended together as one big family.
Over the years, through a procession of backyard barbeques, children’s birthday parties, babysitting for one another, assisting each other with a litany of unceasing home repair projects, and generally being neighborly, the residents of these seven homes had become more than just neighbors.
And while the rest of the block was always invited to the Blenders little shindigs, they rarely attended. It wasn’t that these people were bad neighbors; they just didn’t have the friendlier, more open mentality of the Blenders. The seven families that comprised the Blenders lived in the community to make “homes” for themselves. They were there for the long run. The rest of the block tended to take a different approach to their lifestyles. They lived in “houses”, not “homes”. And that was fine with the Blenders. There was always a standing invitation to the special events the Blenders organized. And every so often, these other families ventured outside their comfort zones to take part in a Blender event. It didn’t happen very often, but the Blenders were always welcoming to the seldom-comers when it did.
It was a diverse group that formed the Blenders. There was Michael and Caroline, two retirees who had been putting up their adult son, Patrick, since he’d graduated high school. Patrick was a wonderful person, but he’d been bouncing from low-paying job to low-paying job since he’d graduated. Michael and Caroline insisted he’d find his way eventually, and they were willing to wait patiently until he did. And considering that Patrick was now 24, and still searching to find his way, it was apparent to everyone that this was exactly what his parents were prepared to do.
Then there was Mary Beasley – “Ms. Mary” to the Blenders. Ms. Mary, now 64, was a widow of five years and had become a sort of surrogate grandmother to many of the children on the block. She was famous among the others for the wonderful garden she cultivated each spring. And the jams she made from her berry bushes were highly prized by the Blenders and often given out by Ms. Mary as gifts co
me the holiday season.
Manny and Margaret Simpson were among the many fans of Ms. Mary’s jam. The two were relatively recent arrivals to the block, having moved into their home several years prior. Only in their early twenties, the couple was naïve regarding many things. And they had been absolutely clueless when it came to the responsibilities of homeownership and the work it entailed. But their love for life, and their willingness to work hard, listen, and learn from those with more experience in such matters ingratiated them among the Blender’s older adults. These longer-term Blenders often ended up assisting with many of the Simpson home repair projects, projects that often found Manny and Margaret in over their heads. In return for this assistance, the young couple had designated their home’s sizeable den, complete with fireplace and built-in bar, as the block’s “clubhouse”. The spot came in handy for group gatherings on rainy days and during blustery Chicago winters.
But it was the many Blender children who most prized Ms. Mary’s jams.
The first of these children were born to the now divorced and still single, Christine Franko. Her boys were Jack, 14, and Andrew who had recently turned 12.
Then there was the Hines family, the largest family in the Blender ranks. There was father Monte and mom Victoria. Their children included Rebecca or “Becky”, who was five, seven-year-old Sarah, nine-year-old Patricia, and eleven-year-old Anthony. Anthony spent almost as much time over at the Franko house playing with Jack and Andrew as he did at home. And with the younger girls requiring far more attention than their older brother, the Hines parents welcomed the relief. Most of the time when Anthony was home, he was either fighting with his sisters or complaining about them bothering him. Keeping him busy with the Franko boys helped the Hines parents, which in turn, helped keep the Franko boys out of their mother’s hair.
It wasn’t uncommon to find all three of the adolescent boys over at the clubhouse playing video games with Manny and Margaret along with live-at-home man-child Patrick Trove when he was between jobs. They would hold various gaming tournaments and even crown an annual champion at a wild “Game Day” each year. The reigning champion was 14-year-old Andrew Franko, but his brother disputed the title. Last “Game Day” had ended in a tie, but the video game they were playing had awarded the tiebreaker to Andrew, thus starting the dispute that had continued ever since.
Then there was the Mendoza family that included Juan, Suzana, and their two kids, Jeremy, who was eight, and ten-year-old Natasha. The Mendoza family was closest with the Justaks. They were next-door neighbors, and their kids were closest in age to the Justak’s son, nine-year-old Justin.
In total, there were 22 Blenders comprised of 13 adults and 9 children, although due to their fun-loving and somewhat innocent nature, some of the adults could almost be lumped in with the kids.
The group had selected a perfect day for their fall-time block party, which officially kicked off at noon. While there was a slight chill in the northwesterly breeze swooping down from Wisconsin, the sun in the partly-cloudy sky helped cancel out this reminder of winter’s approach. And it helped the group to enjoy the late-fall day with temperatures that hovered right around the 60-degree mark.
The event began with many of the kids enjoying the bouncy house and a face painter who had been hired. At first, the older kids grumbled about the selection of entertainment items being “too childish” for them. Interestingly, though, almost all of them came out with an artistic rendering when the face painter mentioned that she could do shoulder and ankle tattoos for the older kids. And even though they complained that the bouncy house was too “kiddish” for them, when the older boys realized they could perform all sorts of wild wrestling moves inside it, it suddenly became much harder for the little ones to evict them from their air-filled arena.
Even many of the adults ended up with designs of some sort painted on them and took a few frolicking spills and tumbles of their own inside the bouncy house.
At around two o’clock, the food was served. There was Italian beef for sandwiches, hamburgers, hot dogs, eggplant parmesan, pasta salad, corn on the cob, deviled eggs, baked beans, potato salad, potato chips, coleslaw, chips and salsa, chili con queso, chocolate chip cookies, brownies, cupcakes, and more. At the end of the tables of food were several large metal tubs full of ice and an assortment of beers, sodas and bottled waters. There was also a big thermos of hot apple cider with a bottle of rum set nearby so the parents could spike their drinks if desired, which for most of them, it was.
At three o’clock, after lunch, lots were drawn for a beanbag toss tournament with the team of Ms. Mary Beasley (one of the reigning beanbag champions from last year’s block party), and young Andrew Franko (a new champion), coming out as winners.
After this event, the kids were so hyped up on cupcakes, cookies and soda, and the adults so stuffed full of food and beer that the two groups diverged. The younger kids headed off for more bouncing and games of tag. And since their parents had banned video games for the day in an effort to get all the kids playing outside, the older kids took to some skateboarding and drone flying.
As the air grew chillier outside, the adults refilled their cider cups or grabbed a fresh beer and headed for the clubhouse. There, they were content to have a few more drinks until it was time to clean up and take down the traffic barricades to re-open their end of the block.
Patrick Trove, a big kid himself, stayed with the youngsters. He told the other adults that he’d supervise, but mostly he just wanted a chance to fly Andrew’s drone. Andrew had recently bought a camera that attached to the drone and goggles that linked to the camera. He said he was training to get into drone racing one day.
All the other adults settled in to their spots around the Simpson clubhouse. Everyone had a spot they felt most comfortable in. Most of the men hovered near the bar, usually looking for an opportunity to play bartender or snack server. The women tended to take seats at the bar or around a card table set toward one side of the room. On colder days, they often scooted their chairs closer to a gas fireplace set in one wall.
On one side of the eight-foot-long bar top sat a variety of partially full, chip-clipped bags of popcorn, pretzels, and potato chips. In one corner, behind the bar, there was a full-size refrigerator stocked with beer, wine, fruit juices, ice, and fresh lemons and limes. Typically, there was also an assortment of leftovers in the refrigerator. These were for the group to finish during the many evening “happy hours” they spent at the clubhouse or when they were watching sporting events there. At the other end of the bar, there was a space cut into the bar itself with a kegerator and tap for those who enjoyed draft beer.
This comprised the Blenders’ home away from home.
“Did you guys see the stuff on the news about bodies they found in that apartment building on the south side?” Michael, the eldest of the group at 66 years of age, and who had just retired the previous year, asked.
“Crazy, just crazy,” Monte Hines shook his head. “You just don’t hear about stuff like that happening much anymore.”
“Most of you are too young to remember Gacy. That was pretty wild,” Michael nodded.
“Wild and weird,” his wife Caroline agreed. “I was scared of clowns when I was a kid, and John Wayne Gacy sure didn’t help my fear any.”
“This guy down in Englewood that they said might be responsible…Scraggs was it?” Ms. Mary asked.
“Scruggs,” Josh Justak corrected.
“Scruggs,” Ms. Mary nodded from where she stood beside the fireplace, warming herself and sipping her rum-spiked cider. “They said he walled the people up in the basement. Why do you think he would go to so much work bricking them in?”
“Probably didn’t want to end up like old Gacy,” Michael chuckled. “They could smell the stink at Gacy’s house coming up through the floorboards. Guess Scruggs figured if he walled his victim’s up in the basement, nobody would smell them.”
“But what about the leather straps?” Margaret Simpson shook
her head with a pained look of disgust. “Why in God’s name would he run those leather bindings through their mouths? That’s just so weird…and sick!”
“Well, you’d have to be pretty demented to begin with if you’re going around killing the residents of your apartment building…and your wife,” Manny Simpson argued.
“You just haven’t been married long enough!” Michael Trove ribbed him. “Call me in thirty years, youngster!” he laughed. “I get knocking off his wife, but killing the tenants, well that was just bad business.”
His wife Caroline slugged him and gave him a look. “You’re terrible!” she shook her head.
“I’ve earned the right, devil woman,” he laughed, pulling her close and giving her a kiss.
Caroline feigned disgust. “Ugh…get back Mr. Scruggs,” she pushed him away playfully. “If you suddenly don’t see me around, and Michael starts putting a new brick addition on the house, someone call the police!” she laughed.
“Damn! My plan is all shot to hell now,” Michael kidded. “You need a refill, hon’?” he nodded to his wife’s almost empty wine glass.
“Sure, why not,” she smiled at him.
“Just make sure he doesn’t slip you a Mickey when you’re not looking,” Juan Mendoza laughed and nudged Michael as he moved by, heading for the refrigerator.
“I couldn’t get away with anything with all you jokers around,” Michael shook his head with a sad smile. “You’re all too nosey,” he chuckled.
The Last Bastion (Book 1): The Last Bastion Page 3