Heritage (The Slendervale Series Book 2)

by Sean Mannette

  The door opened the breadth of a hand or two, and a face appeared in the space. Blond hair with brunette roots rippled in slicked-back waves over manicured eyebrows, electric blue eyes, and cheekbones so dramatic they could star in a film all their own.

  “What’s up, dude?” Varro asked through full lips set into a diamond jaw.

  “Adam.” Adam whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Sure dude. Adam. Whatever.” Varro shrugged, sending ripples down his red silk dress shirt.

  “Adam Church.” Varro’s eyes went wide with the name, and Adam punched him, hard, right in his perfect jaw.

  ♖♖♖

  Adam strode into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “Fuck!” Varro was writhing on the floor with his hands cupping his face. Adam was mildly disappointed; he had been expecting the punch to knock him out. He didn’t have too much experience in those matters other than a few fights back in high school, but he had hit Varro pretty hard. They always got knocked out in the movies.

  But Adam had a more important concern: namely, what he was going to do with Varro. Fury still raged in his blood, giving rise to uncharacteristically dark thoughts. Thankfully the punch had driven some of the anger from him, and as the adrenaline faded after the initial confrontation, each second restored some clarity to his thoughts. He settled on intimidation.

  Adam placed a leather clad foot on Varro’s chest, pushing down firmly to stop his incessant rocking from side to side.

  “Fuck, dude!” Varro cried out again.

  “Stop!” Adam commanded, pushing down for extra emphasis. He wasn’t sure Varro noticed with everything else that had had happened. “Do you want to tell me about my wife now, or should I take some more time with you?” Adam hoped the damage he’d done to his voice helped him sound more intimidating.

  “Fuck, man, okay. But you gotta get me to a hospital, I think my nose is broken.” Varro muttered, still clutching at his face. Adam reached down, his right foot still balanced on Varro’s chest, and removed the hands that covered his face.

  “Your nose is fine.” Adam spat. Varro’s cheek was starting to swell, but Adam doubted he had broken anything. Another thing the movies had lied to him about. “Now start fucking talking,” he growled.

  “Okay, dude, okay. She came around asking questions about the man upstairs. I told her what I knew. They had some kind of weird little club and that was it. That’s all, bro.”

  Adam stood up abruptly, glancing around the apartment room. It was a studio, and despite the perfectly adequate amount of space, the only occupants were a messy bed, entertainment center, and the kitchen. Adam grabbed a pen from a cup resting on the kitchen counter and headed back toward Varro.

  He had rolled over onto his hands and knees and was halfway to standing by the time Adam got back. Adam grabbed his hair, his fingers sticky with grease, and wrenched his head back. His heart beat rapidly as he lowered the pen a hair’s breadth from Varro’s eye.

  The moment stretched elongated, Varro staring up wide eyed, focused on the pen, and Adam towering over him. Adam had never done anything like this. He had never felt this way before. In some part of him, his blood sung. It was like some fantasy he had as a child had come to life in a single threatening moment. He debated stabbing downward for more than a second, mulling it over and toying with the idea. These were the same eyes that had seen his wife, desired her, that had probably had all of her revealed before them. He could take one as his due. It was only fair. Hell, biblical even.

  “How was she?” Adam snarled. “Was she worth it?” Varro remained mute. The tip of the pen loomed large, reflected in Varro’s right eye. One small movement, and its usefulness to him would be at its end. Adam tensed the muscles in his arm.

  He heard a metallic click behind him. That sound, at least, the movies had gotten right. That alone was enough to tighten the muscles in his abdomen.

  “I would prefer,” Madam Ubasa began, “If you would unhand him.”

  Adam started to turn toward her, but was interrupted.

  “No, child. You don’t turn around until you let that poor boy go and drop that pen.” Adam considered his options for a moment. The sobering sound of the slide on the gun moving had certainly floundered his momentary feeling of control.

  Adam tossed the pen to the floor and stood up slowly. Varro was still frozen on the ground, his solid blue eyes darting back and forth between Adam and Ubasa.

  “Alright, now. Turn around and let me have a look at you.” Adam spun slowly to face her. Ubasa cut an imposing figure; a large black woman with her hair bound in a bandana of sorts, wearing a menagerie of jewelry and holding a very compact pistol. Firearms eluded Adam’s experience for the most part, but this one seemed more than deadly enough by the way it was being pointed with both hands at his chest.

  “Let me explain,” Adam began. Ubasa shook her head.

  “I think I know well enough... The kind of trouble Varro always seems to be in. I take it you’re a boyfriend or a husband?”

  “Husband.” Adam spoke through gritted teeth.

  “Ah. That pretty little artsy girl that comes here in the fall? I knew something like this would happen. You a damn fool,” she spat toward Varro.

  He remained silent, having shifted to a somewhat reclined position on the floor.

  “No. My wife was Susan. Susan Church.” Ubasa’s eyebrows rose.

  “Ah, Adam. Yes, I know about you. I thought more of you than to catch you doing some fool thing like this. You should know your wife better than to think she was caught up in all his,” she gestured to Varro, “Tomfoolery.” Varro started in response to that.

  “I told you, dude. I didn’t touch her, man, she just wanted to know about stuff.”

  “See? No harm done. Now pick him up and say you sorry.” Ubasa gestured to Adam with a wave of her gun. Adam whipped his head back toward her, the fire starting to rekindle in his eyes.

  “And who says I can believe him? She had his room number. His room number!” Ubasa’s eyes widened in warning. It reminded Adam of his mother, when he had gone one step too far.

  “Now you listen here. I say you can believe him, so you can believe him. Pick him up, and say you sorry.”

  Adam considered responding for a moment, but remained silent. He was no lawyer, but what he had done was certainly illegal in one way or another. He reached out a hand to Varro.

  Varro looked him up and down cautiously before finally accepting the hand. Adam hoisted him up to his feet, then turned back to Ubasa. She still had the gun raised.

  “Get the fuck out.” Varro said flatly.

  “Apologize,” warned Ubasa.

  “Sorry.” Adam muttered, moving forward. Ubasa blocked his exit.

  “I didn’t hear you.” She said in a sing-song voice. That definitely reminded Adam of his mother.

  “I apologize, Varro.” Adam projected at a substantial volume, without emotion.

  “There!” Ubasa exclaimed, placing the tiny gun inside her massive red alligator leather handbag. “We’re all friends now.” She patted Adam on the cheek to emphasize her point.

  “Varro honey, we can do your reading some other time,” she nodded, Varro returning the nod almost subconsciously. “Adam, sweet child. I think you should come with me. I am Madam Ubasa. Your wife spent a good deal of time speaking with me.” Adam hesitated.

  “I have a meeting later,” he said stiffly. “The detective working on the case. You should come.” Ubasa’s eyes sparkled.

  “No, I don’t believe I will. Not to worry, our good detective won’t arrive until after…” She paused a moment, as though she were reading lines in the empty air. “Not until after the fire, it looks like. We have the rest of the afternoon.”

  Chapter Nine

  Madam Ubasa’s apartment was cozy. It was a small two bedroom unit on the 12th floor. As a result, the combination living room and kitchen was a tight space. There was no television; instead there was an old record player from
a couple of decades ago. A record of an old-fashioned swing band was spinning on it, filling the small room with music at a low volume. Adam sank into an overstuffed cloth chair so comfortable he let out an involuntary groan. Across a small coffee table that was littered with old, bent paperback books, Madam Ubasa sat alone on her loveseat with a mug of tea in her hands. She sat staring at the swirl of leaves within it.

  Adam fancied it wouldn’t have been out of place for there to be a small fireplace, maybe off to the side on the path to the kitchen. Adam resigned himself to being content with the mug of tea Ubasa had made for him, at the pleasant aura of his surroundings.

  “Now you got some tea in you,” Madam Ubasa began, “and you’re well away from that pretty devil boy. Why don’t you tell me what you were thinking? This place can bring out the worst in us all, but I thought you had more strength in you than that.”

  Adam shook his head. What came over me? he thought silently to himself.

  “The pad,” he said slowly, feeling that the warmth of Ubasa’s home somewhat loosened his recollection. “My wife’s notepad. He had written his room number in there. I thought that…” He went silent for a moment, staring back into his mug of tea.

  “You thought that Varro did what beautiful little fools do best.” The way she said it wasn’t accusatory, or approving, almost as if she considered it a natural law. “You’re not the first.”

  “Bartholomew said-” Adam stopped short at the scorn on Ubasa’s face.

  “That creature can’t be trusted. He wears a short leash in this place.”

  “Well, he said she was acting like she was on vacation.” Adam finished, despite Ubasa’s venom. Surprisingly, this time the word did little to stir his blood. Ubasa shook her head.

  “He is a sadist of the worst kind. Don’t listen to him. Does that sound like Susan?”

  Adam shook his head. It didn’t sound like his wife at all. Even the few times they had managed to get away her mind was always distracted, always on her work.

  “No. But we- We had a fight.” He said, shaking his head. Compassion softened Ubasa’s visage. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with understanding.

  “And given all that happened, you blamed yourself. Any would have done the same.”

  “I don’t know how, but I was just there, all of a sudden. I know that’s not an excuse.”

  “It’s the Tower; it dominates the senses. Feeds off fear and anger. Inspires dark thoughts. It uses them to grow stronger.” Ubasa said, whispering passionately. Adam scoffed.

  “That’s certainly one way to look at it.” He started slightly when Ubasa reached across the coffee table, grabbing his hand.

  “You need to look at it that way if you want to start finding some answers.” Without breaking eye contact she flipped it palm-up. After a moment of reading his face, she looked down at his palm intently. Adam snatched his hand back.

  “Sounds like you have some. Why did my wife come to you?” He asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “That’s not to do with this, child. Let me see your hand.” Adam shook his head.

  “How did you know Susan?” He wiggled his fingers. “Then you can make with the hocus pocus.” Ubasa sighed.

  “Deals. Bargains. Even you, it seems. They run this whole place, more than any master.”

  “Mutual self-interest. It makes the world go round.” Adam snorted. He was a longtime disciple of capitalism, and espoused its merits with the same casual arrogance that all dominant theories are expressed in.

  “No child,” Ubasa scoffed and shook her head. “If I took the time to explain what makes the world go round, you’d probably lose that addled mind of yours.” Adam chuckled internally. “You wife came to me, she was looking for docs. I helped, best I could, her put it all together.”

  “Docs?” He asked, struggling to understand. “What do you mean, put it all together?”

  “Put it all together, child. She was working on something, poking into secrets. I gave her information. She wasn’t quite so blind as you.”Adam couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What information?” He snapped. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

  “Because you wanted to bargain, and I am inclined to give you exactly what you bargained for. You asked me why she came to see me and I told you. Now,” She held out her palm, “give me your hand.” Adam stood up, feeling almost ill.

  “Oh, fuck off,” he growled. He strode toward the door.

  “We had a deal child! You should be more careful about breaking deals.”

  “Maybe you should be more careful about making them!” Adam cried over his shoulder.

  “You think you’re smart!” Ubasa cried out. Adam was already out the door. As he pulled it shut behind him, Ubasa rushed toward it, catching it on her fingertips and slamming it open. “You’re not! You’re blind! This hotel gonna make a meal of you, child, just you wait and see. It’s taken the souls of better-” Adam lost the rest of what she was saying as he rounded the corner heading back toward the elevator.

  The Tower was weird, that was true enough, to have a host of crazies like what he had seen. If there was anything that woman had to say, Adam was certain she could say it to the police whenever he chose to sick them on her.

  Ubasa closed her eyes and allowed her voice trailed off. That foolish boy was going to get himself killed, of that she had little doubt. She had hoped he could be the one to set things right, and tie up all the unfinished business that lurked in the Tower, but he wasn’t ready.

  “Now, now, Ubasa. What have you been up to?”

  The voice dashed cold water on what was left of her hopes. She turned to look back into her apartment. There he sat, on the overstuffed chair that Adam had occupied just minutes earlier.

  “I haven’t broken our deal, Frank. Get out of my house.” She spat.

  Francis De La Poer steepled his fingers, gloating.

  “I know you didn’t. But you were tempted, weren’t you? I might even go so far as to say that you tried.” Ubasa shook her head aggressively, sending her voluminous hair bouncing under her bandana.

  “Says you. But I didn’t do a damned thing. Now get the fuck out of here.”

  Francis smiled. It was the smile of a predator more than it was the expression of a man, and felt out of place and disturbing in such a cozy room. It seemed to leech the warmth from the air. Ubasa felt her home becoming more of a cage.

  “Try it again and it will be the last time you interfere with me. Don’t test me, woman.” His teeth were a cold white, looked ready to rip skin from bone.

  Ubasa inhaled steadily.

  “Last time I’m going to tell you, demon. Get the fuck out.” She pointed toward the door to emphasize her point, but the hand trembled.

  Francis stood from the chair with a grace that didn’t seem altogether natural. He wound around Ubasa, circling her like a coiled serpent. His hand stretched out in a terrible claw that sent shivers up Ubasa’s spine. He leaned in, dwarfing Ubasa with shadow. She saw the wicked fires dancing behind his eyes and was mesmerized; her heart shuddered wildly and dangerously offbeat. Francis’ tongue flicked across his teeth, savoring her discomfort. It seemed to Ubasa that she could see him grow as he gorged on it. He held his pose, pausing as one might to hold the taste of a fine wine in his mouth.

  “Need I remind you that this is my Tower? No one tells me to leave.” The fingers on the hand seemed to twitch in eager anticipation, and Ubasa struggled not to shut her eyes against the horror.

  “It also seems I must remind you; there are fates far worse for us than death. If you step close to that line again, you’ll meet them firsthand.”

  Ubasa closed her eyes, mouthing a silent prayer.

  Chapter Ten

  Adam strode confidently out of the elevator on the ground floor of the Tower. It was past time for an evening meal, and maybe a drink or two to celebrate the new development in the case. He had retrieved the parcel from his room and it now rested comfortably under his arm, reminding him o
f its presence with each step. Adam was feeling optimistic about the case for the first time since he had come to the Tower. The police hadn’t had much to go on before now, but now it seemed it was only a matter of time before they should be able to wrap everything up.

  Adam was relieved more than anything. He had come to the Tower without a plan, and had thought his efforts would be doomed to failure. He had less talent as an investigator than he had as a businessman. Without Susan there to bail him out, he had doubted he could do much of anything. But now there was finally some hope.

  The bar was nearly empty, the offices having emptied out for the day. It seemed that the residents were finding their comfort elsewhere for the time being.

  At the bar sat the woman he had seen the previous day, alone. She seldom moved, except to occasionally cast aside her mane of frizzy red hair to glance around the Tower’s bar. Acting on impulse, Adam took the stool beside her, tapping his finger on the bar. Their eyes met, and Adam nodded to her awkwardly. The bartender was nowhere in sight, and there was no bell that he could see. He grew jittery, as the tension began to get to him.

  The stools at the bar were a bit like urinals, he thought. When there was nothing but empty space it was something of an invasion to take a stool next to another patron. Of course, he had also expected the bartender to come scurrying up to fill the silence.

  “Is there a bell?” He finally asked, if only to pierce the empty air.

  The woman looked startled. Her eyes darted around and she waved a hand at nothing in particular. Adam’s eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of a small puncture wound on the inside of her elbow, which was a greedy, inflamed red.

  “He’s ‘round her somewhere,” she slurred. She produced a crumpled cigarette and a lighter after digging around for a moment in her clutch. Her foggy eyes gazed up at Adam.

  “Cig’rette?” She asked, holding another crumpled white cylinder out to him.