by Sharon Hays
“Well, guess I’m gonna be working day and night on this one. It’s a damn shame, that’s all I can say.”
“Chief, I’ll be there. Whatever you need me to do, just say the word. I’ll give it my all.” Steve assured him.
“Thanks, Steve. I appreciate that, and I know you will.” The chief parked behind the precinct, and then they entered the station.
“Let’s get started. As soon as you get any information from Sheriff Baxter about any evidence, let me know, and we’ll go full-force on this. Meanwhile, I need a report on Harold Arnold’s whereabouts from Detective Corolla. Get it to me as soon as you can. Harold is still our number one suspect.” The chief disappeared into his office and closed the door behind him.
23
Time had gotten away from Mario as he absorbed himself with information and old newspaper articles from the local tribune. One in particular had pictures of the Bonicellis in front of the Valencia Manor, in an old photograph one of the reporters had located. The story told how the couple came to America from Italy via New York City, where they had briefly lived after moving from Sicily. They had apparently inherited a large sum of money in the late eighteen hundreds and then made plans to move to the United States, and eventually to Colorado. They contacted Denver Real Estate, who located the property in Boulder, where they eventually moved and built the Valencia Manor. They arrived in Boulder in December of eighteen-hundred-eighty-nine, and immediately started working with an architect by the name of Ernest Sebastian, a prominent Italian architect out of Denver. He completely designed the Valencia Manor. According to the article, it was a remarkable accomplishment when it had been completed.
Another article stated that there had been some problems during construction. Three carpenters had been injured or killed during its construction. One, the superintendent of the job fell from the top point of the front roof peak to the ground, breaking his neck; dying on impact. The second accident happened inside, when the roof was being constructed. A worker had been paralyzed from the waist down, after a beam gave way, sending him tumbling to the lower floor; at least nineteen feet below. His back had been broken in two places. The third accident was on the day the Bonicellis were meeting the real estate company to inspect the house, and close the deal. One of the owners of Miles Real Estate Company was driving to the site, and his car veered off the road on Highway 60, outside of Boulder. He was hospitalized for four months with serious injuries, but he eventually recovered, except for some paralysis. The Bonicellis moved into the Valencia three weeks after the closing. Mrs. Bonicelli felt traumatized by the events prior to her moving in, and was being treated by a psychiatrist for several months after. She became pregnant, and not long after, the psychiatrist deemed her mentally stable, and discontinued her counseling. A daughter was born in eighteen-eighty-one.
The third article Mario read astounded him. The article stated that Anna Maria, daughter of Ida and Gerald Bonicelli, died of an accident in December, eighteen-ninety-nine. She was almost eight years old. She had fallen from the balcony when the railing gave way, sending the child to her death.
An article written in nineteen-thirty-seven gave information on the death of Ida Bonicelli, at age seventy-eight. The article noted that Mrs. Bonicelli became demented, after years of mourning the loss of her child. Increasingly depressed, she had gone into seclusion. When she passed away at seventy-eight, her husband notified the Boulder Funeral Home and had her cremated. There was no record of a funeral service that they could find. The Bonicellis had become quite reclusive, and had no close relationships in their later years. Gerald Bonicelli became ill, suffering dementia, and was placed into a local nursing home where he passed away, leaving the house to a cousin from Italy, who subsequently listed the Valencia Manor in 1938.
Mario copied the articles and slid them into his briefcase before leaving the library. On the way out, he thanked the librarian, who had been diligently working on the computer all the while he researched.
“You’re so welcome. Do come back soon.” She returned her focus to the computer.
The sun was glowing red, against the burning clouds as it slowly dropped behind the Colorado Rockies. There were few places with stunning sunsets like he had seen in Colorado. Mario climbed into his truck and headed straight to Joan’s office. He carried his brief-case with the pertinent documents enclosed. He arrived to see she was sitting on the porch.
24
Joan was enjoying the last few minutes of the sunset when Mario pulled into the parking lot. “Hey lady, you look relaxed and happy.” He climbed out of his truck beaming. She got up and motioned for him to come in.
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t taken the time to watch a sunset since the Valencia nightmare began. It feels good to sit, relax, and appreciate the beauty of the mountains for a change.”
He held up his brief case. “I found some articles at the library this afternoon and copied them so you could take a look. They are fascinating facts about the family who had the Valencia Manor constructed, and some juicy details that you will probably find worth checking out, if I know you at all.”
“I am excited already. Can’t wait to read them. I really appreciate you coming by. Has there been any new information on Maryanne yet? I can’t sleep. I’m half-asleep all night, trying to think of anything I could do that might help.”
“There hasn’t been anything that you aren’t already aware of. Wish I could tell you more. They will be having services for Mrs. Dirkshire on Monday afternoon at the Lyons Methodist Church on Broadway, in case you want to attend.”
“I will most definitely be there. I adored that lovely woman. I cannot believe she is gone. I just had a meeting with her a couple of days ago. It is a tragedy. She will be missed by the whole town of Lyons, for sure. Who could have done something like this?”
“There are some clues we are looking at. Nothing concrete, but hopeful. I am not at liberty to discuss them yet, but as soon as I can, you will be one of the first to know.” He gave her the envelope with copies of his recent search quest, and turned to leave.
“I have to go, but call me if there’s anything you need. I’ll be available on the cell at any time. Remember, call me for anything.” Mario got into his truck. He looked over at Joan thinking how hurt she was since Maryanne had disappeared.
Joan watched as he drove away, until he was out of sight.
Mario headed straight to Barry’s Pub on Laramie Street, where the guys hung out after work for happy hour. As he entered, he saw Officers Sparks and Griffin finishing a pitcher. Officer Pantella was sitting at a table with one of the new detectives, Shellie Burman. She was still in training, but doing well, he had heard.
“Hey guys, mind if I join you for a cold one?”
“Mario, sit down. Good to see you’re getting’ out and about.” Jack motioned for the server and ordered a cold brew for Mario.
“Got any information on the Dirkshire murder yet?” Jack asked inquisitively.
“No, but the word is that it’s gonna be a clean cut case. They have a suspect already in mind. By tomorrow, we should have more information from Sheriff Baxter over in Lyons. Baxter is heading the investigation over there, and determined to close it quickly. He is pretty broken up about it. Known her for years! The whole town’s in an uproar over this one.”
They exchanged small talk for an hour or so, and then Mario excused himself. “See you guys tomorrow. Can I get you another pitcher before I leave?”
“No. No thanks. One is the limit, you know the drill!” He grinned. “Take care, Mario. Nice to have you back again. We actually missed you,” he jested.
“Thanks, Jack. See you guys tomorrow at the station. I’ll be stopping in for a meeting with Chief Olson. Later guys.” Mario’s plan for the evening would be to take advantage of a good night’s sleep.
25
The sound of water dripping broke the silence in the darkness, as Maryanne lay on the floor near the exit of the cold, dark room. She woke up shiv
ering. It had gotten cooler since she found herself in the clammy, earthen prison. A constant dripping of water was coming from somewhere outside the room. Her health was deteriorating, and it was taking a toll on her emotional well-being. When she tried to get up, it became more difficult. The realization that she had to start moving or die, had taken a front seat. Forcing herself to her feet, she leaned against the cold, stone walls for balance. The dripping water made her thirsty. She touched her mouth, feeling her dry, parched lips.
She knew that staying positive would help her to escape this living hell. But it felt like what Edgar AllenPoe had described in one of his poems. She was thinking about who would win the battle of survival in this tomb. Could it be the conqueror, worm?” Her eyes could barely make out the upper ceiling area, or the door that was obviously the only way out. A small hint of light showed through, and her eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness. Like a nocturnal rodent, that lives and feeds by night, she thought. She had never noticed the water dripping before, and she wondered if her hearing had also become more sensitive in this quiet tomb.
There it was again; the machine, coming down, closer…closer. Trying to identify its origin and define its reason, she listened carefully, as never before. Everything about her senses had become more in tune with the natural elements of her surroundings. She stood waiting in the darkness of the cold, empty room, shivering, listening, and quietly breathing.
It came to a stop, and then the door burst open. There was light again, shining downward where she stood. Looking up at it, she was momentarily blinded. “Who’s there?” she yelled. “Are you here to help me? Who is it? Help me, please!” She pleaded with the unknown visitor.
Then she heard the piercing screams. So familiar. So frightening. But in her deepest thoughts, a strange comfort came over her. She was thankful to have anyone break the dead silence of the small, dark cell that had become her home.
The dark visitor landed on its feet next to Maryanne. The wretched smell and strange breathing she had become so familiar with surrounded her again. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and panic took over her unsettled comfort. Cold hands grasped her arm, and pulled her toward the opening where light fell across the floor of the room. Maryanne looked up again, her eyes adjusting to the light, now able to distinguish characteristics of her captor. She was in awe, as she stared into the face of the creature who had kept her secluded in this chasm of doom. Her eyes fixed on the unknown visitor, as if its stare took her over, making demands in an unnatural, silent ecstasy. Maryanne was filled with a fierce determination to make her escape, but somehow could not move. She froze in panic and strangely waited for direction from the unearthly being. It was as if she had no control over her own thoughts, but was taking in bizarre messages of madness from a visitor from hell. Unable to distinguish her own thoughts from the intruder’s, she stood paralyzed with an unconscious guide.
In the darkness, she studied the figure in front of her, trying to visualize the features of her assailant. It looked almost human, and the shape of its body leaned over as if it had a deformity of the back. The calloused arms were lengthy, but did not seem extremely out of size with the rest of its body. Its clothes were filthy, and reeked with the scent of animals; rodents, she imagined. Nails like claws curled at the ends of its feet and hands, which had cut into Maryanne’s arms on previous encounters.
Maryanne took her gaze off the creature, backing away from the light. For a moment she had been completely controlled by an outside force. When she pulled away, her senses returned. She had to keep herself together, and not allow this fiend to take control of her. Maryanne prayed for help as she had never prayed before. The creature reached for Maryanne, but she stepped back, avoiding the clutches of a gory hand. The intruder became agitated, and let out another shrieking yell. The sound echoed against the rock walls, permeating to the very depths of hell. The eyes of the beast reflected the incoming light from the shaft, taking on a blood-red color. It came toward her, and she lashed out with her fists, fighting for her life. Something hit her head, and she became stunned, falling to the ground. She felt the cold, damp earth beneath her. Maryanne was beginning to lose the battle, and lay on the ground, looking up at the monster.
It leaned over her, panting like a sick animal. Maryanne could see into the shaft from where she was laying. It was more obvious to her now. This escape hatch was a dumb-waiter, leading into the house, to the top floor. She flashed back on the closet, and remembered the creature forcing her through a small door. When she woke up, she was in the hole. There had to be a secret door from the bedroom, and a passage to this horrible place. Someone had to find her before she lost her mind, or her life. She silently prayed.
The creature took Maryanne’s hand and pulled her to her feet, shouting in loud, piercing screams. It had become angry and agitated. Maryanne’s fear turned to self-preservation, and she remembered how the abductor reacted when she tried to communicate with more compassion, than anger. She began comforting the predator, and as before, it seemed to have a calming effect. She could see its eyes reflecting in the shadowy room. They seemed calmer, and a quiet sadness came over them. She knew this was her only chance. Maryanne continued a cunning communication, hoping to convince her captor that she wanted to help and not hurt it.
It began to pace back and forth, uttering a heartfelt cry as if it were in pain. Maryanne knew then, that the creature must have suffered emotional and physical torture of some degree to be this angry, vengeful, and sad. Pangs of empathy swept over her as she observed the emotional transformation of the creature. Maryanne continued again patiently; the quest to gain trust from her captor.
As quickly as the creature changed its attitude, it suddenly went into a crying rage, pulled down the stairs, and climbed swiftly to the shaft, where it turned around, looked down on Maryanne, and stood, eyes fixed on its prisoner.
The door slammed shut, leaving only deafening echoes through the small chamber. Maryanne could hear sounds of what she recognized to be pulleys on a dumbwaiter. Then, silence once more. Only the dripping of water could be heard, and the sounds of predatory rats, carrying with them the horrible stench of death. Darkness and fear had once more wrapped themselves around her.
26
Mario woke up hot and uncomfortable, sunlight streaming through his front window. He had fallen asleep on the oversized leather sofa the night before while reading his current detective mystery after taking a shower. When he woke, he was still covered with the blue-fringed throw he took from the back of the sofa. He threw it aside, got up, and went straight to the kitchen nook where he kept the coffee maker. He followed the same daily ritual for years. First coffee, then what ever the day required. A few times he had to miss that pleasure for a police emergency, but not that often and not this morning.
Slipping the beige T-shirt over his head and then a button-down shirt and comfortable jeans, he was ready to speak to Chief Olson about getting back to work. A large mug of coffee and a quick bowl of Cheerios was enough to start the morning. He really preferred bacon and eggs, but indulged in such practice only on occasion when he stopped by Sally’s Diner. Refilling his mug, he sat at the kitchen table reviewing copies he had taken of articles at the library. Outside, he heard the proverbial thud as the daily newspaper banged against his front door. After reading the front page, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and left for the station. His plan was to convince Chief Olson he was ready and able to return to work. Sitting around was not Mario’s lifestyle, and he hoped the chief would agree to let him start early; hopefully today.
Mario sauntered in, trying to look as casual as possible. The look on his face gave him away, though. The first thing out of Chief Olson’s mouth was, “So Mario, I presume you are here to talk me into letting you return to work early. Am I right?” He grinned. “Came dressed for the occasion too, I see.”
“Funny you should say that Chief. I thought about it this morning,” he said sheepishly with a slight smile.
“You know me pretty well, I guess. So what do you think? I could start out with something small. Or maybe I would be able to work on the Valencia case, since I know a lot more today than I did yesterday.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked curiously at Mario. “I have done a lot of research on the Manor, and think I could be helpful in this case.”
“When did you have time to do that?”
“As a matter of fact yesterday, I spent four hours at the library. I know some of what I have been researching about the strange symbols at the Manor will be of some help and there is some information of a cult in the area that I’m looking into as far as the diagrams and symbols found at the Valencia.
“Well, I guess it’ll be all right. I’ll do the paperwork. You come in later this afternoon, and we’ll go over the case first. I’ll fill you in, and you do the same. Fair enough?”
“I’m sure I can work with that.” He shook Chief Olson’s hand and left the station, relieved and thankful to be back in the work force.
Mario was ecstatic and stopped to see Joan on the way back home. Pushing the office door open, he peeked in. “Joan, I am officially back to work on the Valencia case. I will put all my efforts into finding Maryanne, now.
“Mario, you will, with your determination. I know you were anxious to get back to work. By the way, I read the articles you left here, and there are some serious questions about the Valencia Manor’s past. Whether it is supernatural or just plain coincidence, there is definitely something not normal in that Manor. I’ll be available if you need any extra help, just call me. Be careful though, you’re still recovering and you sure don’t need to have a relapse.”