The Dark Corner

by Easton Livingston

  Recounting the incident sent a ripple of dread through him.

  “That's when what?” Sebastian said.

  “That's when the giant snake showed up.”

  As the words exited his mouth and entered his ears, they sounded absurd. He grimaced from the pain in his back. All three of them nodded, listening, their attention fixed on every word.

  “We understand how all of this can be… disconcerting,” Sebastian said. “That's why we're here. To put an end to this.” He leaned in closer to Brian. “You don't happen to have any background information on this house, do you?”

  “The only information I have is what my real estate agent gave me. We did have an inspection done.”

  “I'm not talking about that kind of history. I'm talking about any background information on the previous owners of the house. Information on what's happened in the house you might have heard or otherwise been made aware of.”

  Brian shook his head. “I can't help you there. That's all the information I have. My focus was on getting the house for the price it listed for which was crazy low. I didn't really ask a lot of questions though I did do my own research.”

  Sebastian nodded and leaned back in the chair, looking down, thoughtful.

  “Well, I can say with confidence that it's gone,” Tyler said, looking down at the device in his hand.

  “What is it?”

  Sebastian, Amanda and Tyler stole glances at one another.

  “That's the second time you guys have given some kind of look to one another. Can you let me in on the secret? I mean, it is my house.”

  “You have to understand,” Amanda said. “There are many people who don't understand what we do. There are even more people that don't believe in what we do. So when someone asks about what we do, we have to be careful how we respond.”

  No one spoke right away. It was always difficult to sense where to begin in discussing the supernatural with outsiders. With Mr. Vale, it would be a little easier since he'd already had an encounter and was probably more open to whatever explanation they gave. The question was, what explanation were they going to give? Were they going to give him the truth or would it be better to ignore the question and assure him he and his family would be okay?

  “Are you a religious man Mr. Vale?” Sebastian asked.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm not religious though I know a little about it. Four years of Catholic school here.”

  “Well, that actually makes it more difficult. From my experience, the vast majority of people who have gone to Catholic school know little to nothing about these kinds of things. What they do know is more of a hindrance than a help.”

  Brian let out an exasperated moan.

  “Really?”

  “We're not trying to offend you,” Amanda said. “But my uncle Sebastian is right. That's been our experience and we have quite a bit of experience in this.”

  “Maybe this is the part,” Tyler interjected, “Where we have to ask you to do something rather difficult under these circumstances. This is the part where we ask you to trust us though you don't know us from Adam.”

  Brian scanned all three of their faces and realized he didn’t have much choice in the matter. If he were practical and looked at the whole thing, these three were a godsend. They had aided him in an area that — as uncomfortable as it was to admit — he had no experience how to handle or maneuver. His wife was in the hospital because of spiders that weren't there. The next door neighbor had checked himself into a mental institution after being in his basement. His house had just emitted an audible scream, shaking like the epicenter of an earthquake had run underneath it. Yes. This was far above his area of expertise as a car salesman, husband, and father. The whats, whys, and wherefores at the moment weren’t all that important.

  “How do I know that what you’re saying is true and that this thing is all over? Like you just said, I don’t know you from Adam so you could be lying to me right now. I don’t want to bring my family back into this place and it happen all over again.”

  Sebastian gave a reassuring nod.

  “I understand that. We don't gain anything from lying to you. Trust us when we say it will not be coming back any time soon.”

  On a good day, outsiders were novices and knew little to nothing of the unseen. The natural sciences was the new religion and its followers were widespread. True theology, considered old and antiquated, was not a real science. To believe in the reality of the unseen — demons, angels, spirits — was to identify with kooks and quacks. Conspiracy theorists. Believers of myth, legend and superstition. But the three of them knew better. The unseen was a much more potent reality than what they could see with their eyes. The mantra of adherents to materialism was “seeing is believing”. Yet, when they saw something they didn't like or couldn't explain, it was easier to choose not to believe than find an alternative explanation. Alternative explanations that did not fit within their worldview were better to explain away or not to explain it all. That's why Sebastian and his team did what they did. No one else would.

  “You said you didn't have any solid background information on the house.” Sebastian said. “Is it possible to get contact information on the real estate agent gave that sold it to you?”

  Brian nodded. “Sure. I think I have it upstairs in my desk. I remember her name. It’s Tawny Belcher.”

  Part III - Strange Meetings

  Neff looked out the window, his chin resting in the crook of his right hand. There wasn't much to look at in the municipal courtyard below but he wasn't looking at the scenery.

  Mrs. Johansen's suspicions stuck to his mind speaking to his police instincts. There actually could be something beyond a widow's grief and the more he contemplated it, the more he believed it. He knew if he didn't do something, it would eat him up inside. The last ten minutes of staring out the window weren't helping alleviate what he knew he had to do.

  He straightened his gold-rimmed glasses and stood up, grabbing his coat, throwing it over his left arm.

  “If you need me, I'll be at the coroner's office. I have my cell phone on me.”

  His partner nodded as he walked down the hallway to the elevators.

  He didn't have to go to the coroner's office in person. He could've researched the information he was looking for but he needed the drive to think things through. Pieces of the puzzle were connecting. He wanted to mull them over in his mind and the fifteen-minute drive would help him do that.

  The possibility existed Johansen's suspicions would end up leading nowhere. That was fine. He would not lose much time and he'd move on to something more important sitting on his desk. At the most, he'd lose an hour out of his day. However, if there was something to her suspicions, the potential existed that it could be bigger than anyone imagined. Thinking about that alone, he wasn't so sure he wanted to open this can of worms. Yet even amid his discomfort with the prospect of having to deal with the media, he needed to follow through for the family's sake.

  The coroner's office was on Arlington Avenue on the south side of Toledo. It was a somewhat new facility on the University of Toledo's medical college campus. Housed in a nondescript gray concrete building with a bank of quad sectioned windows across the side, it stood off from the other buildings. A new plate paved blacktop sidewalk ran the length in front. A lone flagpole set in the front lawn dotted with small maple trees. Neff pulled into the parking lot, walked in through the double glass door entrance on the east side of the building. The aroma that assaulted him as he entered was of paint, concrete, and steel. He nodded to the receptionist as he walked by. She had recognized him from the many previous times he'd wandered the halls.

  He wasn’t expecting Dr. Cooper to be in the examination room so he went straight to his office. His hunch paid off. He sat at his desk going over some papers with a digital recorder in front of him he used for dictation. Neff peered through the cracked door, gave a soft knock, peeking his head through the opening.

  “Ne
ff,” Cooper said looking up. “Good to see you. Come on in.”

  “I’m not interrupting anything am I?”

  “Oh no. Going over a couple of these reports. Already dictated a couple and wanted to download it into my dictation software on my computer. Come on in.”

  Neff sat down in the burgundy and black metal chair in front of Cooper’s desk. Cooper sported a new short haircut, his thick mustache trimmed and even.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “Do you remember that guy from the suicide a week ago? Over in the Franklin Park area? Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head in the bathroom?”

  Cooper nodded. “Sure. Pretty messy. Pretty sad too.”

  “Well, there’s a new theory that's cropped up. He may not have committed suicide ... willingly.”

  Cooper sat back in his chair, his countenance wearing a veneer of seriousness.

  “Are we talking murder?”

  “Not sure. I was hoping you’d be able to help me out on this. You see, it’s believed he may have been drugged and that those drugs may be the contributing cause of his suicide. You know me Coop. I know what I know. I’m pretty good at remembering things but when it comes to all the chemistry and stuff, I like to leave as much of that in the hands of our resident nerds.”

  “O.K. Gonna take that as a compliment.”

  Neff leaned forward and rested his hands on the desk.

  “It is. I want to know if or what kind of drugs would make a person want to commit suicide. I’m thinking it would have to be a strong drug to be able to mess with a person’s mind like that.”

  Cooper folded his arms and looked up at the opposite wall.

  “Well, there are more than a few drugs that can trigger suicidal thoughts. The two that come to my mind are Fluoxetine and Paroxetine. I would have to do some research before I could give you a relevant list. It might be quite a few. It also would depend on the individual, their reaction to the drug and how frequent it was administered. There are a lot of factors that come into play.”

  Neff nodded.

  “It would be a tremendous help Coop. Focus on drugs that could be introduced into a water supply or cause some kind of massive effect through some other means.”

  Cooper’s face became visibly disturbed.

  “Wait a minute. Something like that could affect more than one… what are you saying, Sam?”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying yet. Just a theory. I might not be saying anything. That's why I'm here. It depends on what you can find out.”

  Neff hated keeping him in the dark but he didn’t want to jump the gun. It was better to keep it under wraps until confirmed. No need to cause any undue alarm if it turned out to be nothing.

  He rose to his feet.

  “Like I said, it's just a theory. We don’t know if it has any legs to run on but if it does, we want to be there to get started right away.”

  “I understand. I’ll give you a ring as soon as I have something.”

  Neff got up to leave.

  “You know,” Cooper said. “Now that I think about it, it could be a combination of several kinds of drugs. Meth, PCP, or a mixing those with other paranoid inducing drugs. The vast majority of those you’d have to get through a prescription.”

  Neff looked at Cooper.

  “What did you say?”

  “Which part are you talking about?”

  “You said it could be a combination of a lot of different drugs but the vast majority of them would have to come through a prescription.”

  Cooper nodded.

  “Yeah but I’m talking about the ones I’m thinking of. I’m no pharmacist but…”

  Neff stood up, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

  “You know, you just helped me tremendously.”

  “Well, you know me. I aim to please.”

  * * * * *

  Two days without a homicide in Toledo was a good thing. The homicide rate had risen without the suicides and with them, they were out of control. So having none in that span when the average was a homicide every month was a relief. His department was busier than they had ever been and the case closed rate was not getting better. People didn't want to help the police because they had a negative opinion of cops or they didn’t want to be labeled a snitch. There was a small part of him that admired that but it was a very small part. The vast majority of his opinion leaned on the side of helping the authorities so they could do their jobs better and protect the people they were sworn to protect.

  The Toledo landscape sped by in a blur. It wasn’t a glorious view from I-75. It had seen much better days, dotted with abandoned factories and empty industrial complexes from the city’s heyday. The city had failed in its adaptation to the changing times, being a mini-metropolis of manufacturing. Technology had taken the world by storm and they were still several steps behind. Instead of investing in the city's future by creating an environment where tech-heavy businesses could set up shop, they stuck to the old ways and markets. As the proverbial saying, old habits die hard.

  All of this passed by Neff in a tunnel of obliviousness. He focused on his destination.

  Cooper’s mention of prescription drugs triggered a memory. Mrs. Johansen had mentioned that her husband was seeing a therapist. A quick phone call while walking to his car from the coroner's office got him the address. A short trip across town brought him to the Riverview East apartment complex in Point Place. At first, he thought he had the wrong address but confirmed it with Mrs. Johansen. She read what she had off of the business card she had in front of her. The only thing Neff could think of was that she ran her sessions out of her own apartment which wasn’t unheard of. Just uncommon.

  He stepped out of his car and walked up to the glass apartment door entrance. A young woman in her mid-thirties, blonde, about five foot five and greenish eyes walked out as he was walking in. She wore black pumps and carried a fancy, brown purse. She didn’t give him the time of day. No eye-contact though he nodded a greeting. She ignored him on purpose but he wasn’t surprised. It was the attitude of the whole culture. Everyone immersed themselves in their own world. It wasn’t like when he was growing up when people said, “Hi” to one another, waving and smiling when they saw you. Even in the seedier neighborhoods, there was a shred of human respect. Nowadays, the rule was apathy in making human connections, combined with suspicion and wariness. People had their defenses up, guarded against the possible, motivated by fear. It was a shame. The past wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Society had lost life, and it was hemorrhaging more day by day.

  He entered the building, noticing the rust-colored carpet and dark brown wooden doors. There was a pungent aroma of curry in the hallway. Indians or someone from the Middle East lived in the building. Unlike other people, he liked the smell. When people complained about it, they revealed their ethnic prejudice, general stupidity, or a combination.

  Walking up to the second floor, he found unit number six. On the door was a sign that read Dr. Stephanie Murchowski, Ph.D. Clinical Psychologist. Underneath that in red letters was another sign: Open. Neff turned the golden brass doorknob and entered.

  Inside, off to the immediate right, was the living room which had been converted into a waiting area. A small coffee table with magazines fanned out on the top set in front of a medium-sized leather black couch. To either side were matching lounge chairs facing in. A flat-screen television hung on the wall opposite the couch.

  The dining room contained a small desk set in the middle of it with a young slender man with short black hair manning the phone. His eyes lit up as he spotted Neff walking around the corner.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, his bright smile lifting his thick, black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Did you have an appointment today?”

  The kid was nice. A little too much sugar in the tank. He didn’t understand that mentality whatsoever. It was a bunch of confusion that was being pushed as normal. But he was nice.

&n
bsp; He reached for his billfold and pulled out his badge and identification, flashing in front of his eyes.

  “Detective Neff. Toledo homicide. I’m looking for a Dr. Murchowski. She in?”

  The young man’s eyes widened at the sight of the badge.

  “Oh. Yes, yes she is. Hold on one moment.”

  With a somewhat nervous pressing of the buttons of the telephone, he connected to Murchowski and announced that Neff was there then hung up.

  “She’ll be right out.”

  Neff nodded and walked around the waiting area. It was an innovative setup. First, it was in an apartment instead of a commercial strip. That meant she was frugal. A small bookshelf hung on the wall revealing a small line of classics and books on psychology. Normal fare for a therapist’s office. There was also some strange smell he couldn’t place his finger on.

  “Detective Neff?”

  Neff turned around to face a woman with flat shoulder length hair, thin lips, and small eyes. Her nose was small as well and the smile she flashed at him appeared… forced. Nevertheless, she held out her hand.

  “Dr. Stephanie Murchowski.”

  He took her hand which felt clammy and shook it.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I wanted to see what you could tell me about one of your former patients. Dana Johansen.”

  There was a pause in her movements that a trained eye could see, almost imperceptible.

  “Mr. Johansen. Yes. What a tragedy. I’m not too sure how I could help you but I’ll do what I can. Please, step into my office.”

  Neff walked down the small hallway into her office. Diffused light filled the room. The blinds were turned down halfway. There were no plants or pictures of family which he found odd. Those two things were a staple in most doctor’s personal offices.

  She walked behind her oak desk and sat in a high-backed leather chair, the material squeaking in soft tones as she planted herself. Something bothered him about that. It wasn’t the chair or the off-putting atmosphere. It was how she sat in the chair. She sat as if she was sitting on a throne. The air about her changed as soon as she sat down. What he sensed when she looked up at him was… disdain.