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Post by wolf on Oct 22, 2024 13:49:41 GMT
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Post by wolf on Oct 22, 2024 14:05:04 GMT
Chapter 1
By
edwardjohn
🎃
Captain Harold Brown
returned to his duplex on the west-side of Las Palomas, very glad it wasn’t the lovely suburb home he had shared with his wife, Rosalynn, for over fifteen years. He took a moment at the place’s front gate, taking in the fresh air, happy there would be no repeat of all the fights he had had with Rosalyn over the years. Being a cop is tough. But when you add marriage to that equation, things go nuclear.
After years of fighting, their divorce had been finalized.
Harold told himself he wasn’t happy his marriage ended.
But that wasn’t true. He was happy for Rosalyn; she was
a wonderful woman and she didn’t deserve the hell that comes with marrying a cop.
As he continued standing there, the words of his old sergeant, Walter, back when he was a beat cop, returned to him, ‘You want a happy marriage, work for the IRS. Want your marriage to go to crap? You become a cop.’ Harold thought those words a funny joke at first, but now, he understood them.
As he continued standing there, his neighbor, O’Neill came waltzing out of the other end of the building they shared. ‘Harry, that you, man?’ The high school basketball coach asked.
‘Sure is,’ Harold responded. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Well, I think our boys are going to win the State championship this year!’
‘Didn’t you say that last year …? And they didn’t even make it to the play-off …’
‘Yeah, well … this year we’ve got this new kid called Powell. Just transferred to us last week … I think he can take us all the way.’
‘I hope so. I really hope so. You get to the play-offs, and I guarantee you I’ll be in the stands.’
After a rapid nod, O’Neill asked Brown the following: ‘You catch any bad guys today?’
‘Well, I’m working on this guy in city hall … He’s the biggest crook of all.’
After laughing for a brief moment, O’Neill suddenly went serious again, ‘So, did you …?’
‘What is it?’
‘Ah … it’s okay.’ Then, O’Neill turned and rapidly set off, soon returning to his front door.
‘O’Neill, wait!’ Brown said.
O’Neill turned, just about to head into his place and lock the door, ‘it’s okay, Harry, really …’
‘What is it?’
‘Well,’ O’Neill said, moving several steps away from his door, going back in the direction of Brown, ‘it’s just … last night …’
‘What about last night?’
‘I don’t know what time it was … had to have been late … Regardless, last night … there was … singing.’
‘Singing?’
‘Yeah, it was … heck, I don’t even know. It was one of these song’s I swear I know … but then … Ah, what the heck, I’m talking crap.’
‘No, it's alright, O’Neill, go on.’
‘Well, at first I thought it was one of the neighbors, you know … So, I went to the window … but there weren’t any lights on in any of the nearby houses. I mean, I guess maybe whoever it was that was singing didn’t need lights to sing … but … it seemed like it was coming from up above … but I know that’s crap ‘cause we ain’t got an attic … but it … well … freaked me out … reminded me of the …’
‘Of Joan Adams?’
‘Yeah, Joan Adams …’
Harold Brown took a moment before he responded, thinking about the case which had made Las Palomas globally famous for a month. Joan Adams, the famed jazz singer, the most famous lady, no exceptions, to have ever called Las Palomas home, was murdered by an escaped mental asylum inmate by the name of James Harris. Brown had been a beat cop at the time, three decades ago; he didn’t have a lot to do with the case, of course, but still, he remembered everything about it. He remembered Harris’ trial, his claims that the Devil made him do it. He remembered the judge telling Harris he should be locked away … and that the key should be destroyed … And, of course, he remembered Joan’s brother, Henry, shooting the bastard when he arrived at the courthouse for his sentencing.
But before Harold could respond, O’Neill went on, ‘So, you know … remember all those folks who lived in the houses that Joan used to live in? They used to claim that she sang at night … that she haunted the different places … it reminded me of that.’
‘Joan Adams never called this place home, O’Neill,’ Harold said.
‘Yeah, I know,’ O’Neill said with a laugh. ‘It’s just … the singing last night reminded me of that, you know?’
‘I get it.’
‘But … yeah … it probably wasn’t anything … It was probably just some drunk passing by …’
‘Are you okay, O’Neill …? It seems like this has got you a bit freaked out …’
‘I’m okay, man, I’m okay …’ Then, he suddenly laughed before saying, ‘I’ve got Las Palomas’ top cop as a neighbor … What have I got to worry about?’
Moments after saying that, O’Neill rapidly returned to his home, soon locking the door after himself.
Harold took a moment before he did the same, remembering what Henry Adams said after he shot James Harris. ‘You murdered her, you son of a bitch!’ He said. ‘You murdered her!’ Of course, the cameras had gotten all of it, and it was in the news for a whole week before it was replaced by some story about a scout troop setting fire to a little old ladies’ lawn in Nebraska.
Realizing he had spent way too much time simply standing by his place’s gate, Brown very rapidly did as O’Neill had done and returned home, soon locking the door after himself.
After locking his pistol away in his safe, he was about to make himself dinner, but then his phone suddenly went.
‘Brown,’ he answered.
‘Harry, it’s me.’
‘Rosalyn …’ Brown responded, wondering if there was going to be an argument. Regardless, he was still very happy she had phoned.
‘How’s the new place?’
‘Yeah, not too bad. How’s the old place?’
‘Yeah, not bad … Jason’s staying for the weekend … He’s thinking about visiting you tomorrow. Would it be alright if I sent him your details?’
‘Rosalyn, he’s our son. Of course it's alright! When is he thinking of coming? Noon tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, about then. Should I tell him it's alright?’
‘More than alright …’
‘So, what’s new with you?’
‘Ah, not a lot … Although, something interesting did happen when I came home …’
‘What?’
Then, Brown proceeded to tell his wife what O’Neill had said.
‘Jeez,’ Rosalyn said in response, ‘Joan Adams … Now that was a story.’
‘Certainly was … Remember her brother shot the bastard?’
‘Yeah … WOW. That was major news …’
Brown was about to respond, but then something seemed to be running in his bathroom. ‘I’ll get back to you in a bit, Rosalyn,’ Brown said as put the phone on the counter, rapidly proceeding into the bathroom.
His bath was run. And it seemed like it had just been run. ‘What the hell?’ Brown said to no one in particular.
Dismissing that for a moment, thinking he must have run it yesterday, Brown returned to Rosalyn, telling her he would phone her back tomorrow.
With the call concluded, the LPPD captain proceeded to have some dinner. But not long after dinner, more strange stuff ensued in his bathroom. As he was passing his bathroom by, when he was putting the remnants of his dinner away, there seemed to be a weeping sound coming from the far wall of his bathroom, which was adjacent to the wall connected to the bathtub.
‘What the hell …’
But as he went to the wall, he rapidly realized that it wasn’t weeping. It was singing.
It was obviously a woman who was signing. But before the song was seemingly done, someone, a man, proceeded to say, ‘Oh God … Oh Lord … forgive me …’
It seemed like these voices were coming from the walls themselves, but Brown knew that was impossible.
Then, gunfire ensued. Three shots were fired through the wall.
‘I KNOW YOU’RE THERE! I KNOW YOU’RE THERE! I KNOW YOU’RE THERE!’ O’Neill roared through the wall.
Luckily, the gunshots had been a meter to the left of Brown. TheLPPD took several steps backwards after the gunfire had ensued, utterly in shock.
Then, O’Neill rapidly made his exit from his part of the building.
It wasn’t long before the cops arrived.
After a great while, one of Brown’s best detectives, Edmund Muskie, said the following to his superior, as numerous cops and techs walked through the place. ‘Don’t worry, boss. We’re going to get this guy …’
‘I don’t know what’s going on, Muskie …’
‘Tell me about your neighbor captain.’
Then, Brown told Muskie everything he knew about O’Neill, including what he had said earlier.
‘Guy seems like a real nutcase, captain.’ Muskie said.
‘But that’s the thing … I’m pretty sure there was someone singing in my bathroom, Muskie … and then there was a guy’s voice …’
‘Did you know these voices? Could they have been coming from O’Neil’s place?’
‘I don’t know, Muskie …’
‘It’s alright, captain, we’ll get this guy … then we’ll get our answers.’
Not long later, all the cops, except the sole car parked on the road leading up to Brown’s place, had gone.
For the first time in a long time, Brown was very scared.
🎃
(Soundtrack and footnotes in chapter spoilers)
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Post by wolf on Oct 23, 2024 14:50:43 GMT
Surviving the single life was a skill that Captain Harold Brown had never imagined having to relearn, especially at his age. Even though his marriage had been a rocky, tumultuous thing, it had been nice to have someone to come home to. It was nice to have someone else wandering around the house, so you knew you weren’t alone. A thousand tiny sounds accompanied human beings through their day, most so slight that they weren’t aware of them at the time. But those sounds were like canon fire to another person who listened for them and had trouble sleeping without them.
Now, all Brown had was silence. Brown didn’t like the silence. His veteran father had always told him that real silence was suspicious. In the woods, it meant a predator was nearby; on the streets and in war zones, it meant that an attack was coming. But what did it mean in your house? Brown had been attacked in his own home, so what did that leave? Not much. Brown tried to block the silence with his television and then his computer, but they felt like cheating. A home should have the sounds of a home, but this place did not.
Muskie and the other officers were long gone, likely out searching for O’Neil. For what it was worth, he hoped his neighbor gave up quietly and easily; deep in his heart of heart, Brown didn’t think those bullets that came through his wall were meant for him. But the high school basketball coach had meant them for someone, which meant the man was dangerous. Even if you are only shooting at the phantoms in your head, someone could get hurt. Someone had almost got hurt.
Brown had been shot at before; any cop worth his badge had dodged a few bullets in their time, but this felt different. For one thing, he wasn’t even on the clock, and secondly, it cost him time with his son. Until ONeil was found, he didn’t want Jason anywhere near this place. Most criminals never returned to the scene of the crime, but who knew what a crazy person might do? The standard procedure meant there were some undercover cops stashed nearby, but who knew if they could get here in time if something bad went down?
Not wanting to dwell on that, he decided to take a nice hot bath and then go to sleep. He’d removed his gun from his safe and had it nearby where he could get to it, something that was unnatural to him but was a necessary evil. He had no desire to shoot O’Neil, but he wasn’t going to let the man shoot him either. So, after checking for the third time that the front door was locked, he went to his bathroom, the scene of the crime.
The place was a mess. The normally fastidious Brown frowned at this. Dust and fragments of the tiles that had been knocked loose from the shots were all over the floor, and the marks the detectives made to determine the diameter of the shots were still on the wall. And, of course, the bullet holes were still there. They looked out of the wall like sightless eyes.
Brown had let out the water he’d discovered earlier and filled the tub again. A pleasant steam filled the room, fogging up the mirror above the sink. He started to undress but then paused as he looked at those bullet holes. They really did look like eyes. Stop thinking about that, he told himself. But the image remained and he found that he couldn’t take the bath he so desperately wanted. The last place you wanted eyes watching you was your own bathroom. And why? Because the bathroom was supposed to be a safe place.
As a cop, he knew better. A lot of crime happened in restrooms. Purses were stolen, pockets were picked, assaults and kidnappings happened, and drugs were sold. Even if you accepted that restrooms were public affairs and that a private bathroom wasn’t quite the same thing, it was a known fact that a lot of bad things happened in bathrooms as well. Murders, assaults, peeping Toms… the list could and did go on. The bottom line was that people were their most vulnerable in the bathroom. It was not a safe place.
With a sigh, he let the water out when he heard a noise. In the depths of the silence, this sound was almost deafening, even though on any other day, he would have never heard it. It sounded like singing. There were words, but he couldn’t make them out. What he could tell was that it was coming from the other side of the wall.
“O’Neil?” He asked, knowing how foolish that was. If his neighbor had come back, he might start shooting again. Then again, he was likely to do that anyway. If this could be resolved easily, when Brown was for it.
Ignoring the danger, Brown walked over to the closest bullet hole and tried looking through it. Theoretically, he should, if he looked through the hole at a certain angle, be able to see into the room on the other side. All he saw was some great fathomless darkness.
Suddenly, the singing stopped, and the same voice started saying I see…I see…I see…I see you…
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Post by wolf on Oct 24, 2024 14:08:53 GMT
Harold bounced back from that voice. This wasn‘t O’Neil‘s voice.This was the voice of something unpleaseant,it sounded like something trying to speak with a ragstuffed down its throat.He took a step forward, determined.„Maybe it was only my mind playing tricks on me,there‘s a lot on my plate lately.”He looked through the hole again, and again,there was nothing but darkness.But he could have sworn, there was someone chortling.He put his ear to the wall, for what seemed to be an hour,but there was nothing to hear.„I‘m loosing my goddam mind“ he thought,not without amusement, and sighed with relief.„WHAT A NOSY MAN YOU ARE“,a voice boomed through the wall,it almost deafened Harold.He recoiled and almost stumbled overthis old rug, he had sworn to replace, when he saw this ugly thing for the first time.At the same time the bathroom door was slammed shut.Harold started to panic.His heart was fluttering and his head started throbbing.He went for the door knob,but the dang thing didn‘t turn an iota.„What the f**k is going on here ?“,he muttered.Then he noticed a change in the wall.First he thought, his vision was blurred,but it wasn‘t his vision.The wall changed.It became kind of translucent,and it stretched, like a bubble made of bubble gum,and it made a sound, as if someone was rubbing a balloon.„But that‘s not all“, Harold recogniced, horrified.There was a shape like a human skull in this bubble,and it was getting closer to Harold.„This can‘t be real, i‘m having a meltdown“The skull chuckled.„Oh, you don‘t have a meltdown“„Who...what are you ?“„Oh you nosy man. I‘m a friend af the bitch that was here“„You can‘t be real“The skull in the bubble came even closer,so that it almost touched Harolds nose.And it smiled.„Not real, huh?"It exhaled, and Harold could smell,it‘s rotten breath.„I got a question for you, nosy man.Where‘s the bitch that was here. ?“„I..i don‘t know who you‘re talking about“The Skull thing cocked his head.The smile was gone.„Nosy AND a smartass.Well, let‘s see how smart you are when istart to peel your face off.Or maybe...Jason‘s face“That brought Harold back from his horrified state.„Keep his name out of your rotten mouth.And btw, your stuck in a wall, not likelyyou‘re going anywhere“The smile came back, brighter this time.„Oh, i‘m not housebound, you know.You‘ll find this out, soon enough.This is just my favorite spot....so manyprecious memories.“„So what exactly do you want from me ?“„Just tell me where the bitch is.I‘ve lost her scent, guess she‘s hiding somewhere“„Dunno where or who she is,and i don‘t care“„What a pity.Jason, he is so y.....“Something startled the Thing,and Harold could hear someonerattling the door knob.„Hey Buddy, you in there ?“„Muskie, that you ?“Harold asked, almost shocked, but alsorelieved by the voice of his friend and top detective.„No, i‘m Beyonce after her voice break.Of course it‘s me, open the goddam door.“Harold reached for the door knob,and this time it turned.He opened the door and there stoodhis old pal, ugly as always.„Gawd Harold you‘re sweating like a pig.Fought for your life on the john ?“Harold stepped forward and hugged Muskie.„Nah, don‘t you ruin my $50 suit with your sweat.Next time just try some prune juice.“That made Harold snort laughter and he regained his composure.„Why are you here, and...how did you get in ?“Muskie shrugged.„Door wasn‘t locked, and i have news for you.We found your neighbor, O’Neil.At least we think so.“„You‘re not sure ? Why,and where did you find him ?“„Well, we aren‘t sure, because the head is still missing.And we found him, or most of him, under the turnpike bridge.„So the body was mutilated ?Poor guy, he was a bit strange sometimes, but...“„Was he a Jets Fan ?Because the body we found was wearing Jets Socks“„I‘m not sure, but i think he was from New Jersey,so yeah, it‘s likely.„Okay, tell you what.Get yourself cleaned up, and i‘ll give youa ride to the place we found his torso“„Sounds good, give me 5 minutes“„I‘ll wait outside“After 5 minutes, Harold met him in front of the house.The air was fresh, and he took a deep breath.„Hey, looks like someone left you something on your mailbox.Expecting some amazon Deliveries ?“Harold shook his head.They walked to the mailbox.There was brown paper bag on top.„Okay, let‘s have a look“, Muskie said, taking the bag and opening it.He opened his mouth, closed it and looked straight at Harold.„Well, now i know. Yes, your neighbor was a Jets Fan.”Harold looked puzzled, and asked why he was so sure.Muskie gave the bag to Harold.He took a look inside, frowned,looked back to his partner„Because only Jets fans cover their heads with paper bags“
🎃
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Post by wolf on Oct 25, 2024 13:49:46 GMT
What Harold saw was a human head, which was previously attached to O’Neil.
“This looks like evidence,” Muskie said in the dark humor reserved for cops, and other
travelers.
Yeah bud, Muskie replied, looks like your neighbor pissed off the wrong people, and now maybe you did too.” “It could be you overheard maybe a robbery, or some other sh*t going down next door.”
Harold suddenly struck with terror rethinking the voice in the wall, ‘what did it say about peeling my face off, I thought, or Jasons???’
Muskie took the bag from Harold’s hand, “ok, this is now evidence, and I think we need to move you out, at least temporarily.” To this Harold said, “no way, whatever this is, I’m staying.” “Whatever?” don’t you mean whoever?” Muskie asked.
Harold was suddenly struck with a sickening feeling; “uh, yeah…that’s what I meant,” he replied.
Under the turnpike bridge Muskie and Harold were met by the forensics team, the news crews were just getting there and setting up. There were uniforms on the perimeter and a few canvassing the homeless in the area.
The body, or what was discernable at least was pretty mangled,
The back was ripped open, and the ribs and lungs were visible. To Harold, it reminded him of an old Viking execution technique that he heard about on TV.
The next morning, which was only four hours later, Harold was at the station. Muskie was gone but left a detailed report on his desk relating to the murder.
Harold got that sickening feeling again. He knew that O’Neill’s murder was important, but he thought that whatever, or whoever he had talked to last night was just as important, if not the key.
Harold wanted more details, so he went next door to the building department to see if he could dig up anything on the duplex. Other than the normal plans, and a few additional permits over the years, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
From there, he had the idea that if he talked to the rental office, they may have more details.
Upon arrival here he was greeted by Susan Dean, a rental agent and one time travel writer. “Harry,” she said, “it’s been months,” how are you?”
“I’ve been good, thanks.” “I’m doing a bit of research and was wondering if you have any old information about the duplex.”
“I’m good too, thanks for asking,” Susan said with a laugh. Harry looked briefly flustered by this exchange. “I’m sorry” he replied. “Did you see the news today about O’Neil?” “I’m working the case.”
A dour look came over her face. “Oh, he was one of ours”? She asked. “I didn’t know.”
“We have records that go back to all the rentals as late as 1972.” Everything has been moved to disk if that helps.” Anything before that, I think the property was a temple or church of some kind.”
With that, Harry smiled and thought to himself ‘of course it was, why the hell not.’ “That would be great Susan, thank you.”
Upon return to his car, he saw that he had three missed calls on his cell phone, two from Rosalyn, and one from Jason.
He called Rosalyn first. But got voicemail.
“Hey, sorry, I missed you, give me a call back.”
Then he tried Jason, who answered.
“Hi dad, no worries the apartment manager let me in,” Jason said.
“Who?” Harry asked inquisitively.
“We don’t have a….,” his voice trailed off and suddenly he was racing home.
“Ok, Jason, I’m glad your inside.” Harry said, now wanting Jason to stay on the phone with him until he got back to the duplex.
“Tell me about school, how is it going?” “Any girls in your life yet?” He asked.
With this, Jason laughed, “dad, they’re not girls, they are women.”
“Ah, is that the case now” Harry asked jokingly. “Ok, any women in your life?
With this the conversation went on until Harry was pulling up to the duplex, as he got closer he could see Edmunds car parked out front and Edmund standing next to it.
Harry popped out of his car a little flustered.
“Ed, somebody let Jason into the apartment, I think there may be someone here who is not supposed to be.” Neither had drawn a weapon, but they both thought about it.
Together, they walked through the gate being vigilant to look for anything, or anyone that should not be there.
Quickly they checked O’Neil’s door, and it was still locked with Police tape exclaiming “DO NOT ENTER.”
Finally, they got to Harry’s door, and he was relieved to see that Jason locked it.
Before going in, Harry told Muskie “Act normal.” Muskie’s reply was a comedic “I’ll try.”
Upon entry, they both noticed the water coming from under the bathroom door. Harold opened it! He saw Jason lying on the floor in the fetal position and the bathtub running.
At this point, Edmund thought that Jason had simply fallen and went to help him up. When he touched him, Jason let loose an unearthly scream that caused Edmund to jump back.
They both stared as slowly, Jason seemed to start coming around.
🎃
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Post by wolf on Oct 26, 2024 14:30:29 GMT
Captain Brown said, “Turn that tap off, will you, Ed?” When Muskie did, he said to Jason, “Son, are you all right?” No answer. “Jason, are you all right?”
Now there was a flutter of concern in his voice.
When Jason failed to respond a second time, Harold said to Muskie, “Let me handle it. For some reason, he seems afraid of you.”
“I’m for that,” Muskie said. “The kid’s scream scared the bejesus out of me. And you know I don’t scare easy.”
Finally reacting, Jason must have noticed genuine concern in his father’s face, because he smiled widely. Besides the smile, he also had his father’s broad shoulders, unlined forehead, straight nose, square jaw and a Kirk Douglas dimple in his chin.
“I—I think I’m okay,” Jason said. “Except for my, um, head.”
Harold noticed there was a bruise, there on his forehead, as well as obvious swelling.
‘Let’s move you over to the sofa in the living room. Then you can tell us what happened. By the way,” Harold said, motioning to Muskie. “That’s detective Edmund Muskie. He’ll make Chief of Police someday.”
Muskie smirked. “Soon, Harry. Real soon, not someday.”
Harold said, “Ed, let’s be careful. There’s water all over the place. No wonder the kid fell.”
True to their word, Harold and Muskie carefully moved Jason to the living room sofa. They remained standing while Jason sat.
Muskie said, “Jason, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“I don’t mind. Go ahead, ask.”
“You said the apartment manager let you in. Can you describe this man?”
Jason felt the bruise on his forehead. “A small man, dark hair, average build, Asian looking, wispy moustache. Didn’t say much, just, ‘I’m the apartment manager. Have a great day, sonny.’”
“And what were you doing in the bathroom?” Harold asked.
“I heard the water running and went to shut it off. Before I could do that, I heard singing, or thought I did. Then I saw something, or thought I did.”
The captain stared at his son, thinking: This gets weirder and weirder. “What did you see, Jason?”
Jason said, pausing, “It’s … hard to describe. It felt like something in a dream, or a nightmare. I saw the wall stretch and it made a sound. Then I saw this shape, like a human skull. And it laughed, chuckled really. That’s when I panicked, made for the door, stumbled and fell. I guess I must have hit my head on the floor and passed out.”
He paused, hesitated, He felt his forehead again and said, “Man, my head hurts like the devil. Think maybe I broke something?”
Muskie said, “Harry, I think you best take your boy to the hospital. Probably nothing, but that bruise on his forehead looks nasty.”
“Roger that, Ed. And while I do, you get back to headquarters and we’ll trade notes later.”
“Will do, Mein Kapitän,” Muskie said, saluting.
Harold watched him go out the door, then aided Jason to his feet. “Let’s get you to a hospital. We’re taking no chances.”
“And my car?” Jason asked.
“No problem. I’ll have it towed early in the morning and get it back to you.”
Once in the Emergency Ward, the doctor on call examined Jason—including X-rays—and found nothing of immediate concern. Nothing, at least, that a prescribed analgesic and a good night’s rest wouldn’t cure.
On the drive back, Captain Brown said, “You mentioned you heard singing. I’m curious. What exactly did you hear?”
Deep in thought, Jason drummed his fingers on his thigh. He breathed. “It wasn’t Bruce Springsteen, I can tell you that. It sounded eerie and haunting. Insistent. It was a woman’s voice. A very beautiful woman’s voice.”
“Could you make out what she was singing? If it wasn’t a rock song, what was it?”
“She kept repeating one verse. There were other words, but she kept repeating this one line. If I remember correctly, it said: ‘Why do fools fall in love again?’”
Harold suddenly slowed down the car.
“Is there something the matter?” Jason asked. “You look surprised.”
“I am. Mother of heaven, help us. I … know that song.”
“You do? How?”
“It was Joan Adams’ signature song. She scored big with that song, real big.”
“Who’s Joan Adams? I never heard of her.”
“You wouldn’t. She was a highly successful LA Jazz singer. On a par with Peggy Lee, mind you, years before you were born. I was a rookie cop when I first heard her. Let me tell you. That voice could mesmerize a crowd. All the cops I knew were in love with that song. Its title is, ‘Fools Fall in Love.’”
“Interesting.”
“That it is,” Harold agreed. “But there’s more to it than that.”
“I bet.”
“I’ll fill in all the details after we get home. Your mom’s going to have a fit when she sees that bruise on your forehead. Probably give me hell and say I was irresponsible with my own son.”
Jason said, “Dad, you and Mom haven’t had an argument in years. Don’t you think we’re overreacting here?”
“Well, police captains tend to do that,” Harold said, and they both laughed.
Captain Brown drove on. Like a good cop, there were things he had to “check out” --as well as avenues to explore.
🎃
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Post by wolf on Oct 27, 2024 12:41:06 GMT
As soon as they arrived at what was previously the Brown family home, both Jason and Harold headed straight to the kitchen.
“Coffee, Jason?” Harold asked.
“Sure, light and very sweet.”
With this, Rosalyn came into the kitchen, surprising both Harold and Jason.
“And what are you both doing here at this hour?” she asked, but before either could answer, she saw Jasons bruise. “Harry, what the hell happened!” she exclaimed.
“Oh, calm down mom, it was just me being clumsy,” Jason replied.
“Roz, take a seat and let me explain to you both what has been going on at the duplex.” Harold then finished making coffee for three and began. Halfway through, he realized this is starting to sound beyond crazy.
“Jason, you said the man who let you into the apartment appeared to be Asian, and a small build, does that sound right?” Harry asked, going back into cop mode.
“Yeah, that’s right, with that stupid little moustache.” Dad, is there anything I can do to help?” Jason asked.
“Well actually yes,” Harry replied, thinking to himself that Jason might be a good resource to look into the building’s past and its connection to Joan Adams, or her brother Henry.
“I have two disks in my car that I need somebody to go through to find a few names. The records go back about twenty years, so it may take a few hours.” Harry said, half hoping that Jason would decline and stay out of this…whatever THIS was.
Roslyn spoke up, “Harry, you really don’t think there’s a connection between this, a dead torch singer and her dead killer, do you?”
Harold just sipped his coffee trying to formulate an answer. “Well, I think there may be a connection at very least.” Again, Harry’s mind drifted, ‘You murdered her!’
The following morning, Captain Harold Brown was back on the job. On this morning, his first stop was to the communications center to see if he could get a list of all 911 calls to the duplex over the past years. Unfortunately, he found that there was a lag between the computer age and systems they used. He could for now, only get the info for the past year. Anything else would have to have been sent to the cities records department. This being a Saturday, Harry knew there was nobody there.
Also being a Saturday, Harry made use to the Police Departments records unencumbered by too many higher ups asking questions.
Upon arrival at the station, he saw that Sgt. James Barlow was the watch commander and seated in the information booth. From here he could monitor all the radio traffic. He could also determine if he was needed in the field with any of the twelve officers currently on patrol.
When Harry was at the booth, he saw a grey-haired gentleman seated next to the Sergeant. Harry recognized him immediately as James’s father. A longtime retired detective (James Barlow Sr.) from what Jason would call “the old days.”
“Jim, it’s been a decade or two, how have you been?” Harry asked.
“Not bad, just up here for a few days visiting the boy and the grandkids.” “How are you? Working anything interesting?”
Harry, fighting the temptation to spill the beans, measured his thoughts, trying to figure what to say without either of these two measuring him for a strait jacket.
“Actually, I’m helping a friend with a property dispute.” Do you remember that old church that they converted to as duplex on the west side?” “Late 1960’s or early ‘70’s?” Harry asked cautiously.
“Yeah, of course,” The older James replied. “That was no church though, it was a cult.”
Harry, now very curious, “A cult, are you sure about that?”
James Sr, appeared to be thinking; “Yeah, into real spooky stuff, I remember the stories.” There was never anything we could catch them doing, but there were a fair number of rumors.” There were a few disappearances back then, all that had ties to the place,” James said.
“Any idea where they are now? Was there a leader of some kind?”
James again thinking; “The leader supposedly went back to India in 1971, the odd thing was he left right after that big trial down in La, you know, the Manson group.”
Harry now thought about it, Jason said the man who let him into the apartment was Asian.
With that, Harry exchanged phone numbers with James senior. He left without checking the records, feeling that he just hit the jackpot as far as information goes.
Upon Harry’s return to the duplex, he was debating about the hole in the wall, Jason saw it. He didn’t go in-depth as to what he saw, but he didn’t have too, because Harry had seen it too.
Once in his apartment, Harry was grateful to hear neither running water, nor singing. Harry thought, ‘ok, time to try and get some sleep.’
As Harry dozed off, he briefly thought about the “cult”, what was it, and what did they do, he thought.
Somewhere in the mists of his dream he found himself as a spectator at what looked like a church service. The heavy smell of incense filled the air, and he could see people, but only as shadows. Suddenly as if from out of the dark, he felt a hand on his shoulder. 🎃
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Post by wolf on Oct 28, 2024 11:59:06 GMT
Sunday’s dawn washed over Nightshades Ave. in L.A.’s Las Palomas with red-oranges, ending Harry’s fitful night.
Awakened during dreams, he’d felt strange physical sensations with frightful visions and emotions. His A.M. mood?
An ‘after nightmares funk’.
Half asleep he entered the bathroom, immediately stepping in cold goo. He jumped, jerking his foot up.
“What the hell…!?”
He exclaimed, looking down.
“Toothpaste?”
Pale blue mud made ‘kisses’ on the mirror. The tube lay on the edge of the sink, in a squished, mangled clump.
It wasn’t like that last night.
Pissing and cleaning up done, he went to the kitchen and made coffee, feeling exhausted and disturbed.
There was much to reason out and put into some semblance of order.
Ed, he’d set onto Barlow Sr. Jason was looking into anyone connected to the old cult still living in the area, possibly linked to Coach O’Neil.
He would investigate their ‘Mysterious Asian Man’.
He wasn’t the duplex’s ‘apartment manager’, as he said. Susan Dean’s business was the management company.
He needed to check on his son. He had kept his cop cool, mostly for Jason. But his heart had thumped in his throat.
He thought back. The vile thing stretching through the wall, how it had enraged him, threatening his child. His head burned, his stomach turned. Protective father’s rage resurged.
Harry’d been going back and forth to whether those things really happened or if he’d dreamt them. The anger he now felt, had him again sure it was all real.
He decided he should wait before he called Rosalyn. His mood was not good at the moment.
He rang Susan Dean.
***
“You’ve met Mr. Yaoguai?
He’s doing repairs and maintenance on your duplex.
Damage from the shooting,
and other things,
such as the plumbing.
Hopefully he’ll be able to get a new cover for the one missing on the
overflow/clean-out
drain in your tub.”
Susan said.
Turned out she interviewed him by phone. He had given her his references, one was a colleague she’d worked with. Via phone he’d given a glowing report about the Chinese maintenance-man.
Susan hired Quan Yao Yaoguai when he called back at 1:00 p.m. Friday.
Another employee dropped off keys, fitting all the duplex locks, in O’Neil’s mailbox.
Yaoguai was residing in that side, while doing repairs.
Jason got to his dad’s at 4:00 p.m. Friday.
***
Harry’s calls, note taking, and checking in with Muskie amounted to a steaming pile of exhausted spuddling. His thinking was foggy, disjointed.
Dusk was time for a hot bath, he hadn’t even showered yet.
In warmth, Harry lazily watched the water lap over the edge of the overflow drain. Soft, wet, sporadic ploppings lulled him into sleep. He dreamt of Jazzy Joan crooning. Suddenly his dream changed! He saw a dark shadow coming. A sick moist stroking at his leg jolted him awake!
His feet were propped up on the end of the tub. A long pink tongue lolled from the clean-out, licking his ankle!
“BITCH!!!
You can’t hide here,
with HIM!!!”
The ‘wall thing’ was back!
From the drain,
“URRRRRHHH!!!
Quan!!!
Stop following me,
YOU JEALOUS PITA!!!”
Harry gaped at the hole, a dead looking filmy eye peered out!
“You can’t hide from ME,
You’re my woman!!!”
“And YOU
can’t get ME,
in these cast-‘IRON’ pipes! Hah-HAH!!!”
She laughed wickedly.
Through his stunned fugue, Harry had a detective’s realization!
It WAS Joan Allen!
And there was not one, but definitely two ghastly beings here!
Joan HAD been haunting her former homes, but she was here now, in an attempt to evade this creature!
That inconsistency in her history had been bugging the crap out of him.
He looked from the skull to the eye. In the eye’s place was now dark red lipstick on flesh blackened-purple, like it was all bruise.
Cackling became bemoaning, feigning fearful sadness,
“Look what happens to a girl!
One gig,
one night,
one Chinatown nightclub,
and I’m stuck!
A dumbazz horn-dog hounding me
for eternity!”
The wall thing seethed, with a quieter mournful sound. Breathing heaved and claws push-pulled at liquid fabric.
Long lashes of the milky eye batted, and she put on her best pouty coquette for Harry, purring soothingly
“I like YOU,
pretty boy.
Hey,
You’re a copper.
Help Joanie out?
Get rid of this freaky
stalker for me?
Pleeaaaaaassse,
Daddy-o?”
Purring became malicious tittering, infuriating Joanie’s lover. Plaster stretched, the jaw dropping into a gaped maw emitting a raging yowl!
“Unworthy!
Siren!
SLATTERN!!!
WHY do I have to love you so, my Joanie Lian!!?!?”
It roared, outlines of clawed fists pounded, elasticizing the wall further. Pinpoints of crackling reddish electricity started to form, then grow, in the hollows of eye-socket pits!
“oh sh*t…”
Harry rasped, time to get the hell out of there, electricity and water were NOT good bed-mates. He had nooooo intention of being dragged into Joanie’s nightmare ménage à trois.
Quan the Yaoguai railed at ghoul Joan, she screeched back! Red lightning filled the bathroom!
Harry jumped out of the water! He got past the wall-skull, into his bedroom.
Grabbing his pants and shirt, he booked outside nekkid as a Jay bird!
In his car he ravaged his pants pockets, finding his keys.
Ed pulled up in front of the duplex.
Harry backed out hollering at him,
“ ‘Two Jakes’, NOW!!!”
He peeled out heading for the neighborhood bar&grill.
Muskie on his tail.
🎃
In Chinese Lore…..Yaoguai : A supernatural being that has powers beyond the ordinary, such as shapeshifting, enchantment, and hypnosis. They are usually malevolent and tend to live in remote areas or on the fringes of civilization. Chinese names : Quan : which means "all" or "whole" Yao : means "shine" or "dazzle" Lian : means "lotus" or “waterlily”
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Post by wolf on Oct 29, 2024 14:07:09 GMT
“So, this is all one big domestic case,” Muskie mused over a drink.
Harry barely heard him. Visions of what he’d seen in his dreams and waking life were dancing before his eyes. Every time he looked into his drink, all he could see was that damned wall reflected back in his mind’s eye.
Around them, the usual background chatter of ‘Two Jakes’ surrounded them. It was a watering hole frequented by off-duty cops who needed something to calm their nerves. When they got there Harry told his friend about what had happened.
“I’m not gonna say I don’t believe you,” Muskie remarked. “I’ve known you too long, and this has been some weird nonsense lately. But…are you sure?”
“As sure as I am of my own name.”
Muskie nodded and finished his drink. “Then we need to deal with this. If this is a case of paranormal, it's only gonna get worse…and maybe we can mark it off as a possibility if it turns out to be something else.”
He is humoring me, Harry mentally sighed. “What else could it be?” He asked, picking up a pack of matches from the table and looking at it like it was the Ark of the Covenant.
“Beats me,” Muskie admitted honestly. “I’m out of my depth here. But there is something to consider…”
“And that is?”
“You know as well as I do that when someone really doesn’t want to be caught, they don’t tend to linger…”
Harry pondered that as he slowly finished his drink. They’d both seen a lot of domestic cases in their time. While most were simply brutal cases where one partner was violent or abusive to the other sometimes…sometimes it was almost like a sick game for the participants. Was Joan dancing from location to location in the hope of being chased? How long had this been going on? Why was it still going on?
“So, what do we do?” Harry asked. With a sigh, he put the matches in his pocket.
Muskie smiled. “We investigate.”
******
They returned to the duplex. Muskie asked to go in first, wanting to get a chance to encounter what was happening firsthand. Harry was uncomfortable with this but eventually gave in.
The younger cop went in with a strange smile on his face. “Ozzy? Harriet?” Muskie asked, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “Lucy, are you home? You gots sum ‘splainin’ to do!”
The only answer he received was the sound of water dripping.
“I’m not impressed,” Muskie said out loud. “Well, I take that back; I bet the water bill will be impressive, but…
There was a strange sound, almost like a choking gurgle and a thump. Harry ran in and found Muskie on the ground, gasping for air. Harry drug him out and checked him. It was as if the man had almost drowned.
“Enough,” he said and then took a gasoline can out of his trunk. He left Muskie outside, hoping that the fresh air would help him. It was time to end this now.
“Is that you, honey?”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Harry remarked tonelessly. “Just go about your business like I’m not here.”
He started to pour the gasoline on the floor, making lines from the bathroom to the rest of the apartment. He’d never noticed until how the basic structure of the dwelling seemed to branch out from the lavatory. No doubt, Oneil’s apartment would be the same in reverse. It was as if everything was focused on that one wall…
“Your copper friend needs some manners,” Joanie remarked. “That was no way to talk to a lady…”
“As if you were ever a lady,” Quan snarled. For a moment, their struggle behind the wall surged again, causing the physical dimensions of the tile to bubble out and seethe. Harry watched this with a detached look of apathy. If anything was registering behind his eyes, it could not be seen on his face. Like Lot’s wife, he simply couldn’t look away.
That didn’t mean, however, that his hands couldn’t do what they wanted. He unscrewed the cap off of the gasoline can and let it fall soundlessly to the floor. The entities before him flickered nervously, uncertain of this turn of events. By this point, their cat-and-mouse game had been played out over decades and cost countless lives … but it was a game that had a certain rhythm. They knew what to expect from their pawns…but this was new.
“You wouldn’t be trying something clever, would you, sweetie?” Joanie inquired, her ghoulish voice trying to slur a mockery of a southern accent.
“Me?” Harry asked, smiling. “I’m just a dumb cop, nothing clever here.”
“You dare not do this,” Quan declared, deciding that subtly was for others. “Who are you to interfere with our game?”
“You brought me into this,” Harry noted as he finished pouring out the gasoline. “You brought my son, my friend, and my neighbor into your little game. But hey, why so glum, chum? It’s the bonus round, and you two are the big winners. It’s time to collect your gift.”
He tossed the empty gasoline container aside with a distracted air as he reached into his pocket and took out the pack of matches he’d gathered earlier. With a casual flick of his fingers, he lit one and then used it to light the others….
🎃
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Post by wolf on Oct 30, 2024 8:07:36 GMT
Harry wanted to end this—this mad game he had unwittingly become a part of. Fire. Fire would end this madness. Fire would consume Joanie and her stalker-friend, ending the madness forever.
With the lighted matches in his hand, he lit a line of gasoline that would snake outward until it ignited the entire duplex. Or so he had planned … until the strangest thing happened. The line of gasoline he had lit went out with an audibleswoosh before it could progress further.
Uncanny, he thought. But, how? There was no wind, so how could the flames go out?
As if in answer, he heard Joanie’s voice, lulling this time.
“You can’t end it that way, buttercup. You must be more, shall we say--creative.”
“W-what?” Harry muttered. “I don’t understand. Explain yourself.”
“Sugar pie, my stalker-friend won’t like what I’m about to tell you. But I admit I’ve gotten tired of the game. As my signature song says, fools fall in love again. But I’m no fool.”
“What can I do? If not fire, then … what?”
“Do you remember a man named Eliot Marantz?”
My, God! Harry thought. Of course, he did.
“Go to him. Explain our little predicament here. Be convincing. And he’ll give you all the dope you’ll need to know. Bye, sugar plum.”
Harry gathered Detective Muskie, flustered but no worse for wear. And they both left.
Elliot Marantz, Captain Harry Brown knew, was someone special. He had been an LA homicide detective, and the only investigator of the murder of Joan Adams still alive. Retired now, he lived in an LA hospice catering to the higher middle class.
They met in Marantz’s room, a spacious living area with a private bath, a comfortable bed, a modern sofa, table and chairs.
When he and Marantz sat on the sofa, Harry said, “Thanks for agreeing to see me. And this is a nice place you got here.”
“It was my idea,” Marantz said. Though elderly and thin underneath his evening robe, pajama pants and slippers, he continued to conserve the movie star good looks of his youth: full head of gray hair, intense blue eyes, straight nose and a noble chin. “My daughter wanted me to move in with her and her family after I retired. But I said no.”
“Why’s that?”
“She had a full plate on her hands. A husband and four children. One of which, Marlon, is a rebellious teenager more interested in girls, or should I say, women, than acting as nursemaid to a doting grandfather.”
“I see what you mean.”
“But enough about me. What would make Captain Harold Brown of the LA Police Department want to see me?”
Harry breathed, relaxed. “Well, for one thing, you were an exemplary LA investigative detective with an enviable service record. And for another, you’re the only surviving detective to have worked the Joan Adams murder case.”
“I see,” Marantz said, nodding his head. “You know, out of all the cases I investigated in my thirty years, Joan Adams is the one that stands out.”
“Any reason in particular?”
“Of course, there are many reasons. She was an amazing jazz singer with the potential to become one of the greats. She was secretive about her love affairs. She was murdered by a psychopath who purported to be her number one fan. And she was, as they say, into cult religion.”
“Now, that’s intriguing,” Harry said. “And it’s the main reason I came to see you.”
“You’re interested in cult religion too, I suspect.”
Harry paused, thinking how he could get the information he needed and broach a delicate subject without having Eliot Marantz think he had invited a psycho to his room.
“Mr. Marantz, what I am about to tell you is strictly confidential, and I am being as frank with you as I can. I know it will sound a little nuts, but I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
Marantz leaned toward Harry, smiled and said, “Don’t tell me you had a psychic experience when you became involved with the Joan Adams case?”
Surprised, Harry said, “How did you guess?”
“It happened to some of us who investigated her murder, but never to me personally. I believe I’m too much of a skeptic. Your experience, I suspect, hasn't been very rewarding. Am I right?”
“Right as rain.”
“Relate your experience to me, and if I can be of service, I will.”
Harry did. From start to finish to the last detail. Including his failed attempt at arson.
“The fire extinguished by itself?” Marantz asked.
“Yes. Somehow or other it just went out. Joanie, or at least her voice, said you would know how to get rid of the spirits, if that’s the right terminology.”
“An exorcism, but not one as performed by a Roman Catholic priest.”
“How is that? Is there another kind.”
“Yes. There a several. The one you’re looking for is found in Taoism and is performed by a Fashi, which is a Chinese ritual specialist.”
“I’m flabbergasted," Harry said. " Please, tell me more….
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Post by wolf on Oct 31, 2024 15:00:03 GMT
Chapter 10
By
Tanith
🎃
“I must say, this is a first. I’ve never prepped for an exorcism in a bakery before.”This bemused remark came as the fashi—a smiling, ponytailed Chinese gentleman of indeterminate age—laid out the implements of his calling. He had arrived forty minutes after Marantz called from his room and arranged to meet him here at the Dixie Do Bakery. The bakery was closed for the day, but Marantz arranged for it to be opened for a special “police matter”. The owner was his niece.“We appreciate your coming on such short notice. I realize this is a strange request, Mr…” Harry trailed off, realizing he hadn’t learned the fashi’s name or whether he was supposed to be addressed by some title. The fashi, however, saved him the embarrassment.“Just call me Benny. And I am happy to return the favor to Mr. Marantz, who saved my family from death many years ago. This is not such a strange request, you understand. This is what I do.”He swept his hand over his prepared equipment to indicate “this”. A display of gift cards and a tray of fried apple pies had been set aside to make room for a number of quill pens, an empty flask made of some light-colored leather, and—somewhat ominiously—a box of wooden kitchen matches. All of these had been in the small tool bag he’d brought. Carefully packing the bag to his satisfaction, the fashi offered them a friendly smile.“Now, then, if you gentlemen are ready, we can send these unhappy spirits back where they belong.”“And how are we going to do that?” asked Muskie.Benny’s smile widened. “Why, with fire and water, of course.”###Harry had always thought one of the worst cliches in films was when the climatic scene opened with a character saying “I’m not sure about this…”Turning to Benny in the shadows of his own front yard, he whispered, “I’m not sure about this.” Inside Muskie, at Benny’s request, was filling the little leather flask with water from the kitchen tap.“I understand,” replied the fashi warmly. “It had to be Muskie who collected the water, because the spirits will sense both your presence and mine. And the water must come from your home, since this is where the infestation is occurring…ah, here comes your friend!”Muskie rejoined them quietly. “Now, then, do we go in together?”“Yes,” replied Benny. “Mr. Brown, you said you had a cellar door in back?, that we can access from out here?”“Right this way.” Harry led them through the locked bulkhead door and about halfway down the creaky wooden stairs. “Benny, all the action seems to have been upstairs with this, in the bathroom. Not the basement.”“True. However, your water pipes enter the house from the basement…so this is how the spirits invaded, as well. Now, once we begin, things will happen very fast, so let us be clear on what to do. I will assemble a simple trap for our spirits. When I give the signal you, Harry, will summon the spirits with the water.” He handed Harry the leather flask. “From what you tell me Joan is ready to move on, so she should be easy to work with. Quan will be much more difficult. He is an entity who has spend far too long in this world, soaking up its fury as well as its beauty. He will recognize me for what I am and likely attack, but you must not interfere. You have no power to fight him, and there is no need for that in any event. All we have to do is get him into the trap. Now, remain here on the stairs until I call. Please be silent.” And without another word, the fashi spring to the floor, quickly scooped up his pens and inks, and began drawing a complex pattern on the basement’s floor.Watching him work, Harry was mesmerized. In just a few minutes a circular pattern was created, with ideograms decorating its edges and a clear division in its middle with more symbols that looked like no written language Harry had ever seen. As Benny had said, things began to happen fast. He clapped his hands together, startling Harry and Muskie out of their trance. The fashi reached into his bag once more, drawing forth his matches and a handful of some sort of powdery dried leaves which he carefully placed on one side of the divided center of the diagram. Then, moving like a cat, he bounded to the wall of the basement and whirled, a match in hand. “NOW!”Both cops jumped as if they’d been goosed and Harry nearly fell down the remaining steps in his haste to reach the floor. Clutching the leather flask he asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?”“Pour it out…there, by the water heater pipe. Quickly!”The flask had been corked with a strange spongy object that came apart in Harry’s shaking fingers. The second Harry poured the water out it disappeared. Harry stared, but his attention was then caught by the washing machine.Like the water heater, it had come with the house. And like the water heater, it was ancient. It went out of balance easily and sounded like was trying to take off during its spin cycle. Now both it and the water heater rattled madly.“Harry! Get out of there!” shouted Muskie. He shone his flashlight on the stairs and Harry, startled out of his trance, began to make for them. Several things happened at once. A loud ping signaled some vital piece of the water heater shooting across the basement, unable to contain whatever was coming. The elderly washer tipped up, then crashed back down. Muskie’s flashlight went dark just as Harry reached the staircase. And a voice like syrup and whiskey filled the air: “Why, boys, you shouldn’t have…”The air was also like syrup…thick and utterly dark. However, Benny struck his match and stepped into the diagram with unhurried dignity. “Hello, Joan.”“I really hope you know what you’re doing, son,” said the voice of Joan. “He’s clearly not amused.”On the contrary, I am QUITE amused, said a voice like the freight-train roar of a tornado. It’s ALWAYS amusing to see mortals playing at mastering the invisible world, like children who play at dress-up. But you can never dress up enough to approach the gates of the spirit world, fashi.“On the contrary,” Benny was saying. “I am a priest of the Celestial Fox Spirit. For me, the gates will open to liberate the soul of Miss Joan and send you to your judgment.”Fool! You cannot judge me! There was another crack from the wall as Quan entered the circle…and disturbed the air around Benny’s match. A lone spark spun down and ignited the dried plants at it center.“No, but I can banish you, demon.”Benny unconcernedly shook out his match, for a small fragrant fire was now burning at its center. Before him raged Quan, in his bestial true form. The malevolence of the burning eyes haunted both him and Muskie for weeks.Then Quan simply…went out, like Benny’s match. Save for the tortured machinery, all was still.“What’d you do there, son?” asked Joan. In the uproar Harry had all but forgotten her. In the flashlight’s beam he thought he could make out a wavering female shape, just barely.“I sent him to the court of the Jade Emperor to be judged,” replied the fashi. Turning to the wavering figure of Joan, he addressed her courteously. “Be free, Joan. Go in peace, with the blessing of the Nine-Tailed Fox Spirit.”The the wispy form of Joan smiled at them before flickering out of existence. Harry flipped the light switch to reveal a basement that was slowly flooding from the several broken pipes.Benny had already packed his bag up, and was standing before them with his calm smile. “You’re going to want to turn your water off…I’m afraid there will be some extensive repairs needed here.”“You should let me pay you,” he told the fashi as they shook hands. “That was a lot of trouble for you…”“It is no trouble, Harry. This is what I do…this is what I am here for.”“And you’re great! I have one question, though,” said Harry. “Oh? What’s that?”“What’d you cork that flask with? It wasn’t like any cork I’d seen. It fell apart when I took it out and it felt…well, weird.”Benny’s grin widened. “It wasn’t a cork at all. It was a mummified fox penis. They have a lot of great applications. I can give you a list of their uses…”He trailed off, still smiling, as Harry sprinted up the basement stairs two at a time to wash his hands before turning the water off.🎃
(Epilogue and more coming later today) |
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Post by wolf on Oct 31, 2024 16:27:11 GMT
Epilogue
By
wolf
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Quan the Yaoguai’s powers of controlling, and altering mortals perceptions and thinking, were as formidable as his ability of changing his bodily forms. Captain Brown and Det. Muskie had been ineptly functioning in a ‘half awake’ mental state throughout their ordeals.(Especially Harry, being Joanie’s closest target.)Eventually Ed’s interview with James Barlow Sr. was remembered. And Barlow was no longer forgotten as being another retired detective, that had worked on the Adams case, all those years ago.But Barlow had investigated places, people and circumstances, that were very different from the who’s, what’s and where’s that detective Marantz had been a party to investigating.The story Harry had gotten from Eliot Marantz overshadowed Barlow’s account considerably. So that was actively pursued….for it pleased the game that Quan Yao and Joan Adams insisted on playing over and over and over again, and again….The back history of the falsely based Hindu cult, that occupied what would later become the duplex, was still much of a mystery. And they couldn’t easily connect any of it’s former members to Coach O’Neil’s horrid slaying.In secret they assumed that Quan, with or without Joan, had been responsible for the coach’s murder.But we all know what happens when assumptions rear their often ugly and haughty heads.The case of poor Coach O’Neil would remain open. For a very long spanse of time. And eventually, unfortunately, it became a cold case.What no one knew, and no one was left to tell, is there was one cult member who had been there and wanted to occupy, at least part of the duplex, once again. And for extremely nefarious reasons.That former cult member was the man who killed O’Neil. He had not expected to meet someone else vying for the same place.Quan.The Yaoguai watched the murder silently. When the man returned to squat on the property, Yao killed him. Not as flamboyantly and loudly, but faster and more efficiently. And he disposed of the body where it would never be found.After all that was out of the way, Quan took the place for himself. Knowing that sooner or later he would catch his Joanie Lian, visiting her new toy thing.Quan and Joanie had no real fear of the Fashi monk. It was all allowed to come about for ‘the exquisitely painful game’, they so loved and obsessively indulged in.Other than tormenting each other, the lovers reveled in tormenting other beings.When ‘the duplex phase’ was all over with, they simply got bored and moved on. To find new playgrounds and play-pretties.Very happily, Joanie and Quan went on with their fright, flight and fight love affair, within Los Palomas, Chinatown, and all L.A. points between the two. Wherever their tempestuous hearts led, they followed dancing. Often laughing or crying, clawing and biting. And sometimes making ferocious and mad love. Neither could ever completely determine what exactly thrilled them the most. The fierce dogged love and angry yearning, or the hatefully sweet wine of indifference. The furious deep devotions, or the intensely burning desires.The Duplex.Susan Dean and the detectives, retired and active duty, had no idea how deep its subterranean depths, beneath its pipes and walls, ran. No one had ever found the catacomb’s small entrance concealed under the cellar. Not even ghoulish little Joanie. And she had explored extensively, to better tease, confuse and thwart her lover. Her true love. The Yaoguai, Quan.That last insane murdering member of the grievously warped Hindu faith based cult? That man had been on a twisted quest.He had hoped to return and start something anew from the old and abandoned. He was the last of those who knew exactly what was hidden in the duplex’s lowest depths.Down in that cavernous darkness an old, strange and exotic altar sat abandoned. Behind it a majestic stone throne. The legs of the great chair were graven images of titan Indian elephants.The rakshasa chuckled throatily on the throne. Twin tongues licking both upper and lower lips simultaneously. It plotted a ‘resurfacing’.But it was in no hurry.It had been listening with keen eyes in the surface’s mirrors, and seeing things with ears, large and sharp. Mind fracturing lunacy was its physical appearance. A monstrous hairy thing that had eyes where ears should be, and ears in places meant for eyes.The rakshasa was greatly entertained.The Game Masters of the lover’s sick little passion play, and their pawns, had lifted its ancient bored heart and malevolent spirits.But only to a certain point.The demon thing smiled to itself in the darkness.“My turn.….amateurs.” it whispered, with a malicious glee, in Hindi.
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“In Hindu mythology, rakshasas are demon spirits and sorcerers that are known for their malevolent nature and shapeshifting abilities.”
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Post by wolf on Oct 31, 2024 16:37:34 GMT
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