Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2)

by David Reuben Aslin

  The woman was soaked and soiled from head to foot. To even the most amateur eyes, she looked to be a battle-torn casualty of some small war.

  She was dressed in a tattered, dark purple, white polka-dotted semi-muumuu and once white, seamless, diabetic-approved stockings. No shoes. Her hair was as rain-soaked and dirty as her clothing. She looked completely disheveled, like she’d been a front row spectator of a hurricane. The woman had thick tears and mascara tracks running from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks. It appeared to everyone in the room, officers and citizens alike, that the woman was desperately trying to speak but nothing was coming out. After a few of what appeared to be painful attempts to speak, she feverishly began swallowing, gulping, and gasping as if attempting to swallow something the size of a jaw-breaker. A female plainclothes officer rapidly approached the woman and tried to grab and steady her since the woman looked like she might be having a seizure or perhaps some sort of cardiac event. But the woman pushed the officer away with all her might as she made one more painful effort to speak. This time, she managed to muster up an audible voice that, after a few seconds, manifested itself as a blood-curdling scream. “MA! MA! MURDER!!!”

  Having heard all of the commotion, Officer Ned Parker ran into the front room of the police station. He then ran over to the woman, who was barely being held upright by the female officer. Ned Parker blurted out, “Okay, okay. Officer … Maggie … I’ve got her too.” Ned wrapped his left arm around the large woman’s underarm and back. “Maggie, let’s get her over to that chair.” Ned gave a slight nod of his chin and pointed with his eyes over at the nearest interrogation desk and chairs.

  The large woman was shaking profusely as she stumbled, barely managing with the two officers’ assistance to make it over to the chair. Once the officers had the woman seated, Ned nodded and winked at the female officer, indicating that, being the senior officer, he would take the lead. The female officer frowned but quickly acquiesced to Ned pulling rank on her.

  Ned spoke slowly and clearly while looking directly into the woman’s blank-looking, blood-shot eyes. “Uh, ma’am, are you having any sort of medical emergency?”

  After a few seconds of silence, the woman looked up at Ned, still trembling, as she began murmuring “Murder” over and over but just barely loud enough for him to hear.

  Ned looked over at the female officer. “Maggie. This lady’s in some kind of traumatic shock. Go across the street and see if you can get that shrink. What’s ‘er name?”

  Maggie replied, “You mean Doctor Tate? Doctor Selma Tate, I think’s her name.”

  Ned fired back tersely, “Yeah, right. Good. Whatever. Get her over here if she’s in. Tell her we’ve got a bit of a situation. Tell her … Ah hell, tell her whatever it takes to get her ass over here as soon as possible! Got it? Now … Go!” Maggie turned and in a near jog headed towards the front door of the police station.

  Ned spoke in a kind, calm voice to the large woman. “I’m gonna leave you but only for a few seconds. You’re safe here. Whatever’s happened to you, you’re safe now. I’m going to get you a blanket to help get you warmed up a bit. I’ll get you a cup of hot coffee too if you’d like?” The woman managed to nod her head beyond its trembling, indicating that she understood Ned and that she’d like some coffee. True to his word, Ned was back in moments with a blanket and a cup of steaming hot coffee.

  “Here ya go.” Ned said as he wrapped the blanket around the nearly catatonically-in-shock woman. He then sat himself in a chair by the desk.

  “Can you tell me your name?” Ned asked, speaking slowly and in a calm, soothing voice.

  The lady, hands trembling badly, picked the cup of coffee up and with some difficulty managed to take a sip just before, to Ned’s surprise, she spoke. “S… Sally’s my … My name’s … Sally.”

  After noticing for the first time that the woman had a large, marquise-cut solitaire diamond wedding ring on her finger Ned thought to himself, Any mugger I’ve ever known would have snatched that ring, even if it meant whacking her finger off to get it.

  Ned continued, “Ma’am. Sally. What is it that you keep saying?”

  Sally started trembling more violently and either would not or simply could not answer.

  “Okay. Um … all right. Sally, darlin,’ I know you’re having a hard time finding your words right now. Uh, how ‘bout you just nod or shake your head to answer my questions?”

  That worked. Sally, though her entire body was shaking badly, managed to slowly nod.

  “Sally, honey … Did you say, and I’m just guessing here, murder?” Ned asked softly. Sally nodded her head.

  “Okay. All right, now we’re getting somewhere. Sally, did you … Were you forced to … Sweetheart, did you see someone hurt or have to hurt someone?” Sally didn’t respond. Ned paused to collect his thoughts, then continued his questioning.

  “Sally, did you fear for your life and maybe had to hurt someone ‘cause they were hurting you or were about to hurt you? Or did you witness someone hurt someone else?”

  Still, Sally said nothing. Her eyes were glazed over, and she had a blank, far away expression on her face.

  Normally, it wasn’t in Ned’s makeup to infantilize anyone he questioned. But his instincts told him this would be the only approach right now that might eventually bear fruit. Ned felt sweet talk was the best approach given her present state of near catatonia. His experience told him if she were lying down right now, she’d probably be rocking back and forth in a near fetal-like position.

  After a few minutes of silence, Sally began slowly but very apparently intentionally shaking her tremor-bobbing head as she said, “No-suhr. I didn’t kill nobody! But I seen … I seen …” Sally just couldn’t bring herself to finish telling Ned what she’d witnessed.

  But Ned felt he was on the verge of a communication breakthrough. “Okay. Honey … Sally … did you witness something bad?”

  All at once, Sally’s eyes opened wider than Ned had ever seen anyone’s open … as she screamed out, “YES-’EM … I SEEN THE DEVIL-MONSTER … DONE KILL MY MAN!”

  Ned was startled by Sally suddenly opening up, but before he had a chance to ask Sally any more questions, he spotted Maggie and the doctor from next door. He watched appreciatively as the attractive doctor of psychiatry sashayed her way across the station in her two-piece, perfectly figure-fitting, gray flannel skirted suit and white designer silk blouse.

  Ned, though semi-happily married, enjoyed watching the fine-looking doctor come and go from her office across the street whenever timing permitted. His department had successfully used her services a few times over the last couple of years, mostly when dealing with runaways. Ned daydreamed for a brief moment as the lady doctor and Maggie were less than ten feet away from him and closing fast, She’s the perfecta-trifecta. Smart, beautiful, and blonde.

  Maggie made a point of mentioning all of the hats Ned had worn in their small department since he pulled rank on her earlier as she introduced him. “Um, Selma ... I mean, Doctor Tate, this is Special Liaison Officer and acting Deputy Chief Lieutenant Ned Parker.”

  Maggie continued, “And this is the woman that I spoke to you about.”

  Ned interjected to assert himself. “Doctor Tate, very nice that you could come over. I’d like to introduce you to Sally.” Maggie lifted her eyebrows and nodded slightly as she flashed Ned a congratulatory smile that he’d gotten that much out of the woman. Maggie then turned and left Ned and the doctor.

  Doctor Tate extended her right hand to Ned. “Ned. May I call you by your first name?”

  Ned smiled as he replied, “Only if quid pro quo applies, Selma.” They both smiled and laughed.

  Selma continued, “Ned, we met around nine months ago I believe. Your department asked me to review the physiological health of a teen runaway. I’ve done some other work for your department but directed through case-workers, not yourself.”

  Ned spoke up. “That’s right. You’ve a good memory. You’ve got
a great reputation with our department.”

  After a long, extended handshake, Ned slowly retracted his right hand. “Good. Great! Uh, anyway, Doctor … I mean Selma. This here’s Sally. She’s … I mean I think maybe Sally here’s been through something awful, and she’d like to tell us all about it. But she’s having a tough time. Aren’t you, Sally …?”

  Ned quickly retrieved another chair for Selma, who smiled graciously, then sat down facing Sally.

  “Sally. That is your name, correct?” Selma asked point-blank in a calm, collected voice. Sally looked up from the ground at Selma. Without much hesitation, she sheepishly answered, “Yes ‘em.”

  Selma smiled and glanced over at Ned, who was now also seated near the desk that they were all huddled around.

  Once again, Selma fired off a direct question in a perfectly base-line voice. “Sally. Are you hurt?”

  Sally answered, “No … nut very bad. Juz my neck got pecked at some.” Sally’s arms were wrapped around herself with her hands tucked under her armpits. She began rocking back and forth in her chair.

  Selma continued, “Sally, I see you’re wearing a ring. Did your husband hurt you?”

  That question seemed to bring Sally out of her near trancelike state before she answered, “No! No, ma’am. My man, he don’t hurt me. He don’t hurt nobody!”

  To both Ned and Selma’s surprise, Sally stopped rocking back and forth. She took a series of deep breaths and let the air out of her lungs slowly each time. It was apparent to both Ned and Selma that Sally was desperately trying to will herself, at least momentarily, to a functioning level of lucidity.

  Sally took in then let out one more long breath of air before beginning to speak as clearly as she could muster, “My … my … husband … Loren … Loren Robinson … He was my beautiful man … My man for over twenty-three years, and now he dead. He da only one a us works. Now he dun got killed. What am I ta do? God’n heaven, what I ta do now?” Sally paused and took three more deep breaths. Her lips were quivering as she began to speak once again. “We been vacationin’ here at da ocean. My man took me out fo’ a fine dinner.”

  Selma glanced for a second over at Ned and gave him a subtle nod. She knew from experience that Sally was about to open up and tell her tale as best she could. Ned understood Selma’s signal. He grabbed a notepad and pen and was all ears.

  Selma then directed her attention back on Sally, then spoke directly, “Sally, who killed your husband? Sally, who killed Loren?”

  Sally’s eyes got wide as she blurted out, “Da Devil got ‘em. I know it sound crazy, Mister … Ma’am … But believe me, be’n country don’t mean be’n dumb! I know what I seen! Da Devil, he was like a man, but he ain’t no human man. Da Devil, he a monster. Maybe some kind a ALIEN! All I know fo’ sure is he done snatched up my big man and took ‘em up in the sky. Da Devil, him first try ta get me ‘cept my man, Loren, he a BIG powerful man! Him’s was a pofesh-nel football player way back-n da day. Owe he beat dat devil-monster back and good fo’ a bit. Not good’nuff fo’ long, ‘cause come find out he come back! No man can beat da Devil back too long ‘cause dat devil-monster he done got up from a terrible beat’n by my man … an he done snatched my Loren up. He done snatched my beautiful man up and tooks ‘em away!”

  Ned couldn’t help himself but fire off a question of his own. “Sally. What – what do you mean by some devil, or monster snatched up Loren?”

  Sally looked all around the room as if it were spinning, then she glanced over at Ned before looking down at the ground as she spoke.

  “We orig’nally fum Acadiana, outside New Iberia … Loosiana. Tell, affa Katrina done wiped us out! Den me and my man, we move ta Portland, far from da hur-canes! We juz come here to da beach fo few days. We was down at da docks laz-night look’n fo good place ta eat real late. We was walk’n in da moonlight once stopped rain’n. Den … from nowhere dahre he be. Da Devil himself. Da Devil, he got eyes dat’s on fy-ehr. And him has da foulest breath! His teeth juz like da Bible say. Day were like dat of a dragon. Him had dragon’s teeth!”

  Ned replied, “Dragon’s teeth? You mean like fangs?”

  Sally replied, “Yes-suhr.”

  Ned fired off another couple of questions. “Sally, have you been just walking around since last night? I mean, where’ve you been since then? It’s midmorning.”

  Sally rolled her eyes around as she spoke. “Been sleep’n da car … Don’t know fo’ how long. Woke’d up juz fo’ sunrise cuz some damn bird I neva seen, but felt, had been peck’n at my neck mayhaps most all night! When I woke’d, I’z too sick ta drive. So’s I’z walked … I’z walked he-ahr. Wazza-convertible car. Dat devil-monster done tore dat rag-top clean off and done took my man! Done tore’d dat roof clean off! My man ne-ahr five hunded pounds! Devil Monster flew way with my man ... up in da air ... Devil flew way with my man like him weigh no mo din a baby. Da Devil, him looks like a giant man-bat ... and him can FLY! Him can fly. Him can ...”

  Sally’s face went blank and she bowed her head down. It was then that both Ned and Selma both spotted for the first time the two puncture-like wounds on the side of her neck. Dried blood stained her neck all around the wounds that looked already significantly infected. Ned spoke as he looked over at Selma, “You see those nasty marks? Did she say something about being pecked at?” Selma raised her eyebrows as she nodded.

  Selma spoke up, “Ned. I appreciate you needing answers. Way more answers than you’ve got here. But Sally … she needs to be seen by a medical doctor and possibly a psychiatrist for a full screening. Those wounds on her neck look bad, and well, you know, for other reasons. We’re not going to get much more out of her that will make much sense until she’s cleaned up and rested.”

  Ned nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll have one of my men take her to the hospital straight away.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Banana Books

  It was getting to be late afternoon. Ian had stopped thinking about it a few hours ago, but just realized that his stiff neck had worked itself out and now felt fine. He was feeling good about how everything was progressing, especially how he was now “officially/non-officially” on a new case. He felt like he’d accomplished a great deal for his first day.

  Ian decided it was time to head back to Long Beach. But first, he wanted to drive by the former Flavel House Museum.

  Upon arriving, Ian pulled his Jeep over to the curb across the street and just sat staring at it. Ian was intrigued by the size and grandeur of the vintage Victorian mansion; it was surrounded by a seven-foot-high, spear-head tipped, black wrought-iron fence. The front gate was also grand. It boldly displayed an artfully-crafted, ornate black wrought-iron dragon with large, ruby-colored eyes. The beautiful gate hung from tall, brick-and-mortar columns, perched on the columns were large, black, concrete gargoyles.

  What initially caught Ian off-guard were the security cameras mounted around the fence line and sides of the house, but he quickly realized that anything less would be contrary to Salizzar’s role play persona.

  Upon noting the camera’s positioning, Ian realized there would be little chance of anyone getting inside the backyard, let alone inside the house without detection. Ian surmised that the cameras were also video recorders.

  The most obvious anomaly were the windows of the grand house. They were all completely blackened. Ian presumed they’d been painted over, as the windows were darker than any type of window tinting that he’d ever seen or heard of. Upon closer examination, Ian noted two exceptions to the black, painted-over windows. There were two large windows, one located on each side of the house’s front door. Those windows appeared to be covered by identical black curtains, possibly made of velvet.

  At least from where Ian was parked, it was impossible to see into the house. No apparent light of any kind emitted from within. Ian thought intently, Those totally blacked windows and all this security, that’s gonna make any potential stake-out of this place useless and way too dangerous to keep my cover.
I’m probably on candid camera right now. But whoever is monitoring them, they no doubt are used to lots of curious people parking and gawking at the place. It figures Salizzar would surround himself with all the stereotypical pseudo-vampiric lifestyle motif bullshit and all the related security that goes with being rich. I wonder how many people he employs to take care of the place. And how many bodyguards he’s got? He’s probably installed a secret passage behind the bookcase that leads down to the basement, down to the torture chamber, or down to where he keeps his coffin. Ha.

  Just then, Ian and Scout spotted two identical, large, black and tan Rottweilers patrolling the grounds. Scout went on instant alert. He began a low, deep growl, somewhat under his breath, and he was becoming more agitated by the second.

  “Steady boy. Steady! Well, we came, we saw, let’s get the hell out of here and head back to camp. We’ll be checking out Salizzar’s warehouse-nightclub soon enough. That’s, I’m sure, where the action is.” Scout halted his low growling and barked once at Ian’s declaration.

  Twenty minutes later, Ian and Scout were driving through downtown Long Beach when Ian blurted out, “Look there! A bookstore. Banana Books; sounds like it could be an interesting place to peek around.”

  Ian pulled his Jeep over and wrangled his way into a parallel parking spot that was right across from the side street that the bookstore was on. “Wait here, boy. This shouldn’t take long.”

  He walked briskly towards the bookstore, which appeared to him to be converted from a two-story house, possibly with living quarters upstairs. Ian thought the bookstore looked wonderfully quaint with a nice sun-deck out front.

  As he approached, Ian noticed in the bookstore’s front window a sign advertising espresso and all manner of flavored coffee. It meant little to him. When Ian drank coffee, which generally was only in the morning, it was of the simple, jet-black variety. Nothing fancy about it.