Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (17 page)

I went for the preemptive strike.  “I see no reason we can’t cut to the chase, gentlemen.  What do you want to know?” 

Newman was more obviously taken by surprise, not prepared for a glimpse of the new me, but he recovered quickly and took it in stride.  “Alright, start at the beginning.”

Sparing no small detail, I walked the two detectives through the sequence of events, right down to where I lost some bile in the grass, which foot I had placed on the which step of the gazebo and that I’d come back without my necklace.  Unfortunately, I was learning the drill.

“Tell me about your morning before you arrived here,” Newman coaxed in his pleasant way.  So I did, taking care to cite witnesses to my whereabouts whenever possible. 

“And where were you last night?” 

I was alone except for the short time Tegan was there, but I’d seen enough movies to know that being alone was almost certainly perceived as a sign of guilt.  Luckily Tegan chose that very moment to make an appearance and vouch for me.

“She was with me until late.  Probably about eleven o’clock,” Tegan offered.  Two sets of dark eyebrows rose at his assertion, prompting him to further explain.  “After being briefed about the upcoming interview, the chief asked me to prep Ms. Deen.”

That sounded a whole lot better than anything I could’ve come up with.  Plus, it had the added benefit of being true—even better.  

“Well if it isn’t Detective Serious Tegan,” Newman said with a smile.

“Nice try, Newman,” Tegan said.  Obviously I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what the S stood for.

Tegan and Newman chatted in police talk for several minutes while Panelli just stared at me.  I tried to stand there and not look guilty, which should’ve been easy since I wasn’t guilty, but it was a bit of a struggle for some reason.  I found myself looking anywhere but at Panelli.  He’d relegated himself to the background, to the right and slightly behind Newman.  He watched me, silently, looking like the intimidating executioner at what felt like my trial.

I was ecstatic when, barely a few minutes later, I stood beside Tegan watching the two detectives traipse through the yard to check out the crime scene.  “Since they’re done, can I go?” 

“Yeah, you can go.  Do you want me to drive you?”

“No, thanks.  I just want to be alone.” 

“If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure.”  Oh, boy was I sure.

With that, I turned on my heel and headed for the sanctuary of my Toyota.  I would worry about clean up at the mansion later.  I had my purse and that was all I needed or cared about at that precise moment.

On the way home, I was on autopilot. In my head, I turned the crime scenes over and over, looking for something, anything to tie them to the killer. 

Two of the bodies had been missing their heart.  I couldn’t say that for sure about Mistee, but I would imagine it was probably taken, too.  Two of the sites had included a symbol.  Two of the victims had been heavily involved in church.  All three murders had been very different as far as method.  The murder weapon had been left at two of the scenes.  Only one scene had included written words.  Any other similarities or defining characteristics were beyond me, what with my limited exploration of the sites and the bodies. 

I couldn’t help thinking there was something that
I alone
should be noticing.  I mean, all the murders were committed at properties I had listed and were obviously meant to be discovered by me.  According to Pastor Mike, I had a definite role to play in destiny, in saving someone’s life.   But how?  Who?

I pulled up in front of my house, instantly feeling better at the mere sight of my safe haven.  I made my way inside and collapsed on the couch.  I leaned my head back to rest for a few minutes before changing clothes, calling the exterminator and doing some research.

I must’ve fallen asleep because when I woke it was pitch black outside.  Almost the instant I opened my eyes, I was overcome with the need to see my aunt, to get some answers, some direction. 

Wasting no time, I quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, promising myself I’d take my post-homicide bath when I got back.  Once I made sure I had the key Pastor Mike had given me, I was out the door within minutes of waking.

Aunt Jillian’s address on Commerce Street corresponded to three sets of brick duplexes, apartment 1104 being the left side of the center couplet.  I parked in one of the two empty spaces directly in front of her unit and got out.  I looked around, wondering if it was a bit odd that there were no other cars in the parking lot.  In fact, as I looked at the duplexes, there were no signs of life in any of them.  A shiver of apprehension crept its way down my spine, but my need to know overcame it quickly and I pressed on.

As I made my way toward Jillian’s front door, a flash in one of the dark second story windows caught my eye.   I watched for several seconds before I saw the soft flickering of light, as if a candle was burning behind thick curtains.

I stepped up onto the front porch of Jillian’s unit and rang the bell.  I listened, but didn’t hear any noises that would indicate someone was home.  I opened the glass door and rapped my knuckles on the wooden one behind it. No answer.  I knocked again.  No answer.  I thumped my fist the third time, but still I got no answer. 

I used the key to unlock the door.  I wiped my feet on the bristly welcome mat and stepped over the threshold, into her apartment.  I stood in the foyer listening.  The silence was deafening.

A nightlight shed a soft light on the tiled entryway.  The smell of pine incense lingered in the air.  My eyes strained in the darkness, but I could see no furniture in the living area just beyond where I stood.

“Jillian?”  I called quietly, my voice echoing off the blank walls.  After a pause, I called more loudly.  Still no answer. 

I heard a faint rustling at the top of the stairs to my left.  “Jillian?  Hello.”  Again, no answer.  The hairs at the back of my neck prickled.  I was beginning to think they were a very accurate early warning system.  Chill bumps spread down my arms.  I flipped the switch to turn on the stairwell light.  Nothing happened.  I stood motionless, looking up into the darkness.  There was a faint thump.  My heart thundered in my ears.  I flipped the switch again.  Still nothing, only darkness.

I heard the rustling again.  I saw the orange flicker of candlelight appear on the wall at the top of the stairs and then it was gone,  It was as if someone had opened the door to the room then quickly closed it behind them.  But there was no shadow of a person going into the room.

I turned back toward the front door, ready to bolt, but my desperation for information returned.  I took a deep breath and turned back toward the stairs.  Fear rattled around in my head, chased by the vague thought that I needed to be able to defend myself.  Although it could hardly be considered a weapon, I squeezed Aunt Jillian’s house key in my hand, letting the working end stick out between my knuckles.  At least I could take out an eye if it came to that.

Flattening myself against the wall, I carefully stepped onto the first stair.  It creaked in protest.  I paused to listen.  Nothing.  I stepped onto the next riser and paused.  Still nothing.  Slowly, I ascended the stairs.   At the top, I could see the glow of flame from under the door to my right.  Deciding that the element of surprise would probably be the best thing I had going for me, I carefully put my hand on the doorknob and prepared to spring.

I flung the door open and stepped back against the wall, ready to run if I had to.  Only the room was empty.  I took one step through the doorway and looked around.  It appeared I was alone.  I took another cautious step into the room.  It was empty of furniture as well, but for a small box in the center of the floor.  A tall, white pillar candle burned on its top.

A waterfall of wax covered the box, like dozens of candles had been burned there.  I walked to the box and pulled the candle off to set it on the carpet.  I picked up the box.  It was light, but not empty and something slid around inside when I jiggled it. 

The wax had sealed the box shut so I took Jillian’s house key and chipped away at the crust until I could open the lid.

Inside the box were pictures.  Nine to be exact.  Of my mother.  And me.  Only one of the pictures was familiar to me, the one of us at the church Easter egg hunt when I was eight.  I was a different age in the other photos:  four, seven, nine, eleven.  In a couple of the pictures I looked to be a teenager.  One even showed me in a wedding dress, my mother by my side, smiling the watery smile of one about to officially release her child into the care of another.

I stared at that picture.  My mother had died on my ninth birthday.

I turned the picture over.  It was dated three years prior.  And it had the number nine on it.

The candle flame flickered once, twice then died.  But for the thin ray of light from the street lamp shining through a gap in the curtains, I was in total darkness.  Instantly, my fear returned.

I stuffed the pictures in my pocket, took hold of my “weapon” and bolted for the door, toward the stairs, toward safety and freedom.  When I reached the bottom level and turned toward the door, I saw the mirrored flash of eyes as I rounded the corner.  My heart lurched painfully before I realized it was a cat.

Relief washed through me.  I wasn’t being stalked.  And I wasn’t crazy.  It was a cat that had been making all that noise.  I squatted and reached slowly toward the cat, fingers extended.  There was only a second of low growling to indicate his displeasure before he struck, quick and sharp.  I felt the skin on the backs of my fingers stinging.

“Ouch!” I complained, rubbing my thumb over the scratch.  “Aunt Jillian’s got a mean frickin’ cat.”

I stood and walked to the door, opening it to leave.  Before I could stop it, the cat shot out the door. 

“Crap!”  Just what I need after snooping around Aunt Jillian’s house—to lose her cat.  “Here kitty kitty,” I called trying to get it to come to me so I could get it back inside.  The cat hissed and swatted at me again.  I stood on the stoop debating what to do.  It sat back on its haunches and watched me, its green eyes never leaving me as it began licking its paw.  “Like the taste of blood, huh?  Devil cat,” I muttered, aggravated.  Animals usually liked me.  I had no idea what kind of psychotic cat Aunt Jillian had adopted, but I didn’t like it.

In the low light from the street lamp I could see that the cat was actually quite beautiful.  It had semi-long hair in an odd black and gray pattern.  It had a white stripe that went from the top of its head, between its ears, all the way down its nose.

“Fine, cat, stay outside then.”  I locked the door behind me.  “Sorry Aunt Jillian,” I said as I walked toward my SUV.

I hopped inside, started the engine and backed out into the street.  When I stopped to shift into drive, I glanced into my rearview mirror to make sure nothing was behind me.  In the distance, I could see three figures walking down the street, drifting in and out of a pool of light as they passed beneath a streetlamp. 

An ominous feeling welled up inside me.  Without hesitating, I pushed on the gas pedal.  The engine roared and I shot forward.  And then stopped.  I pressed harder on the accelerator, but I didn’t move any further forward. 

I looked into the rearview mirror again.  The three figures had stopped beneath the next street light and spread out across the road.  They were watching me.  I could feel it. 

I pressed the gas pedal to the floor.  The engine whined.  My vehicle didn’t move an inch.  I watched the RPM needle on the dashboard climb higher and higher.  Then I heard the squeal of my tires.  The sound pierced the silent night air my tires screamed against the pavement.  Something was pulling me backward.

I looked in the rearview mirror again.  The trio had begun to move again.  Closer and closer they got to me as I was dragged further and further toward them. 

I could tell nothing about them.  They were merely three intimidating silhouettes, all cloaked in long, dark coats.  My heart thudded in my ears.  I let off the accelerator.  Nothing happened.  I floored the pedal again.  Still I moved slowly backward. 

I let off the pedal and put the shifter in park.  Even that didn’t stop me from moving in the wrong direction.  Then something flashed in front of my headlights.  I saw nothing at first.  Then a man appeared in the distance.