Ghost Program (13 page)

   “Nice of you,” I said.

   “It’s no problem.  Must be my fate, anyway.  I spent my whole childhood rescuing dying women with mother, a side effect of living in the O’Toole house, I guess.  Just comes with the neighborhood.”

   We walked through more automatic doors into a shiny modern facility filled with cops who bustled around between metal desks and filing cabinets.  Veronica handled the desk clerk, simply stating to him that I wanted to report a crime and that it was serious, and I was led to a small room to wait for the next available detective.

   Several minutes later, a wiry, bald man came into the room carrying a cup of coffee.

   “You want to report a crime?” he asked.

   “My name is Sam Linder,” I replied.

   “You’re that missing girl,” he interrupted.  “The girl from the car wreck.  I remember because your mother called about an hour ago.  She said something very strange had happened to you.”

   “I think you should get something to take some notes,” I warned him.  “This may take awhile.”

   “Of course.”  He pulled a yellow pad out of a desk drawer.  “Let’s start with the highway accident.”

   “That was no accident,” I said, glancing over at Veronica where she sat in the corner.  She smiled.

   “There was no accident,” repeated the detective.

   “I was run off the road by my community college teacher, Mr. Breame, and this creep named Whittington.”

   “Do these fellows have first names?” asked the cop, his voice echoing in the small room.

   “Breame’s first name is Andrew.  And Whittington’s a cultural anthropology professor at a university.  Don’t know his first name.  Maybe I knew once, but I forgot.”

   “That’s okay,” he said.  “Probably isn’t necessary.  But why would these two intentionally run you off the road?”

   “Because they wanted to kidnap me.  They put me on a yacht in the harbor.  It’s still out there if you’d like to take a look.”

   “And why would they wish to kidnap you?”

    I wasn’t going to tell him about Casper, but I figured I could make something up.

   “I guess they’re just a couple of perverts is all.”

   He raised his eyebrows at that but kept on writing so I guess he believed me.

   “I should restate that,” I said.

   “They weren’t perverts?” asked the detective.

   “They were some kind of Satanists.  I was their sacrifice.”

   “Weird,” he said.

   “I know.  But that’s what happened.”

   “Can you describe their appearance?”

   I described Mr. Breame’s dark hair and eyes and Whittington’s large frame.

   “Where are these men now?”

   “On the boat.”

   “So we should arrest them.”

   “No, they’re dead.”

   “Who killed them?  Satan?” The cop laughed.

   I described the Dark Lord’s beard, boots, and old-fashioned suit. 

   The detective gave me an odd look.  “Is he on the boat now, that man?”

   “I doubt it.”

   “And does he have a name?”

   “No.  I mean, I don’t know what it is.”

   “Any nickname?  What did they call him?  Do you have any recollection of that?”

   “I think they called him the Dark Lord,” I said.

   “Like that story they told us as kids,” he said, laughing.  “But that was just a ghost story.  Now there’s a real guy that goes by the same name.”

   “I guess so.”

   “How did he kill them?” 

   “He melted them.”

   “And how did he do that?”

   “I-I’m not sure, maybe some kind of chemical or something.  They were brutally murdered.”

   “So how did you end up here?”

   “I jumped ship and swam to shore.  Veronica here found me, and here I am.”

   “Ah.  This is a strange tale.  I need to know where to find that boat.”

   “Uh, I think about a quarter mile off the beach behind the old O’Toole mansion.”

   “And this is where we’ll find two bodies.”

   “Yes.  They’re not just random criminals.  They’ve killed lots of girls.  All the girls that have been found strangled...they’re the ones who did it.”

   “The Seaside Strangler,” said the cop.

   “Yes.”

   “We’re going to have to check out some of what you’ve told us and get back in touch with you.  If these guys really are responsible for those murders....”

   Veronica interjected.  “It’s late, and she’s in terrible shape.  Two men have beaten her badly, and she’s been in a wreck.  Sam has three broken bones.  If you’d let her get home and get some sleep, you could talk to her again in the morning.”

   “I suppose I could do that.  What is the address where you are staying?  I might come out there.”

   I gave him my home address, and Veronica said a few words to him before leaving, then she led me back to her car.

   “We might have been stuck there all night with that detective,” she said.  “It’s time to get you home.”  She unlocked the car doors, and I got into the passenger seat.

   “Veronica, does O’Toole come to you?  I mean, you live in his house,” I said.

   “I’ve seen him looking in the windows.  Mother said that he’s not able to come inside because he took his own life there.  It changes the energy there to block him out.  I think she could always hear his thoughts somehow, but I never could.  He frightens me badly.”

   “I guess I should get home and face the music.”

   “Your family’s going to have  a few questions.”

   “Yeah.”

   “If you want me to come in with you, maybe it would take some of the pressure off.”

   “That’s not necessary.”

   “What’s the address?”

   “651 Lark Ave,” I said.

   “Okay, we’d better get going before it gets any later.  Mark will wonder where I am as well, and I haven’t left any note at the house.  I’ll probably call him as soon as I let you off.”  She put my address into the GPS, then let off the emergency brake.

   Her car sped towards the misty highway leading to my house.

❃CHAPTER 13❃

 
W
e arrived home twenty minutes later, and Veronica walked with me to the front door.  Mom opened the door as soon as I rang the bell.  She wore silk pajamas and held a wine glass in her hand.  I wondered where my key was and then remembered the accident.  I had none of my things except the clothes on my back and my prescription.

   “Sam?” she asked.  “My god, what happened to you?  You’re all beat up, even your face.”

   “Car accident,” I said as I hobbled into the house.

   “But you look as though you were attacked.”

   “I was.  I told you.  I was kidnapped by my programming teacher.  Veronica brought me home.  That’s where I’ve been, with her.”

   “Well, how nice of her to drop you off.  Would she like a cup of coffee?”

   “Really,” said Veronica.  “I need to get home.  My husband will wonder where I am, but it is so nice to meet you.  We’ll talk when Sam is feeling better, but she’d really like some rest at this point.”

   “Okay,” said mom weirdly, her face scrunched up in a questioning expression, her eyes disturbed and worrying.

   I watched as Veronica walked back to her Cadillac and got inside, then backed down the driveway.  I noticed the bottom of the driveway still displayed that white, unmarked police car, and I wondered why. 

   I shut the door.

   “Well my gosh,” said mom.  “There’s no way you’re going to class tomorrow looking like that.  Bruises everywhere, all over your face!”  There was a desperate, unhappy look about her.

   “Don’t worry, mom.  I’ll call the instructors and tell them I’m sick.”

   “No, I’ll do that.”

   “Okay, can I go to bed now?”

   “What happened?  You told me such a strange story on the phone.”

   “I was kidnapped and put on a yacht.  My kidnappers are dead, and I’m just lucky, I guess.”

   “But you’re walking with crutches.”

   “That was the car accident.  I’ve been to the doctor and to the police.  There’s nothing to do until tomorrow.”  I really wanted to shower now, but I was still afraid of the bathroom.  I wondered why mom hadn’t found the blood in the bathtub.

   “There was something like blood in your bathtub.  And on the wall.”

  Damn!  I was hoping that the cleaning lady would come before she discovered it.

   “I know,” I said.  “I slipped and my head hit the tiles.  But now I really need to sleep.”

   “Do you need help up the stairs?  They’re awful steep.”

   “No.”  I slowly began to trudge towards the staircase.

   “See you in the morning, then.”

   “Yeah.”  I took each stair slowly, taking my time to limp up it, then taking a brief rest until the next one.

   Before I got to the top stair, dad was calling to me.

   “Hey, Samantha.”  And there he was below me at the bottom of the stairs, pudgy, pale, bearded, and wearing a dress blouse and slacks.  If he’d had a red suit, he might have made a decent Santa Claus.  “You made it back.  But what happened?”

   “Please dad, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”  At this point, I was really feeling the effects of the last few days and the medicine that I had swallowed, so I began to cry and at the sight of fresh tears, he decided to leave me alone.

   “Well, alright.  But stay home for a few days.  You don’t look so good.  My god, there’s a cast on your leg.”

   “I know.  I
will
.  But please quit with the questions.”

   “See you in the morning.” 

   I heard him call to mom in a deep voice:  “Get another bottle of wine, dear.  I plan on getting sauced!”

   I heard mom laugh.

   Both of them a couple of drunks.

   I was relieved by the time I got to my room.  As I opened the door, a blast of cool wind blew towards me, and I turned up the thermostat, hoping that it wouldn’t be too long before hot air pushed through the vent.  The lacy curtains by the window billowed, and there was a silver tray on my bed upon which a glass of orange juice and some cheese and crackers had been arranged.  Gregg sat on the edge of the bed, a worried smile on his face.  I staggered towards him awkwardly on my crutches, studying his brown eyes, surprised to see him.

   “Well, here’s a face I know!” he said.  “But Sam, you have all the appearance of a trampled flower, and I have a growing conviction as I look at your bruised face that you’ve met with some bad luck.  Why look at what a struggle it is for you to walk!”

   “Yes, I’ve been ripped all to pieces.  My ankle is broken
and
my ribs.”  But how did Gregg know I was on my way home?  I was now even more convinced of our psychic connection to each other.

   “I must insist on knowing what happened?  Was it
Him
?”

   “It was my college teacher who did this.”

   “College!  I’ve never been myself.  Oh, I knew you were a smart girl.  Look here, I left some dinner for you.  You’d better eat some of it before it spills on the quilt.  But Sam!  Home was a cold and desolate place without you and what a depressing effect your absence had on my mind!”

   Had he just strolled into the kitchen and made me a plate?  Did mom see him?  If she had, she didn’t mention it.

   “How nice,” I said.  “The food, I mean.  I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake, however.”  The two white pills I had swallowed were making me sleepy.

   “You’ll not be such a pretty thing if you waste away from lack of sustenance.”

   “Doubtless.  Well, I
do
like cheese....”  I sat on the bed next to him, laying the crutches on the floor.

   “Take the tray.”  He placed it on my lap.

   I languidly nibbled on the crackers and sipped the juice.  Not much time elapsed until I had finished off my plate.  I placed the tray on the shiny wooden floor.

   “I need a bath,” I said.  “But I’m afraid to go in the bathroom.”

   “I could....no you wouldn’t want that.”  His brown eyes were brighter than ever.

   “Yes, I would.  Take me to the bathroom and stay there with me.  Gregg, I’m terrified of that room after creepy guy showed up there.”

   “Well, come on then,” said Gregg.  “Follow me, and I’ll stay with you.”

   “Hold on, I’ve got to get some nightclothes.”  I pulled some flannel pajamas out of a drawer, and we left the room for the narrow hallway, Gregg leading the way as I followed him on my crutches. 

   Gregg opened the bathroom door.  I think we were both a little scared, but the bathroom was empty, calm, and lacked any feeling of danger.

   “Is it okay?” I asked.

   “Nothing to cause you any anxiety here,” he said.  “Just a simple bathroom.”

   I pulled a plastic laundry hamper out of the closet and flipped it over.  “You sit on that and don’t leave.  It’ll just take a minute.”  Hopping on one leg over to the bathtub, I ran the faucet, adjusting the knobs so that the water wouldn’t be too hot or too cold while balancing myself on the rim of the tub.  There was some bubble soap in the medicine cabinet so I took it out and poured it into the water as it ran.

   “Fancy,” said Gregg.  He sat on the plastic box, but it didn’t sag the way I had thought it would.

   “It smells nice, huh?” I replied.  “It’s the scent of roses; that’s what they put in the soap.” 

   “I’m having trouble smelling it.”

   “It’s there.”  I frowned.  Gregg was dead; could he smell?  Probably not. 

   The water was almost to the top of the tub, and bubbles were everywhere.  The good thing about old-fashioned bathtubs is that they are ten times as big as newer ones, so the experience is more like a hot tub than a bath.  “Look away.  I’m taking my clothes off.”  I doubted that it mattered.  Gregg’s confession that he had been watching me live in his bedroom for years made me doubt that I had much to hide. 

   Leaning one hand against the wall, I watched my clothes drop to the tile floor, looking around nervously as if I expected something to attack, but nothing happened, and I hopped into the tub, sinking to my breasts in the water and leaving half of my injured leg clear out of it.  Bathing with a broken ankle was uncomfortable but not impossible.  I looked towards Gregg, and he had a silly grin on his face so I’m sure he
had
looked. 

   “You peeked,” I said.

   “Only for a minute.”

   “Oh, well then.”

   “You’re injured,” he said, again stating the obvious. 

   “I know.  I was kidnapped.”

   “Of course you were.  You never lock your door.  That’s how they got in.”

   “If you say so.  Look, I gotta wash my hair and get out of here.  This place gives me the creeps.”

   “Don’t rush on my account.”

   “It’s not you; it’s that I don’t feel so hot.  Oh my god, you’re smoking again.”

   “I know.”  Gregg was puffing a pipe, and I could smell it.  Was the pipe tobacco real or was I just so emotionally connected to him now so that in some way I could feel what he was feeling even if it wasn’t an authentic experience?  Or maybe he had a real tobacco pipe.  Who knew?  “Gives me something to do with my hands, anyway and besides that, it’s a hard habit to break.” 
Even after death.

   I dumped a pile of shampoo on top of my head and rubbed it in, then leaned my head back in the tub until most of it was off.  I did the same with conditioner, then finished by shaving my leg with some soap.  The injured one I left alone.

   “Hand me a towel out of the closet, will you Gregg?” 

   He snuffed out his pipe, pocketed it, then stood and walked to the closet where he retrieved my towel, then lent me a cold hand and helped to pull me out of the tub.  It would have been nearly impossible to get out of it without him, being that I had only one leg to stand on, and the porcelain was wet.  He handed me the towel, and I used it to dry myself off with, then sat on the floor and hastily put my flannel pajamas on.  Gregg watched me as I buttoned my flannel top over my bare, moist chest.  The deep, purple bruises gave me an unsightly appearance, and I sighed at the sight of them.

   “It’s been forever since I’d done that,” I said, looking up at Gregg.  “Bathed, I mean.”

   “Do you want to walk back to the room?” He stood, waiting for me politely.

   “Yeah, but I gotta let the drain out.” 

   “No, I’ll get it.”  He pulled the chain holding the plug in the bottom.

   We made our way back to my bedroom.  As weird as it was to have a relationship with Gregg, he offered me a respite from being alone, vulnerable, and unbelievably frightened, and at least I had someone to talk to.  Although the fact that he was dead still freaked me out more than a little.

   We had lots of privacy upstairs since my parents’ bedroom was on the bottom floor as well as the kitchen.  There was no reason they’d come up here and wonder who I was talking to.

   “Poor battered thing, you’d do better to rest,” he said.  “Are you ready for bed?”

   Was I ever.  My head was pounding.  “Yeah.  I guess so.  Got nothin’ to do tomorrow except wait for Brent to call.  Or Veronica.  Or whoever else.”

   “Alright, I’ll turn the sheets back.”  He motioned me into bed, and I crawled into the spot next to the window, leaving enough room for him to lay.

   “Aren’t
you
going to sleep?” I asked.  “I don’t want to spend the night in this bed alone.”  My words seemed to make him happy.

   “Yes, sister.  I’ll put the light out.”  Gregg tapped the light switch, setting the room in darkness.  The candle on the windowsill suddenly burst to life, setting off a warm glow across the room.  Gregg got into the bed and pulled the blankets over us.

   “Sleep well,” he said.  “I missed you in your absence, and I cherish you, Sam, in your presence.”

   The lace curtains flapped against the closed window.  Gregg gave me a measure of security I would not have had alone, and I had no difficulty falling asleep on the soft bed.  Before I lost consciousness, I could have sworn that the wall next to the candle displayed a rose-covered wallpaper I’d never seen before.

*****

   I heard the doorknob being turned and opened my eyes.  Gregg was gone, and my blanket and sheet had been tenderly tucked around me.  Mom entered the room carrying a breakfast tray.  She wore a pink, fluffy, layered mini-skirt with matching loafers.

   “What time is it?” I asked.

   “Just a little after ten.  Don’t worry; I called your school.  They were very understanding about your situation and promised to let me pick up your work for you.  They’d like you to be at the college in a week for the math final, but they told me that you needn’t show up for class.”