The Elk (A Caine & Murphy Paranormal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Dominika Waclawiak

  Bile rose up to her throat, and she turned away from the horrific scene, squeezing her eyes shut. She prayed that the next time she opened her eyes she would be in the ambulance. She focused all her attention on the memory of Johan’s face as it hovered above hers in the ambulance and remembered his warm breath on her cheek, and the sound the ambulance sirens made. She put all of her energy to the scene and thought that she heard the sirens grow louder and louder.

  Light filtered through her eyelids, and she opened them to Johan’s face, just as she had imagined. She clutched him to her and sobbed into his shoulder as the EMT slid next to Johan.

  The EMT pried her off Johan and shone a light into her eyes, checking her pupils for dilation.

  “Are you dizzy? Do you know your name?” he asked in a clipped tone.

  “Sara Caine. I’m not dizzy and I’m in an ambulance,” she sobbed, and attempted to raise herself into a seated position. The EMT pressed her back down.

  “Please keep still, Ms. Caine. Your blood pressure is too low, and you WILL pass out again. We’re almost there,” he added and patted her on the shoulder. He nodded to Johan and took a seat at the end of the gurney.

  “I want to go home. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Sara whispered to Johan as the siren gave one last moan and fell silent. Johan dipped his head to hers.

  “You were out too long, Sara. You need to get checked out and, at the very least, get an MRI,” he whispered. “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Her voice rose in anxiety.

  “I’m here for whatever happens, Sara,” he said as the ambulance slowed. The EMT threw open the back doors, jumped down and waved ER personnel over as he unlatched the locks to the gurney. Sara got dizzy from all the commotion and closed her eyes. She felt them lift her off the ambulance and heard Johan’s voice but couldn’t make out what he was saying. The gurney started to move, and she got lost in the sounds of shouts and machines.

  Lou Fairbanks sat with the headphones on and listened to the hard earned recording that Fredrick had given her before he left. He wasn’t happy about her request but was so worried about Sara that he didn’t put up much of a fight. In her research of successful séances, she found that ghosts frequently presented themselves through recordings and not live to the participants. Much to her dismay, her recording only contained static. Frowning, she took the headphones off and checked on Dads. He was still seated at their small table, having not moved since breakfast.

  “I’m not hearing anything on here, Dads. There are no other sounds,” she said and put the small mp3 player on the table between them.

  Dads shrugged and turned to look at her.

  “I don’t know, I was just certain I’d hear something. I know she said no one was there, but I don’t believe her. Did you see her face? Her eyes were moving rapidly in her sockets, and I’ve read that’s how other mediums look when they make contact,” she explained and took a sip of her tea, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Something attacked you.” She stood up abruptly. “I forgot your pills,” she said and bustled over to grab them from the counter. She counted out two pills and poured him a glass of water. She placed the pills in his hand, but he just stared at them.

  “You need to take them, Dads. It helps you remember,” she said and he grimaced at her.

  “Take them!” He gave in and picked up the pills. He threw them in his mouth and took a sip of water.

  “That wasn’t too hard, was it?” Lou asked, smiling again.

  Szymon shivered under the blanket and didn’t understand why the women, wearing the same brown uniforms every day, had to keep the windows open. It was so cold outside. He overheard the meanest woman tell one of the other boys that the cold would make them stronger.

  They had given them a good dinner though: potatoes, roast chicken and warm soup. They even had small cakes for dessert. He hadn’t eaten that well since Papa went to heaven, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had dessert.

  He rolled over to his side and peered into the darkness.

  None of the four boys they grouped into his room were from his town. He’d always been the tallest boy in his class, but the other boys were as big as he was, and they all had blond hair and blue eyes just like him. They could have all been brothers. All the kids he saw in the lobby looked like him too. Szymon heard a snore from across the room and pulled his knees up to his chest. He closed his eyes, and his mama’s face appeared. She smiled at him, and he felt sleepy again. Am I going to be OK, Mama?

  Szymon woke up to one of the brown women distributing a bundle of clothes to each of the boys.

  “Wake up! It’s time to get dressed. If you want breakfast, you will stay quiet,” she warned. Szymon glanced at the uniformed bad man in the doorway, jumped out of bed, and got dressed. This place wasn’t too bad, he thought. The clothes were some of the best he’d ever worn.

  “Follow me,” the brown woman said. The boys formed a line behind her and all trooped out and down the long, white hallway. He peeked into the open doorways, and saw doctors in white coats and uniformed men measuring the kids he’d seen in the lobby yesterday.

  The line stopped abruptly, and he bumped into the boy in front of him. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath. The boy never looked back. The brown woman gestured to one of the rooms, and the boys went inside. Three doctors in white coats and a uniformed bad man waited for them inside. Szymon kept his chin up as Papa always said to do.

  The tallest doctor stepped forward. “Please take off all your clothes and stand against the wall.” The doctor nodded to the nearest wall, and the boys obeyed. The tall doctor took out a ruler with two long teeth along one end. He came up to Szymon and opened the teeth wide enough to span his head. One of the other doctors stood next to him holding a pen and notebook.

  The doctor said something in the language that all the bad men spoke. His mama had called it German. The doctor adjusted the ruler teeth and measured the other side of his head. Szymon did his best to stand as still as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the remaining doctor start on the boy next to him.

  The tall doctor measured his nose, checked his hair, and observed his nails. He even touched his privates. After each measurement, he said something to the doctor next to him. They seemed pleased with him.

  He didn’t flinch when they touched him down there either. Not like the short boy near the door. He saw him flinch and noticed that the boy was led out of the room. They must have not liked him, he thought, and made sure to stand even taller, his chin up.

  Szymon, belly full of oatmeal, sat in front of another man at a low table in a tiny room. The man placed several puzzles in front of him. He had always been good at puzzles. Like his papa. He finished each one very fast because they were easy. The man smiled, patted him on the head and placed a harder puzzle in front of him. He would finish this one faster than the last one, he promised himself, and turned his full concentration to it. If he was good then maybe he wouldn’t go to heaven like his Mama and Papa.

  Diane Lawrence sat across from Detective Murphy and Detective Larson, files scattered in front of them, in a small interrogation room. When she’d decided to divulge the unusual amount of deaths at the Bockerman in recent months, she never expected the urgency with which they would want to see her nor the ensuing interrogation. They made her feel as if she had something to hide, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Diane figured Detective Murphy was the one who demanded that she come down to the station right away, because of her intense demeanor. Her partner couldn’t have cared less.

  “These are all the residents?” Detective Murphy shuffled through the files again.

  “All of them. I’ve tagged the ones who died from heart attacks,” Diane repeated herself and felt her stomach churn. She should have eaten before she came.

  “That’s ten people in the last three months?” Detective Murphy arched her eyebrow. Diane nodded. She reminded herself that she had nothing to hide and that anyone in her p
osition would have made the same call.

  “That’s right. I’d like to remind you again, this is an assisted living home. People come to us to die and that’s what they do. They die.”

  “The coroner has deemed the last two deaths suspicious,” Detective Larson said, his eyes boring into hers. Diane turned away from him. He had mean, beady, black eyes and smelled cheap. His blue, cotton, button-down shirt looked as if it had gone through twenty years of rough washing and his brown slacks were two sizes too big. Who was he to judge her?

  Her eyes rested on the gun on his right hip, and Diane felt her face flush. She sat back in her seat and put as much distance between them as she could. She didn’t like him, his gun or his attitude.

  “Where were you during the hours of four to six the night before last?” Larson asked, leaning in.

  “You can’t possibly think that I killed her?” She shouldn’t have come. Dammit, she should never have called.

  “You seem upset by the routine questions. Are you hiding something?” Detective Larson smiled like a piranha.

  “I was asleep like everyone else.” Diane smiled back, not wanting to give him an inch.

  “Alone?” He kept his tone even. Diane smiled and nodded. At least, he thought she still had it.

  “According to your security tapes, no one came in or out of the facility that night. Either they were doctored, or the killer is still at the facility,” Detective Murphy said in a kinder tone. “We’re going to have to talk to all the residents.”

  “That’s fine. Everyone loved Lauren and if there’s a killer at the Bockerman…” Her voice trailed away. Someone at the Bockerman was killing people. She could hardly believe it. “How did she die? Was it the same way as Barbara? Did she suffer?” She directed the questions at Murphy.

  “Do you have access to syringes?” Larson asked.

  “No, why would I? I hate needles. I have a nurse and doctor who take care of that. I’m the administrator,” Diane said to Murphy, ignoring Detective Larson. “Is that how she died?”

  “Are syringes kept in the facility? What kind of access do the residents have to them? What’s your support staff?” Larson barked at her.

  The man’s voice made her head pound. She rubbed her forehead for some relief. “Like I just said, I don’t know anything about syringes or medications. You need to talk to Dr. Jerris or Lou, Nurse Louise Fairbanks. I’m just the administrator,” Diane snapped back at him. “How did a syringe cause a heart attack?” She directed the question to Detective Murphy.

  Detective Larson flipped through some photographs and pushed one forward.

  “Can we use one of your rooms as an interview room? I’m assuming you’d prefer the residents to stay at the home,” Detective Murphy said. Diane realized they weren’t going to tell her anything.

  “I can arrange that,” Diane said and ignored Detective Larson’s tapping finger. He pushed the photo into her line of vision and gave her no choice but to look. She stared down at two puncture holes in the crook of an arm.

  “Your doctor didn’t notice this when signing the death warrant,” Larson said.

  “Apparently not,” Diane said. “Have you talked to her doctor yet?”

  “Yes. He was sure that she had only one puncture wound when she left his office. His nurse agreed. That makes the second one suspicious,” Detective Murphy said.

  “But people at her age get blood taken out all the time. This doesn’t prove that someone killed her,” she said. “Is that all you have? This seems very flimsy.”

  “The M.E. ruled it suspicious and that’s all we need to start the investigation.” Detective Larson stopped and let that sink in. “Who owns McGregor Holdings?” he asked. “Who is your Supervisor? We need to speak with him as well,” Larson added. Diane did her best to keep a straight face.

  “My supervisor is Matt McCready. I don’t have his phone number on me, but I can call you with it,” she said. “Can I go now? I’ve been away too long.”

  Murphy nodded. “We’ll need to interview you formally and get your full statement. How does nine o’clock tomorrow morning sound? We can get your statement then and start the resident interviews.”

  “That should give me enough time to prepare,” Diane said and stood up.

  It was 10 am on Tuesday morning and the Sunshine assisted living home cafeteria, the former Art Deco Cafe, was the last place that Diane Lawrence wanted to be. She noticed most of the residents ate in silence and a pall hung over the room. Her eyes searched and found them, the wild bunch, sitting at one of the corner tables in complete silence, eyes everywhere but on each other.

  She’d heard Mary Ann, Barney, and Doreen were responsible for that ridiculous seance last night. Russell, the security guard, ratted them out and told her about the EMT’s crawling all over Sunshine. She still couldn’t believe their nerve at not calling her and letting her know. And the medium collapsing like that, she thought and shook her head in disbelief. She prayed the woman wouldn’t sue them.

  She leveled her gaze at Barney who gave her a small nod. She dared him to argue with her this morning. She hated to agree with Lou, but the man was indeed a massive pain in the ass. She turned to see Detective Murphy and Detective Larson walk in, and an irrational hatred made her want to scream at them. The residents faced the intruders.

  “Can I please have your attention, everyone.” Her voice rose and the few remaining heads who hadn’t noticed their entrance turned. “Lauren Koehler’s death has been ruled suspicious as has Barbara Monroe’s. Detectives Murphy and Larson will need to speak with each of you.” She stopped and let the news sink in. As she expected, the room erupted in chattering. Detective Murphy nodded to her, stepped forward and took over.

  “We’ll be holding interviews in Diane’s office throughout the day. With your cooperation, we hope to discover what happened to Lauren.” Some residents stole glances around the room as others shifted in their seats.

  “We’ll do this in alphabetical order for ease and convenience,” Detective Murphy continued as Detective Larson pushed in front of Diane. Asshole, she thought and stepped away from the both of them as Nancy, a woman in her early nineties, rose up with a quiver.

  “Will we need a lawyer?” Her voice came out stronger than her tiny, reedy body should allow. Diane shook her head and crossed the room to help get her back in her seat. She saw Detective Murphy shoot her partner a look and then hold her hand up for silence.

  “We need to establish a timeline of events that led up to both deaths. Who saw what, that sort of thing. No one is a suspect at this time,” she said to the now silent room.

  “You think one of us did it, don’t you?” An older man with close-cropped, white hair voiced what, she was sure, the others were thinking.

  “That’s not what Detective Murphy said,” Detective Larson answered, and Diane pursed her lips at his patronizing tone. The common occurrence of treating seniors like children pissed her off to no end and made her hate the man even more. She shot him a nasty look. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

  A murmur ran through the room as Detective Larson picked the first name on the list Diane had provided for them.

  “We’ll start with Aaron, Doris. Doris Aaron.” He scanned the crowd as a small, wizened woman got up from the far end of the room and made her way to the front.

  “This way,” he said and motioned for Doris to go in front of them. She obeyed, hobbling out of the room, Larson and Murphy trooping out behind her.

  The din of voices reached a fever pitch as soon as the doors closed behind them. Gossip and speculation about the murders were the only topics of conversation. Diane clapped her hands to get their attention.

  “Please, people. We need to be calm at a time like…” She trailed off when no one listened to her. Diane turned in time to see Lou step through the swinging front doors. She was the last person Diane wanted to deal with. She frowned to dissuade her from starting a conversation. As per usual, it didn’t stop her.

&nb
sp; “What is going on here? I could hear the racket at the elevator banks,” Lou said. Diane’s hand fluttered to her forehead as a throb hummed above her right eye. Excellent. A migraine. She rubbed at the spot. No use in keeping any of this from her.

  “The police are interviewing everyone about Lauren and Barbara’s deaths.” Diane watched out of the corner of her eye as Lou sidled up to her.

  “Really? How? I mean…” Lou tried hard to keep the interest out of her voice but Diane could see right through her. She was as bloodthirsty as the rest of them. Diane took a step back from Lou. The woman had no concept of personal space.

  “Yes, Barney was right after all. There is a murderer in our midst,” Diane said and watched the other woman’s face for any guilty twitches or strange movements. Lou stayed as still as stone, a smile frozen on her face.

  “They’ll find something on the cameras. There must have been some sort of intruder. Or even the ghost we’ve all been hearing about. Russell Hall would know,” Lou said, fiddling with the buttons of her cardigan.

  “Ghosts don’t handle syringes,” Diane said. That made Lou’s smile disappear.

  “Syringe?” Lou stared at Diane, her gaze never faltering. Diane stepped back and lost the implied challenge. Why in the hell was she playing detective? There was no need for that. The real detectives would get to the bottom of this.

  “I have to go, Lou. You don’t need to do your rounds today. Go be with Dads,” Diane said and gave the cafe another glance. No one would be leaving there anytime soon. She gave Lou a nod and headed for the door. If she let the detectives know almost everyone would be in the cafeteria for the day, it would give her a good enough excuse to interrupt them.