Hell's Door

by DeLuca, Sandy

  He’d hid Mrs. Centerello’s body behind stacks of wooden pallets in the basement. And little by little he’d chopped her to pieces, and buried those pieces in the flower garden. He continued to buy groceries from the Italian market, telling the clerk the old woman sent her regards. And he made sure her monthly bills were paid on time—forging her signature each month after the government deposited her Social Security check. In time he’d abandon the house—before people got suspicious, and before relatives visited from upstate New York in the fall.

  “So much to do here before then.”

  He touched Stephanie’s pale cheek, gazed into milky eyes. “You didn’t eat your supper. You haven’t eaten in days.”

  “I want to die,” she told him, gazing at her left hand. All of the fingers were gone, severed, just as her ears had been.

  Gabriel kissed the girl, licking away her tears. “There, there. It’ll be all right. Don’t you know how much I love you?”

  He lowered her to the ground, touching her gently, telling her, “I’ll make love to you, and then you can go.”

  She whimpered as he kissed her again, and blood streamed down her cheeks as he opened her legs, and she closed her eyes, as though she wished him away. A table leg moved inside her, as his sweat blended with her blood, and she didn’t scream when the knife sliced into her neck; and blood speckled his face and the walls, trickling to the floor. After a while he stood, holding her beautiful head in his open hands, carrying it to the others.

  He’d placed fresh roses from the corner florist around the pretty head, then sat back, thinking of Sister and what she’d shown him so long ago—when she’d smiled at him, telling him, “Close the door, lock it behind you.” Sister’s voice was somber on that long-ago night.

  And Gabriel did as Sister asked, and stepped deeper into the room. It was dark, except for faint moonlight drifting through an open window. Sister sat on the ledge—silver piercings sparkling, and tattoos seemingly glowing beneath the luminary. Smoke from her cigarette billowed, and her face was drawn and sad.

  A young girl lay sleeping on a bed to Sister’s left. The bed was unmade; the girl wore blue jeans, a sweater and no shoes. She, or someone else, had shaved her head. Her face was lovely, small features and olive skin. Gabriel wondered where she’d come from. She wasn’t from the county. Sister slept with women she knew most times, or others she’d watched in town, and stalked until the right time. It was rare she’d take a stranger to bed.

  Sister looked to the girl, took a deep drag, and then threw the butt out the window. “Come closer, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel moved to Sister’s side. He noticed old cars and vans parked in the yard, trees behind them, shadows floating over branches. And he remembered visitors had arrived in those cars, never leaving, their heads adorning the mantel and window ledges. Sister told him she’d loved them all.

  And she’d grabbed Gabriel’s hands. Her grip was firm, strong. Warmth pulsed from her flesh, sending a wave of excitement through Gabriel’s veins.

  Gabriel anticipated this meeting for a long time. His heart raced when Sister leaned near, said softly, “Are you sure you want to go on with what I do—with what our family has done?”

  “I want to be like you…to be you.”

  Sister released Gabriel’s hands. “Okay. You knew it would come to this. I don’t like what I have to do, but I’ve done it for so long—and there’s no turning back…never…not when I’m gone…not when you’re gone either…”

  Sister stood, speaking quickly, pointing to the sleeping girl. “She won’t wake up. I gave her sleeping pills, because I wanted to make it easy on you the first time.”

  Sister removed a dagger from her jacket pocket. “You have to cut her. It won’t work any other way. I can’t do it for you. Not like before.”

  “Is she from town? Did you bring her here willingly?”

  “Yeah, from a club by the docks. I’m good at getting into their heads, and then bringing them here. You know that. You will be, too, with practice.” Sister pressed the dagger into Gabriel’s palm. It was cold, and it had been used to kill in the past. Deep inside he knew he’d give up on his dreams and disappoint his family without Sister’s help. He’d dropped out of school, drifted from one job to another…but Sister had patience.

  “Oh, man. I didn’t want to go this far, never. I told you that a long time ago. I mean, I’ve watched you, but I can’t—” Gabriel shivered when cold wind drifted in from the open window.

  “Don’t kid yourself. You knew one day blood would be on your hands. This was inevitable. Didn’t you kill when you were on the street…before I allowed you back?”

  “That was different. Guy was out to get me. It was either him or me. I was quicker. I was better.”

  Sister’s voice was soft. “It’s the same principle. Survival…and we have to survive…they have to survive.”

  Sister stood by him as he slashed the girl, feeling the warm blood splatter on his flesh, silent until he’d separated her head from her body…elated because he’d begun his journey of love.

  15

  Lacey settled into her usual spot at the end of the bar at Doug’s Tavern, a corner bar in the Olneyville section of Providence. She’d made a few arrests in the area—once she’d found an elderly woman’s body in a closet. And her son had been sprawled out on the couch in the living room, smoking dope and drinking hard whiskey, unable to explain the blood on his clothes and the scratches on his palms.

  The name was Guido Santo; and he’d been responsible for several killings in the area, all elderly, all with money lying around their flats. The guy was sent to prison on a first-degree murder rap, but last month he’d escaped, killed two guards in the process. Lacey was told he’d mentioned her, saying he’d come to get her…that she would pay for what she’d done to him.

  “Crazy shit,” she mumbled, gazing through the window. Smells wafted from the hot dog joint next door and working girls strutted back and forth in front of the thrift store across the street. She watched them and wondered if someone else did as well.

  She emptied the glass of pinot grigio, and then waved the bartender over. Someone watched her, a man standing by the exit sign, holding a short whiskey glass, smiling slowly. She ignored his smile, lowering her eyes, staring into the pale wine. She hoped he wouldn’t decide to join her, try to make small talk.

  Soon he was by her side, ordering her another glass of pinot, slapping his short whiskey glass on the bar, when the bartender set another glass before her. Detective Donald Reiss, from Vice.

  “Lacey, got a minute?”

  “I’ve been real busy, Don.”

  “You’re here drinking wine and it’s barely noon.”

  “I need to unwind sometimes.”

  “Hey look. I wanted to talk.”

  “I told you before. I haven’t got time for dating.”

  “Maybe I’m talking about the job.”

  “You got something for me?”

  “Working girl named Anna DeLaro. I arrested her a few times. Tried to get her straight, got her into some addiction programs. It doesn’t always work.”

  “Some would rather stay with the devil they know. I know Anna. Good informant. She hung out with Ramsay Wolfe until we advised her to lay low. I don’t think she trusts John and me.”

  “Yeah, well I guess I earned her trust more, because she came to me—less than hour ago—after she had a scare.”

  “What kind of scare?”

  “Somebody approached her by the old church downtown. She got in the car. She got offered a chunk of cash, so the trick could just touch her, play around a bit, you know?”

  “So?”

  “Yeah, that’s not the weird part though. She couldn’t tell if it was a guy or a chick by the getup the trick was wearing, a hooded coat, gloves and all that…not at first. I asked her what she meant and she got rattled, waving around her hands, saying she needed to get out of Providence.

  “Trick pulled a knife after a whil
e. Dangled it in front of her, told her she needed to die to know redemption…or some bullshit. You know Anna DeLaro is a big girl—goes around 180—solid muscle though, a lot of spunk. She kicked the trick after a piece of her thigh flesh landed on the dash. She managed to fight the bastard off. Then she hit the perp with pepper spray—opened the door and ran like a bitch. Told me she thought she’d bruised the bastard real bad.” Don laughed softly.

  “What kind of car was the perp driving?”

  “She said it was an old car. Anna lifted a bag from the backseat, figuring there might be money in it, but there was something else…”

  “What?”

  “A journal of sorts. Something that might be related to your case. She gave it to me. Told me it would tell me everything I needed to know…that I’d have the surprise of my life, but then again Anna is dramatic, you know? I have to turn it in. I was on my way…but…”

  “Where is it?”

  “Come on.”

  He escorted her to his car, opened the door, waiting until she slid inside, and then he ran around to the driver’s seat. Lacey slammed her door, and then spoke quickly. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Don hiked up the air, and then plucked a plastic evidence bag from the dash. Inside was a tattered notebook. “Tell me, what do you think?”

  Lacey removed a pair of plastic gloves from her purse, and then peeled the bag open, flipping the cover, reading slowly.

  “Sister made me pray at night. From the book my parents left behind. I don’t know where that book came from. Sister said it was written a long time ago, passed down. Our family is special, because we are the ones who save the fallen. We drink their blood and we eat their flesh, so they become pure.”

  “Same kind of stuff we found at the brownstone.”

  “Heard about that. Real house of horrors.”

  “You read it yet?”

  “Not all of it, no. But maybe enough.”

  “Why didn’t Anna come to us? I need to talk to her.”

  “She said she had her reasons. Anyway, you can’t talk to her. I put her on a bus to New York. She’s got family there. She said she was done here.”

  “Hope she makes it.”

  “There’s something else. I…” He shifted in his seat, revealing a Magnum clipped to the inside of his jacket.

  “Don, not now, okay? I’m done here. Mind if I hold on to this?”

  “I have to turn it in, you know that.”

  “Okay, I’ll sign it out once it gets processed.”

  She reached for the door handle, and then turned, her voice low. “It’s time to let go, Don.”

  He wanted the kind of love she wasn’t capable of giving—just like John—so she let him down as easy as she could. She left him there, and it seemed like a misty dream.

  Rain continued to fall onto the streets, relentless and beautiful, coming down in sheets like sharp glass.

  16

  John cruised down Manton Avenue, flashing his lights, and taunting a couple of kids hawking purses outside a convenience store. They gave him the finger after he’d passed by. He caught it in his rearview, and then merely waved.

  He arrived at Del’s Café on Toby Street, noting he was early for his meeting with Laura. And she was late, but the coffee was good. A half hour went by, and the caffeine was slow to kick in, so he downed another aspirin.

  Twenty more minutes went by. Where the hell was Laura?

  He checked his watch, looking toward the street. The rain still came down, and the air was cooler. He watched a TV set above a varnished counter while he waited.

  Laura strolled in a half hour later. She walked like she was hot stuff, as though the world owed her, but she’d changed, packing on pounds and looking like hell. But he realized that beneath her tough persona, she remained sensitive and somewhat insecure. She slid into a booth across from him, removed her gloves, then her hat. She smelled like whiskey and cigarette smoke. She shook her head and a mass of curls billowed past her shoulders.

  The waitress approached the table. “I’ll have black coffee.” Laura’s words were clipped. Her voice was rougher than he remembered.

  “They were ready to start charging me rent, I’ve been here so long. I didn’t think you’d show.” He smiled. Maybe a smile would take the edge off.

  She smiled slightly, and her voice softened. “Always a joker, John. How have you been?”

  “Doing all right. Working hard. You?” He wanted to shake her, tell her things could change, that he knew her secrets.

  “I’m okay, just a little short on funds, but I’ll be fine.”

  “You need more money?” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet. “Take some cash for now, and I’ll send a check around the first.”

  Laura waved her hand in dismissal. “No, I’ll be fine once school starts again. Girls from Brown and Rhode Island School of Design drop big bucks when they come back to town.” She reached over, taking his hand. “Why’d you call? Got something on your mind?”

  He squeezed her hand, and felt sadness when she pulled it away. “Look, we haven’t talked in a while. I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay…that it’s okay to move on. I…”

  “We’ve been over this. I got a new life now.”

  “We loved each other, Laura. How can you…we…just throw it away…”

  “Oh, John, you’re a good man, but I couldn’t deal with being married to a cop.”

  “I could have gotten a transfer. Moved on…our kid…maybe we could work things out…”

  She shook her head. “Deborah is dead. She’s what held us together. I…it wouldn’t work. Besides, I’m not sure I love you like before. And I’ve done some things.”

  “I know,” he whispered.

  She sipped her coffee, then spoke. “Sometimes people aren’t meant to be together. Don’t mean either of us is bad.”

  “I worry about you.”

  “Well, don’t. I just need to get my head straight, maybe get some counseling…I…”

  “Things happen to people and it’s not a crime to admit you need help. You need me, just call.”

  “Hey, you can call me, too. No reason we can’t be civil.” She pressed her hands to the table, gathered hat and gloves, and then began to rise. “Got a shipment coming in at the shop. Talk later?”

  “Yeah, later.”

  “Bye, John.” She got up quickly, slid out of the booth, and then spun on her heels. She didn’t turn around when he called her name, merely strutted out the door, onto the boulevard and toward the bus station.

  His thoughts flickered to days when they’d drive in his car, holding hands, laughing, seeming to fly through life together, but that was long ago, and although he still cared about Laura, he realized he’d fallen out of love with her, too.

  He paid the tab and left, realizing that he needed to focus on his job. Laura would be all right. Sometimes people drift after a breakup, do things to ease the loneliness. He was glad for the meeting, for the glimmer of hope she’d offered him. She was tough…just like him…and he told himself they’d both survive.

  17

  Lacey walked a while, exploring the city, ignoring the storm, venturing onto streets where shops had locked up for the evening, forcing night owls to move to late-night cafés and restaurants. She hummed absently to herself, staying beneath storefront awnings, donning a baseball cap and a thin raincoat. Time had become a blur, with events, faces and conversations coming together, and then falling apart. She gazed at the statehouse in the distance, high on a hill, lights gleaming. Below it, bars and eateries glowed with light and life. She glanced into bistro windows, on the bottom floor of the Providence Place Mall, observing people drinking and eating, college kids and business people…the normal ones. She grabbed coffee from a street vendor, and waited for John in the doorway of a small diner, glancing at her watch, knowing he’d be early like always.

  They’d gotten tight over the past few months, and she’d been there when his marriage beg
an to fall apart, constantly reminding him that their relationship had boundaries…and she made sure he hadn’t crossed them. And the sexual tension between them seemed to grow stronger with time; even though it had been evident he still cared for Laura. She told herself she’d request a new partner once Ramsay was gone…or maybe she’d go somewhere else…start again…just as she had done before.

  He pulled up to the curb; she tossed her cup into an ornate garbage can, and then joined him inside the car. Then in the rain, and in night, they searched for the missing, for the dead, and they remained on a killer’s trail. Exhaustion took its toll on her, and short naps and caffeine were no longer helping. She began to see Death, rounding corners and glaring at her with hollowed-out eyes. Sometimes the dark angel sipped coffee by a window in a downtown pub, checking out people who sat alone at counters, or who chain-smoked on the walk. She chided herself for the reveries…for the foolish imaginings…and tried to focus on her job, but when she gazed upward to a dimly lit prewar structure, images danced across drawn shades, looming on the rooftop.

  “Rain’s distorting everything and this humidity sucks,” she said softly.

  “Temperature dropped about ten degrees, but it’s still miserable.” John turned up the windshield wipers, and then hiked the air conditioning, as they drove slowly past Hell’s Door. Lacey noted working girls hanging out on the walk, smoking, laughing, and then ducking into the doorway when they spotted the unmarked vehicle. The radio dispatcher announced domestic calls and a burglary on Blackstone Boulevard, and fog spiraled from puddled tar, billowing over the windshield like ghostly fingers.