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

by Dominika Waclawiak

  “Everything went back to normal?” Detective Murphy prompted, and he nodded. They stood up, and Detective Larson made it a point to get into his personal space.

  “The doctor’s phone number please,” Detective Larson said. Larry pulled away from the man and found Dr. Riley’s number. He handed them the card and didn’t breathe until they had left his office. He’d made it to the other end and survived, he thought, and the weight that he’d been harboring all these years miraculously lifted.

  Lou Fairbanks sat across from Diane and stared at the desk’s vast lacquered surface. She hated that desk. It made Diane’s entire office feel old and dated. The light didn’t want to touch this space, and it made her feel claustrophobic. She could tell from Diane’s puckered face that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

  Diane cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to even say this,” Diane started without meeting her eyes. Lou’s stomach went into free fall. This was it.

  “I’ve gotten many complaints from the residents,” Diane said.

  “What kind of complaints?” Lou asked. She wouldn’t let her off easy.

  “We’ve loved having you here but…” Diane voice trailed off.

  “But?” Lou prompted, a frozen smile on her face. She just had to keep smiling.

  “As you know, everyone is terrified with these most recent,” Diane said and paused, “deaths.”

  “Do the police have any suspects?” Lou asked, fearful of the answer but unable to stop herself from asking.

  “They haven’t mentioned anyone to me,” Diane said.

  Lou didn’t believe a word of it. “What does any of this have to do with me?” Lou said.

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t. I really have no idea,” Lou said and took a deep breath. “Diane, are you sitting across from me and accusing me of murdering my patients?”

  “Of course not, but the problem is that everyone is afraid of you,” Diane said and shuffled through some papers in front of her, avoiding her eyes.

  “Why me specifically though? Because Barney Leonard accused me of things I haven’t done? Is that why?” Lou kept her voice measured.

  “That’s part of it,” Diane conceded.

  “So what are you going to do about that? That’s slander. He has no proof. I’ve done nothing wrong and I’ve taken excellent care of these people I might add,” Lou said. Diane stopped playing around with the papers and stood up.

  “They think you killed them, Lou,” Diane blurted out.

  “But I didn’t. I haven’t killed anyone. The cops haven’t arrested me. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Do I need to call a lawyer?” Lou raised herself from her seat, and the two women stood head to head, the desk between them.

  “I don’t see how you can do your job as a nurse if no one wants to come near you,” Diane said.

  “Have you told your supervisor about any of this yet?” Lou asked.

  “I need to get a better handle on the situation before I let them know anything,” Diane said and turned away from her.

  “You’re not sure either then. Give me the time, Diane. I will see what patients will see me, and I’ll prove this was all his doing and clear my name. I deserve that at least,” Lou pleaded and held out her hand. Diane stared at it for a moment and finally shook it, albeit with a certain amount of reluctance. At least, she hadn’t fired her on the spot, Lou thought, and left before Diane could change her mind.

  Lou checked both ends of the hallway to make sure she was alone before pulling out a credit card from her pocket and sticking it into Barney Leonard’s door frame. She pushed it up to where she thought the lock might start and got it stuck. She wiggled it around some more, but the card wouldn’t budge. She should have known the man would be paranoid enough to have deadbolts installed on his door and kicked the door in frustration. It was a stupid idea, she admitted to herself, but she had to start somewhere. The elevator dinged open some distance away and Lou walked down the hallway to the stairs. The last thing she needed was anyone seeing her at Barney’s door.

  Simon Schreiber listened to the gleeful radioman reporting on a federal grand jury indicting eleven leaders of the Communist Party for conspiracy to overthrow the U.S Government. As this was Los Angeles radio and the center of the film industry, the radioman switched to lambasting the courts for not giving the “Hollywood Ten,” mostly screenwriters, tougher sentences. Simon switched it off before his father heard it. He didn’t need another rant coming from him about the evil of Communism and how it would destroy the world.

  Herr Schreiber hated the Communists even more than he hated the Americans. If it hadn’t been for his old buddy pulling him into his aeronautical research in 1944, Simon was sure he’d be in Nuremburg standing trial. Instead, Simon and his parents had been spirited away from Munich in the middle of the night by the State Department as part of a secret program called Operation Paperclip. The Americans would stop at nothing to get the Nazi technology. Even if it had been originally tested on human subjects.

  The Communists were coming. All hands on deck, he said in explanation on switching sides. Simon scowled. Herr Schreiber wouldn’t get away with it, not if Simon had anything to do with it.

  He’d planned all different ways of killing the man the moment Frau died, but he wouldn’t give up his life for that particular pleasure. He had to be patient and strike when the man least expected it.

  The perfect opportunity came later that evening. The old man got sauced good and proper after hearing the news about the Communists, sweat dripping down his face in the summer heat. Simon sat across from him in their tiny living room and watched him snore.

  “Papa, it’s so hot. Let me run you a cooling bath to help you sleep,” Simon said and watched Herr Schreiber stir awake.

  “Thank you, Simon. Sie sind ein guter Sohn.” Simon got up, smiling.

  “I work hard to be a good son, Papa,” Simon said.

  Tonight would be the night, he decided.

  He ran Herr Schrieber a lukewarm bath and watched as the tub filled with water, and shivered. It had been four years. He’d been clever and made all of them think he’d forgotten. But he hadn’t. Not for a second. He dipped his hand into the water. It was perfect. He went to get the man he had to call Father for the last four years.

  “Papa, the bath is ready,” he said and shook the man awake. Herr Schreiber got to his feet with a grunt.

  “Help me,” he said and Simon took him under the arm. The man leaned against him, and they went to the bathroom. Simon helped him take his shirt off and held him up as he let his pants fall. Simon picked up the clothes and left him in the bathroom for some privacy. He threw the clothes into the hallway and waited to hear the splash. The old man groaned in pleasure, and Simon heard the water slosh up and above the tub.

  It was time. Szymon Michalowski’s time. Payback for the death of his mother. Payback for everything. He would start with him. He entered the bathroom.

  “Simon. What are you doing…” The old man started to get out of the tub but Simon came on too quick. He was still only twelve but tall and strong enough. It helped that the bathtub was slippery. The old man hit his head on the way back down into the tub.

  He held the old man under the water with all his might. The man thrashed around trying to get up, to get air and escape him. Simon held on tight, his entire body quivering with the effort. He made sure to stare right into the man’s eyes.

  The old man was no match against Simon’s young body and the thrashing ended. The eyes stopped blinking and Simon watched death come to the man. He saw the eyes lose the light.

  Die. Simon Schreiber.

  Szymon Michalowski had never felt such great pleasure in his entire life.

  Lou Fairbanks stood behind Dads in their small bathroom and handed him a toothbrush set up with toothpaste.

  “Brush, Dads,” she said and pointed at the toothbrush. He stuck it in his mouth and went to work on his teeth as she watched his pr
ogress.

  “Spit,” she demanded after a minute and he complied. She washed his face with a washcloth and watched him stare back at her through the mirror. He did it every night and although his eyes stayed blank, it still unnerved her. She knew the old him was somewhere deep inside there, and only the pills created the docile man before her. She needed to make sure he was taking all of them, she thought, as she dropped the washcloth into the sink and pushed him to the door.

  “We’re done, Dads,” she said following behind him. He shuffled out to his bed. “Do you want the warm jams or…” she said as she pulled out a well-worn pair of blue pajamas out of the drawer. “It’s cold out.” She frowned when she saw he’d not made a move to undress.

  “Dads, it’s bedtime,” she reminded him and pointed at his sweatshirt. He lifted his arms up without a word, and she tugged it over his head. “Are you going to make me undress you again?” she asked and sighed. His eyes focused back on her.

  “I can do it myself,” he said and turned away from her. She left him some privacy and went to prepare their nightly tea. She needed to think of her next move. If she couldn’t get into Barney’s room, then where else could she start?

  The ghost. Her hand froze on the teakettle as her mind raced over all that had happened with the ghost. She had encountered something in the elevator but that could have been her anxiety. She never heard the sobbing or heard “Help Me” in the elevator or anywhere else other than this room. She turned around and tried to remember where the ghost sounded the loudest. The last time she’d heard it, she had been in bed. She cocked her head. The sounds came from above her, hadn’t they?

  She dragged the chair over to the wall nearest her bed and clambered on top of it. She stood on tiptoe and ran her fingers over the wall mullions. If Barney was behind the ghost, he had to hide a speaker somewhere in the room. Finding nothing above her, she hopped off and watched Dads get into bed.

  “I’ll tuck you in, Dads,” she said and pulled the covers up to his chin. “Are you going to be fine with the lights on for a bit?” she asked. He shrugged and flipped onto his side. She went back into the middle of the room and closed her eyes.

  Where had the sound come from? She cleared her mind and listened to the room. After several moments, the memory of the night came back to her and she remembered the sobbing. It sounded as though it came from all around her. She concentrated harder. The sobbing swirled all around her and then it stopped. The water turned on, and she thought it sounded as though it ran along the floor.

  Her eyes flew open, and she dropped down to her knees. She peered along the wooden floor and found no crevices or cracks that even a tiny speaker could be jammed into.

  She turned her head and saw the old, iron grate on the wall underneath her bed. She shoved the bed aside and kneeled back down, attempting to pull the grate off with her bare hands. The thing didn’t budge. She dragged her desk lamp closer to get more light and saw that four screws held the grate to the wall. She needed to get those out.

  Her kneecaps screamed in pain as she got up and hobbled to her miscellaneous drawer. She rummaged through it until she found the screwdriver and held it up in triumph. She turned and saw Dads, sitting up in bed, with a confused look on his face.

  “What are you doing?” he asked softly.

  “The sobbing and water must have come from somewhere. If there’s no ghost, which I now don’t believe there ever was, then there must be a speaker somewhere in here,” she said over her shoulder as she dropped back down to the ground, relief flowing through her. It felt good to be taking back control over the situation. She should have done it sooner.

  A drip of sweat ran down her forehead as she struggled with the third screw. The first two had been brand-new, but this one was bald. She leveraged her entire body to get the screw to turn and sighed in relief as it finally gave. The last one gave her no problems, and she pulled the grate off the wall.

  She peered into the darkness. The last thing she wanted to do was stick her hand inside that wall, especially with all the recent talk of rats. She pointed her desk lamp into the recess instead and saw it.

  “Son of a bitch,” she said under her breath as she pulled the small speaker hanging from a small wire. She tugged on it, but something above held it in place. She sat back on her heels. The apartment above was empty. Irene’s apartment, Barney had told her. The supposedly haunted one. That’s where the equipment must be.

  “They tricked me, Dads. The ghost was never real,” she said and turned back to him. “If none of it was real though, then who attacked you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Barney Leonard stepped out of the elevator and watched Lou enter the fire stairs. He snuck up to her door and knocked. When no one answered, he tried the door and opened it. He stuck his head in and found Dads sitting on the bed, staring at his carved up arm.

  “Dads—Hey Dads, can I talk to you?” he asked as he stepped inside. He crossed the small room and sat down next to him. Dads didn’t utter a word.

  “You’ve met me once. My name’s Barney Leonard,” he continued and held out his hand. Dads didn’t make a move to take it. Instead, his eyes lost focus and his head turned to the window.

  “We need your help. Is there anything—“ Barney said and stopped when he heard a thump from upstairs. He looked up at the ceiling and felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down and saw Dads sticking his arm out and pointing to the carved words.

  “Gillian,” Dads mumbled.

  “Gillian? Who’s Gillian?” Barney said, pointing to a picture of him and Lou. “Is that Gillian? Did Lou do this to you?” Dads looked up at the ceiling and then back to Barney. Dad’s eyes bore into his with an intensity that shocked Barney. He forced himself to not waver, but all of a sudden the man made him extremely nervous.

  “Help me,” Dads said without breaking eye contact.

  “I’ll help you if you help us. You know there’s no ghost?” Barney asked, and Dads nodded. His eyes wandered down to his hands and then back to Barney. The intensity in his eyes was gone.

  “I’ll be back, Dads, and with a more formal plan,” Barney said. Dads turned away from him without saying another word. Barney heard another thump overhead. It had to be Lou sneaking around. She must have found the speakers.

  Lou Fairbanks crossed Irene’s former apartment and squatted in front of the grate, screwdriver out. She sighed in relief when she saw all the screws were brand-new and had no problems getting the grate off the wall. The grate fell to the ground with a thump, and she shined her flashlight into the opening. As she expected, she found the recorder duct-taped to the inside of the wall, a wire hanging down into the darkness.

  She yanked the tape off and pulled the recorder out, examining the hi-tech piece of equipment. Barney had made a mistake in using such high quality gear, she thought. It pointed directly to him. She turned it on and heard the familiar weeping emanating from it. She clicked it off and smiled. Now, she just needed to debunk the incident with the window and she could bring her findings to Diane and show the rest of them what a fraud he was.

  She had to give it to Barney though, the hand print on the outside of the window was a masterful stroke. She imagined the layout of her small apartment and figured the window right above theirs would be the one to the left of this grate.

  Lou studied the windowsill closely and found holes drilled into the painted wood and long scrapes running along its entire length. The dust on the floor directly below the window had been disturbed with shoe prints from some sort of sneaker. She checked the bottom of her Dansko clogs and knew the footprints weren’t hers.

  An idea popped into her head that was almost crazy enough to be possible. One of her former patients, Roxane Newbury, had been an avid rock climber and had talked her ear off about her passion. One of Roxane’s proudest accomplishments had been rappelling down the side of a skyscraper for a benefit. If someone here had a similar talent, it would be much easier to rappel down this building than a skyscraper. It w
as the only way she could explain how that hand print got on her window, and she could use the drill holes on the windowsill as proof that Barney’s accomplice, or Barney himself, used those rope pulleys to scale down the wall just like Roxane told her she had done.

  What she didn’t understand is why Barney had started this whole charade in the first place? She hadn’t made the same mistakes as in those other places, she thought, and she had given them no reason to blame her for what was happening here at Sunshine, no reason at all.

  She left Irene’s apartment with only one thought running through her mind: Who had attacked Dads?

  Lou pushed the door to the tenth floor open, her mind still churning when she saw Barney Leonard leaving her apartment.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, making him jump as he closed the door behind him. Lou stormed at him, her anger boiling over at his audacity, and he threw up his hands in protection while smiling menacingly.

  “Go ahead, bitch. Do it and see how fast you’re out of here,” he hissed. “That’s what we all want anyway.” She froze in mid-strike, her mouth opening and closing in shock. He was right. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, she thought, and dropped her arms to her side and kept some distance away from him. He had all but admitted to orchestrating the harassment against her and now she knew why. They wanted to force her out, and she’d be damned if she would allow them to succeed.

  “What business do you have in my apartment,” she demanded and took a step at him. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her.

  “I was visiting Dads, if you must know, which is no business of yours. He’s a grown man and can have his own visitors,” he growled.

  “He has severe dementia and is heavily medicated so I don’t know how he could have possibly invited you up for a visit,” she shot back.