by K. R. Rowe
Grief swallowed his pain, leaving him numb. Despite the tubes, stitches, and morphine, he ignored the protests of the hospital staff, pulled himself from the bed and went to his wife. Even death could not steal her natural beauty, but it laid upon her a mask of terror. Brushing his fingers across her cheeks, they trembled, desperately trying to erase the fear etched into her final expression, but he failed. Having failed her in life, he now realized, he had failed her in death as well.
Tormented tears burned down his cheek, splashing heat onto her cool ashen skin. He touched his mouth to hers, and for a moment he thought her breath warmed his lips, but he realized the warmth was his own. He sank to his knees, praying to any god who would listen, begging to bring her back, yet knowing it would never be. Sliding his arms beneath her, he held her close, desperate to warm her cold body, hoping to give her the comfort denied during her final moments of life. He refused to leave her, staying by her side until his weakened body finally gave out and the staff forced him to let her go.
He could never let go.
Her family blamed him, and he blamed himself. His stupidity killed her, and he wished every day that he had died instead. Consumed with self-loathing, the man he knew slipped away, and someone he despised stepped into his place. He numbed his guilt and pain with the bottle, and morning after morning he awoke in the street covered in his own vomit and piss. No one hated him more than he hated himself, except death, because death refused to end his misery.
One brisk Sunday morning, he opened his eyes to a plain-clothed police officer squatting over him. “Sir, are you okay?”
The crumbling sidewalk dug into Phillip’s back and with the slightest movement, pain scorched down his spine. He squinted into the cold blue cloudless sky and gagged from the stench of his own body odor.
“I’m fine, leave me alone,” he said, wishing the cop would at least have the common decency to block out the sun. Rolling to his side, he coughed, dislodging a chunk of leftover vomit caught in his throat. He’d hoped the man would go away—but he knew better. “I’m not bothering anyone.”
The older man nodded over his shoulder. “The young woman there is concerned.”
Phillip looked up, his watering eyes blurring his vision. The sun arched a halo behind the woman, reaching around her torso like protective wings, but he saw her face clearly; her hair dark; eyes as blue as the indigo sky. Even from a distance, he couldn’t mistake their color.
Claire?
She smiled, but the blazing sun swallowed her form. He rubbed his eyes and staggered to his feet. His body swayed, but the policeman caught his arm before he fell. Steadying himself, he looked again, but she was gone.
“Claire! Don’t go!” Pulling free from the older man, he stumbled across the sidewalk to where the woman had stood.
“Easy there, son.”
“Where did she go?”
The officer shaded his eyes, looking around. “I have no idea. She was there just a second ago. Is she a friend of yours?”
“Yes, I mean no—I mean, she was. What did she say, did she say anything?”
“Yes sir,” the officer said. “She told me she loved you and she’s been worried about you.”
“What?” Phillip looked away shaking his head, but the fog only seemed to thicken. “But that can’t be.”
“I only know what I know.” The older man smiled. “At least you have someone who cares. Lots of folks aren’t that lucky. Come on with me, let’s get you sobered up.”
Phillip turned his back to the police officer, resigned to the fact that he was going to jail and waited for handcuffs that never came. Instead, a fatherly hand slid over his shoulder.
“Where do you live, son? I’ll take you home.”
His name was Tom Rush, but despite his last name, he took his time about everything. He talked slow, walked slow and drank his beer slow, savoring each sip like an expensive fine wine. He went about his work in slow methodical steps, thus making him the best detective the department ever had. Rush took him home, but he came back every few days, just to be sure Phillip wasn’t face down in his dinner. Rush became his mentor, idol, best friend, and eventually his boss.
“It’s time you stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he had said more times than Phillip could remember. “That’s what Claire would have wanted.”
Finally, Rush’s words sunk in and two months later, Phillip joined the police academy. He couldn’t protect Claire that night, and he couldn’t change the world, but maybe someday he might save someone else.
He never thought he’d love anyone again, never wanted to, but this girl stirred something inside of him; a protective feeling. Allie was tough, he knew it, and a sense of futility picked at his confidence. He’d checked out her record. She’d probably send him on his way with his ass on fire, but everyone needed someone, and Allie had no one, except her friend Zoe. Thugs and criminals he knew how to deal with, but how could he protect this girl from her own demons?
And from what he’d seen, her demons were vicious.
Her eyelids fluttered, cracking to slits of emerald green. He held his breath and tightened his grip on her hand, hoping she wouldn’t panic.
She looked up, confusion clouding her bloodshot eyes. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital.”
She sat upright, checking her arms and legs for injury. “I’m not hurt. Am I sick? What’s going on?”
“It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice low to help her relax. “Everything’s ok, you’re okay.”
“Why am I here?”
“Something happened last night—do you remember anything?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know, I feel so groggy.”
“You’ve been sedated.”
“What? Why?”
“Your neighbor called the police. He thought something was wrong.”
Phillip had heard the call on his radio the night before and recognized the address. They found her curled into a ball against the door, terrified. Maybe it was stress or maybe someone had broken in, he didn’t know. He saw firsthand every day how fragile the mind can be, and with two murders in her neighborhood, he wasn’t surprised by her reaction.
Her brow furrowed and she turned away.
“Can you talk about it?”
Something had happened, but Phillip wasn’t sure if it was real or a figment of her overworked imagination. She picked lint from the hospital blanket, before pulling it up around her chin.
“If you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, “that’s okay.”
“Something came through my window.”
Startled by her sudden response, Phillip’s mind came alive and welled with trepidation. His thoughts spun, drawing a picture of what might have happened. Someone came in her window? How the hell did someone climb three stories?
“It held me down.”
Her words sent fear racing through his veins. Please God, I hope no one hurt her. Afraid to ask the obvious question, he tried to stay calm. “Did you see what he looked like? Was he masked?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“He wasn’t masked or you didn’t see him?”
“It wasn’t a man.”
Phillip sat up straighter, a new scenario threading through his mind. He’d never considered a woman could do this. “You’re sure it wasn’t a man?”
“It wasn’t human.”
“It wasn’t—wait, what?” There were no marks on her, no scratches or bruises except a small mark on her lower back. Phillip hadn’t heard about reports of wild animals in the area. “Was it a dog, a big bird like a hawk, maybe, or some kind of cat?”
Her gaze slid away and focused on the slits of sunlit sky just beyond the white sterile blinds.
“They crawled through my window.”
Her whispered words sent chills down his spine. “They?”
“The shadows.”
He searched his memory, trying to recall something she’d muttered the night before. With he
r panic and confusion, she’d been hard to understand. He took a deep breath and asked the dreaded question. “Last night, you said something touched you.”
Her quiet voice wavered. “They covered my body and held me down. They crawled down my throat and I couldn’t breathe.” Her panic increased the tone of her voice. “I thought I was going to die but I didn’t. They made me see things, horrible things in my past that I want to forget.”
Stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, he could only imagine what her childhood might have been like.
“And it showed me other things.”
“Other things?”
“Beautiful memories.”
A hesitant smile pulled at his lips. “Beautiful memories? That’s a good thing, right?”
She looked his way, her troubled green eyes locking with his. “The memories weren’t mine.”
He moved from the chair to the side of her bed. Sliding his arm around her, he pulled her close, hoping to give her a little calming comfort. But her body trembled and he knew whatever happened, it seemed real to her. She was scared to death, and whoever or whatever did this was going to answer for it. He took a deep breath, trying to put aside his personal feelings. He had a job to do too, and he needed to find out what happened.
“I’ll have some guys go back and search your apartment. Maybe we’ll find something.”
He wasn’t sure what to believe but when he pulled her closer, her trembling slowed and finally ceased. Laying his cheek against the top of her head, he relaxed. Even here, in a hospital bed, it felt right with her in his arms.
It felt comfortable.
“Whatever it was, it’s probably gone for good,” he said. “But if you get scared, anytime, day or night, I want you to call me, and I’ll be there.”
“But I don’t want to bother you in the middle of the night. You have work and—”
“Shhh,” he said, putting his finger to her lips. “No argument. Hearing your voice in the middle of the night is a lot better than just having dirty dreams about you.” He smiled when she chuckled. “Call me, okay?”
“Okay. But it was probably just another bad dream,” she whispered. “My neighbors are really sweet, and it feels nice to know they’re looking out for me.”
“We’ll have to let them know you’re all right.”
“We will,” she said. “Can I go home now?”
Chapter 13
Neighbor
The door lacked an address. The only visible markings were the darkened stains where the numbers once hung. Apprehension strung her nerves tight, but Allie stood stiff and pulled in a deep calming breath. Before she knocked, a dull thud vibrated the door; the sound originating from somewhere inside. Hairs raised on the back of Allie’s neck. A voice filtered through the wood, the tone low, mumbling a low repetitive chant. Allie pressed her ear against the door and listened. A deep low growl pulsed through the wood. It rolled down the walls and into the floors. She spun, trying to follow the sound, but like a ripple, it flowed out from around her and settled into the hallway’s dark recesses. Wishing she were anywhere but here, she closed her eyes and counted to ten before she opened them again.
The corners came alive, writhing with shadows, wind moaning against the window at the end of the hall. Nervous laughter fluttered from Allie. The growl was nothing more than the building settling. The brittle old timbers cracked and groaned, but sometimes it still caught her off guard. Paranoia had taken a firm grip on her imagination lately, and she needed to shake it loose. While admitting that she might be a little edgy, it didn’t change the fact that something or someone had been in her apartment. She’d convinced Phillip that it was a dream but she knew it wasn’t, and suspected her elderly neighbor had answers.
She knocked, but the light rap wasn’t loud enough to disrupt the chant inside. Allie took a deep breath and heaved a sigh, hoping to quell her growing trepidation. What was the old woman chanting? Was she praying? Allie almost turned away and gave up, but instead she eyed the tarnished brass knocker. Loosening the frozen hinges, she lifted it, and dropped it against the door. The sharp metallic sound cracked through the hallway. The chanting ceased, and silence infected the space around her. Behind the door, a light blinked on, spilling a yellow arch beneath the wood.
The peephole blackened.
Allie smiled, as if waiting for a camera to flash, but a minute ticked by and the door didn’t open. She stood stiff, her smile frozen, while the eye behind the door continued its watch.
Open the door!
Why did it just keep staring at her? Was it waiting for just the right moment to ooze under the door and suck her flat to the floor like that thing outside? Allie groaned, her fake smile dropping from her lips. She shook the strange thoughts from her head and wondered if she’d really lost her mind. There was no evil eye. A harmless old lady stood on the other side of the door, probably half blind, trying to figure out who was knocking.
Allie cleared her throat and spoke, “Hello?”
A deep gruff voice responded, “Who is it?”
“My name is Allie. I live across the hall.” Apprehension robbed her mouth of moisture and the words spilled over her parched drying lips. “We met a few days ago.” Silence responded but Allie continued. “You spoke about the murders, of something outside.” The peephole lightened and the door cracked open, but not enough to reveal who or what stood behind it. “Some weird things have happened, and—”
The door swung wider, but the old woman stood several feet inside the room; one eye glazed like a murky gray stone, the other clear and piercing blue.
Allie hesitated, wondering how she’d opened the door from such a distance. “Mrs. Michaels, I don’t mean to disturb you but—”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “Come in, dear.”
The old woman’s soft, endearing voice bore no resemblance to the one Allie had heard through the door, but she shrugged it off. The second she stepped over the threshold, Allie coughed. The heavy scent of smoke saturated the apartment air, sticking to the back of her throat. Across the room, candles lined the mantle, wax pooling beneath them, ribbons of smoke curling from their extinguished wicks. A set of deep scratches marred the floor, and Allie made out the figure eight, the rest hidden beneath an old woven rug.
The woman pivoted and crossed the room, her gnarled gray braid swinging across her back, catching on her protruding shoulder blades. Long yellowed toenails scraped across the floor. Like claws, they clicked, scratching the wood with each unsteady footfall. A thick layer of dirt caked the soles of her feet and crawled up her heels like a cluster of black dying roots. Once across the room, the old woman stooped over a cedar chest, cracked it open, and took out a worn leather book.
“Please sit,” she said.
Pulling a chair in front of Allie, she opened the book and slid her fingers over the yellowed newspaper clippings lining the pages. Allie grew impatient but kept quiet and waited while the woman thumbed through each page. After a few minutes, the woman slid a pair of thick purple glasses onto her nose and rested her fingers on the photo of a handsome young man standing next to a motorcycle.
“The one who haunts you is Noah.”
“What?” Allie asked. “Haunts? I’m being haunted?” A hundred questions burned on the tip of her tongue. She hadn’t said a word, yet the old woman knew why she was here, and Allie was hungry for answers. “How do you know? I mean, have things happened to you too? Who’s Noah? Are you a psychic or a medium or something?”
“I feel things girl. I can feel his presence, and I know you have too.”
“Who is he and what does he want from me?”
The old woman said nothing, but turned several pages and stopped on a clipping of a young woman; her hands handcuffed behind her back, a blank dead stare marring her flawless face.
“Her name was Isabella.”
Isabella? The girl from my dreams?
Mrs. Michaels went on. “She and Noah were secretly wed.”
“Their marriage angered Isabella’s grandmother. She disapproved of Noah, believing no one was good enough for her granddaughter.”
“But there was nothing she could do, was there?” Allie asked.
A cold harsh laugh peeled from Mrs. Michaels, but the sharp bitter sound held no hint of amusement. “She murdered him. In cold blood.”
“Oh my God! That’s awful. Did she go to jail? Isabella must have been devastated.”
“Yes, dear, Isabella was destroyed, but the worst was yet to come. Her grandmother’s evil extended far beyond the realm of the living. She cursed the young man’s spirit and shackled his soul to the servitude of Siddous.” Mrs. Michaels closed the book. “This neighborhood is cursed. You and I both feel it. It speaks to us. An evil as ancient as time itself dwells beneath the stones.”
“I’m confused. Who’s Siddous?”
“Siddous is what you see all around you; the very ground under your feet.”
“A demon? Is he the one killing people?”
“When he feeds, he uses their energy to renew, to bring back his youth.”
Allie went silent, trying to understand what the old woman was saying. “Is this a riddle? He’s the earth, but he makes himself young again?”
“It is what it is.”
She stared at Mrs. Michaels, wondering if Zoe was right about this woman being crazy. The things she said seemed to mirror what’d been happening around her, but it was all so bizarre. Allie concealed her doubts and decided to play along.
“I don’t understand.”
“Look around you, dear, have you noticed? Things are changing.”