Manchester House (11 page)

“Detective,” Lex stated, controlling the volume of his voice. “Have you had a chance to watch my cooking show? It’s all the rage on TV.”

Wells lit a cigarette, not all that impressed. “I don’t own a TV. Too much crap on the air.”

Silence. There was the slight sound of rustling plastic.

“That’s too bad.” Lex huffed, fidgeting with his fingers, which he kept together upon his lap.

:He knows nothing! I will protect you. You who have done so much for me!:

Lex started to smile. Basking in self-accomplishment.

While Lex was fidgeting in his chair, Wells studied him. The chef seemed to be in his own little world. Lex seemed to be arching his head in a way in which he and only he was hearing a secret whispered into his ear. The fat cook appeared to be giggling up at Wells as if he had heard something “forbidden” about the police detective and had not the time nor mental ability to keep from laughing in front of him. Wells could tell that there was something going on here he didn’t quite understand, but went along with it anyway.

He too had a plan.

Wells reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a black and white photo of Leslie Dean. The detective flashed the picture in front of Lex’s face, causing the celebrity cook to freeze in his actions.

“Seen this girl?” Wells asked.

Lex took the picture. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking. Tried to hide the trembling but couldn’t.

“No, I don’t think so, sir,” Lex mumbled. “No. Who is she? If I may ask, that is.”

“You may.” Wells exhaled a long stream of smoke, peering down at the chef.

Several silent seconds passed by. Neither talked. Wells continued to stare at Lex, puffing on his cigarette. The chef started to grow annoyed.

“Well, who is she then?”

Wells took another drag off his cigarette. “Local girl. Name’s being withheld until next of kin are notified. But as far as we can see she was in the neighborhood raising money by selling candy bars.”

“Oh?”

“You know, buy the thing for a dollar kind of thing.” Wells put the small photo back into his coat pocket. He leaned forward just enough to place his face uneasily close to Lex’s. “The candies are rather good, you see. In any case, her body was found not far from here. Apparently she was raped before she was killed. You haven’t seen her? Didn’t have anyone knock on your door fitting her looks?”

“May I see the picture again, detective?” Lex asked, trying his best to sound concerned.

Wells obliged.

Lex stared at the picture again, doing his best to look careworn. Wells could see through Lex’s body language that he was annoyed and bored. Lex cared nothing for the girl and appeared to be quite irritated by Wells who was still studying him, watching his every move. Still, the cook did not wish to upset the police officer, so he played the concerned citizen game with him-albeit badly. Wells saw through the whole damn thing.

In the background, a telephone started to ring.

Hearing his phone ringing, Lex started to give Wells an anxious look. He fidgeted in his chair, catching the policeman’s attention.

“My phone’s ringing,” Lex said, rude, controlled. “May I answer it?”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Lex got up, giving the police officer a dirty if not angry look. He answered his phone in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Lex said, his body halfway out of the kitchen, halfway in. “Leo! Hey, baby, how’s things in Hollywood?” Lex peeked back out at Wells, motioning toward his phone, explaining. “My agent. Have to take this. Be a few&”

Before Wells could either respond or order, the chef closed the kitchen door, taking his call. Wells, alone, puffing away on his cigarette, reacted with a surprised silent laugh.

“Well, now,” Wells stated, smoking away on his cigarette. “Doesn’t appear too concerned, does he?”

Wells started to walk around the room, looking at several other books, magazines, and recipe boxes that had Gilbert Lex’s picture on them. He shook his head with disgust.

“The words you’re looking for, Detective Wells, are ‘does not give a fuck’,” Wells said, patiently waiting.

Wells heard a strange noise down the hall from where he was standing. The sounds of tiny feet trotting across the wooden floorboards. Girl steps. The detective went off to investigate. In the kitchen, behind his door, Wells could hear Lex laughing and continuing his conversation with his agent.

“What the hell’s going on here in this house?” Wells asked, feeling uneasy about what he thought he had heard.

The sound of footsteps got louder.

The sounds were coming from the basement.

Wells wished that he had brought his gun.

* * *

The basement door was ajar.

As Wells started to walk through the home, looking around he noticed the slightly open door and started to walk toward it. Behind him, and not seen by him, the silent specter of the Shape waited, glaring down at him from the hallway.

:You are in my world now! Be extra careful where you step.:

As Wells got closer to the door, he noticed that an uneasy feeling was coming over him. A feeling of being watched. Like a suspected felon being observed through a two-way mirror. Wells could feel the eyes on him. Wells did not like it at all.

Unknown to Wells, the Shape was following him. Her angry white eyes glared at the police officer, almost burning a hole in the back of his head, with a degree of emotion that was silently bombarded in his general direction.

Wells touched the doorknob of the basement door.

A cool wind attacked the detective from behind.

The Shape disappeared.

* * *

There was a force about the house which was aware of the danger it was in by being discovered by an unwanted visitor. The house did not like intruders and was not prepared in its present state to ward the detective off. Lex had provided the mansion with a much-needed portal to achieve its goals and this vital asset could not be wasted. Not just yet.

So intelligence far too old or powerful to be ignored took hold and started to take on a life of its own.

Had Wells known&had he seen&he would not have been able to understand.

Wells would have only gone mad in the attempt.

So it was best that the detective did not know that he had come so close to dying in the house that day.

So close.

* * *

A bloodied hand reached up out of the basement’s darkness, foul and dripping with the scent of the dead, and grabbed the door’s doorknob. With a hard pull, the bloody hand slammed the door shut. There was the rumbling sound of people talking in the basement. Hundreds of voices. All terribly sad. All wanting to escape. None could. None knew how.

There were the thunderous sounds of torturous creatures screaming in the darkness, covered by the subtle sounds of rustling plastic. Somehow, an evil force was moving the detective along, making him go where it wished for him to go and no farther.

The Bloody Hand, knowing of the approaching detective, slowly dropped back into the deadly abyss from which it had arisen, letting go of the doorknob.

* * *

The detective approached the door, noticing that it did indeed shut before he could reach it. He stared at it, knowing that he did not have a search warrant to investigate-something in him wanted to grab the doorknob, but all he could do was stare down at it. Something from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

:Here’s a little gift for a curious blowfly. See what you can do with it!:

On the floor near the basement door, Wells could see a simple candy wrapper.

“What have we got here?” the detective said, holding back the level of excitement growing inside of him. He almost smiled.

Wells picked up the candy bar wrapper, investigating it. It was the kind of wrapper used by charity organizations to help raise money via sales of chocolate bars. The same kind Leslie Dean was trying to sell. Wells started to whistle a curious tune. He re-entered the main hall; his face fixed with a look of determination.

:You know the truth, then? How nice.:

As Lex re-entered the main hall to finish his talk with Wells, the cook failed to see the look he was getting from the detective. Lex was too busy thinking and gloating about the call he had just had with his agent. Wells got the impression that Lex was walking on very dangerous ground. No man deserved the power that Lex seemed to control. No one deserved that much success.

It was time to make the game more interesting.

It was time to tip his hand.

“That was my agent,” Lex stated, motioning back toward his phone, explaining. “He’s trying to get my show in Great Britain. Well&where were we, detective?”

Wells put his hands in his coat pocket, preparing. “We were sestablishing that you had no visitors.”

“Correct,” Lex said, sitting back down in his chair. “I have had no guests. Terrible, though. That sweet, sweet, child.”

Wells cleared his throat.

:I will protect you. Do not falter from the attacks on your person. I am here beside you, my favorite child.:

Wells stepped forward, holding the candy wrapper in front of Lex. Seeing the small piece of paper, all the color started to leave the cook’s bloated features. Wells could see by Lex’s sheer horror that the cook thought that he had picked up and cleaned up all the evidence. Wells simply stood there waiting.

:Fool! In your haste to have your tasty morsel orally pleasure you, you forgot the candy wrappers. The candy you ate while she cried, pleading for you to let her go. Oh, the sweet, sweet pleasure of seeing her bloodied naked body wobbling and bleeding while she cried, hoping for humanity where there was none to give. Oh! The sweet joy we had when you attacked her three more times, feeling her wet treasures as you attacked from the rear-from the front-from her head! When we killed her. The squeaky noises! The way her female fruit tasted-smelled- Oh! You are my favorite child.:

Lex cleared his throat. Trying to hold back the terror.

“Yes, Mr. Lex,” Wells continued, waving the candy wrapper. “It was a very terrible thing. Care to add anything to the present conversation, sir?”

Wells could see that Lex was squirming in his chair, trying to think of a way to explain the paper away. Wells stood there, motionless, holding up the candy wrapper.

He seemed to love every minute of it.

“That’s a candy wrapper.” Lex nervously laughed.

“Ah, yes, sir,” Wells insisted, “it is.”

“I bought that one from a small boy outside a store.”

Wells gave the cook a long look. Great tension started to fill the room.

:I will protect you.:

“Are you sure about that, sir?”

“I know where I buy my things, detective,” Lex shouted, annoyed. He rose from his chair, turning defensive. “Am I under suspicion or something?”

“No, sir.” Wells held up his hands in a cautionary gesture. “Just asking some questions.”

Meekly, Lex started to grab for the candy wrapper in Wells’ hand. The detective silently stopped him and placed the paper in his coat pocket. This last action, Wells observed, caused paranoia to grow in Lex’s features. Lex thundered toward the mansion’s front door.

“Well, then, since this is not an official action, I wish you to leave.” Lex opened his front door, motioning Wells to exit. “I have started to bake a wonderful quiche that needs to be attended to.”

Wells started to leave. The detective paused only long enough to stare Lex down. As if to say to the cook he would be back, and this time nothing would kick him out until he got all the answers he sought. After a few seconds, Wells left, causing Lex to wonder about his guilt. Alone, the cook closed the door.

* * *

:Look at me!:

As Lex closed his front door, he turned. The Shape stood behind him.

Her figure was rigid. Calm. Dripping with what appeared to be water, but smelled nothing like anything remotely similar to the liquid. Her hair was matted over her face. Her eyes peered out from behind her long hair, glaring a hateful glee at her latest victim. She started to sway from side to side. The sound of rustling plastic filled the air around the two of them.

Lex was not allowed to move or be himself.

He was nothing but a puppet. A puppet whose strings were all tied up in knots. Helpless to do nothing but dangle where the puppet master allowed him to dangle.

Lex was in a panic and was starting to breathe heavily. Uncontrollably. Frantically.

“You said that they would never know!” Lex paused only long enough to pick up a half-used roll of industrial duct tape. “You promised to take care of me!”

Lex ventured to a nearby window, pulling off a long piece of duct tape. The man was placing a plastic tarp against the windows, taping it up.

Lex began to cry. He could not stop what he was doing.

The Shape, enjoying the whole sight, turned her attention to the basement door. A slow grumble could be heard coming from the basement of the mansion. There were the sounds of movement, as if several bodies were behind the door trying to get out. Quite strangely, the door popped open, allowing the escape of the darkness.

The Shape disappeared.

* * *

Twelve days later&

“I got the bastard!” Wells stated with triumph as he headed toward Manchester House.

After leaving Manchester House, Wells had the lab work on the recovered candy wrapper sent to Kansas City. The lab stated that there was a 99.9997 per cent certainty that the recovered wrapper came from the lot of candy bars assigned to Leslie Dean to sell. It also helped the case solidify against Gilbert Lex when, upon further investigation, the Kansas City Crime Lab had discovered Leslie Dean’s DNA on the wrapper found by Wells.

They had him.

Approaching Manchester House, the line of police cars had to look like something out of a grand movie scene, where the town sheriff cornered the criminals and called out the entire police force to help foil the plans of less honest men. In fact, Atchison had seven cars available at the time. So in point of fact Wells had called up all of the town’s reserves.

When the cars came to a stop in front of the mansion with sirens blaring, all the patrolmen were surprised that there was not one peep of surprise coming from inside Manchester House. No windows being peeked out of. No blasting gunfire. Not even so much as a desperate attempt at escape. In point of fact: there was nothing.