Saltar's Point (18 page)

23 October 1993

Kat is no longer coherent. She spends all of her time entranced in a catatonic state. Alas the burden has become too great and I have hired a full time caretaker to attend to her while I am working. I could not afford to pay for a live-in caretaker and at night I am forced to see to her needs constantly. She has regressed to the mental state of an infant, and one devoid of emotion I might add. I clothe, bath, and feed her daily, but the strain of the constant care is beginning to wear on my moral fabric. I can’t help but think it would be easier if she were to pass quietly in the night, but have forced such vile thoughts from my mind.

14 February 1994

Saint Valentine’s Day, although I am in no mood to celebrate the mysteries of love. The sounds in the basement have grown louder and more forceful, and I am afraid that I can no longer ignore them. It has begun to speak to me. The words absolutely discernable now (I can no longer dispute this) penetrate my skull and pierce me to my very soul. They speak of the unspeakable, compelling me to act out my darkest thoughts. I will not listen. I will not listen. I will not.

2 May 1994

I awoke this evening to find myself standing over Kat as she slept with no recognition of how I came to be there. Indeed I had retrieved a large butcher knife from the kitchen during my sleepwalk and clutched it tightly in my right hand. The incident has left me absolutely petrified. Although my memory fails me I know within my heart that my intentions towards my wife were not good. I feel it is best if Kat no longer lived here for her own safety.

22 May 1994

I have completed the necessary paperwork and committed Kat to Western State Mental hospital in the south end of Tacoma. Although it pained me deeply I had no other choice, as I have grown incapable – or unwilling- to care for her further. I have no plans to visit her.

12 August 1995

I have been informed by the hospital of Kat’s death. They have instructed me to come down to pick up her things and sign the certificate of her passing. Although I am saddened, it is for the best. I was not surprised to hear the news. Banshees have been howling throughout the manner for nearly a week now, foretelling of a coming death with their piercing shrieks. Perhaps now they will fall silent and I may rest.

Bitter tears streaked down Abby’s face. Katrina. The poor woman had lived out the remaining years of her life in such a dreadful manner, helpless and alone, forced to rely completely on a man who no longer loved her. It felt hauntingly familiar. She pushed herself back from the table, letting the chair roll three feet before she gripped the tires bringing it to a halt. The condensed mixture of her sweat and breath hung heavy in the still air, clinging to her skin like a wool sweater in summer –one she could not take off- it made her irritable. How long had she been down here? Hours at least, and she had found no information of any use; in fact she had become only more confused.

(And the beasts shall feed upon the flesh of man)

She couldn’t shake the ominous words from her mind. They played upon her emotions and challenged her intellect, making her feel slow and ignorant. She detested that feeling. In grade school she had been a slow reader and was often placed in remedial classes. The other girls were ruthless in their incessant taunting. It had taken her years to forget their cruel chants and songs, now they came flooding back with vivid clarity. She could see them decked out in their plaid skirts, white neatly pressed blouses, and polished black penny loafer shoes, pigtails bouncing off the shoulders as they skipped rope and chanted in unison.

Dumb ‘ol Abby dumb and dense

Tries to read but it don’t make sense

How many times can her memory fade

Before they hold her back a grade

One, two, three, four…

The painful memory did nothing but fuel her determination. She wheeled herself back to the desk and resumed reading. The thing in the basement was growing stronger by the day, aided now it appeared by Jack himself. She needed to find out what it was, and more importantly how to stop it. The key to the puzzle lay somewhere within Porter’s journal she was sure of it.

10 September 1995

The specter appeared to me for the first time last night. More accurately it could be described as a demon or devil so terrifying that its appearance is beyond description. It has grown angry with me, for I have failed to listen to its furtive suggestions whispered so temptingly within my ear. I fear now greatly for my safety.

Abby’s breathing intensified. She was getting close, she could feel it.

14 September 1995

Last night the specter appeared to me again while I was at work in the preparatory. He was angry, more so than before and I was terrified for my life. I asked the demon what he wanted from me, and he replied: “The flesh of the living so that the dead may walk the Earth.” I asked him who commands me to do these vile acts and he replied, “I am called Diablos, lord of the damned.” When I refused to honor his request he slashed me across the face with hooked claw. I became fearful for my life and fled down the hall. The demon pursued me as far as the elevator. When I ascended to the first floor the demon could not follow. He seems for some reason constrained to the basement in which he dwells. From the depths below I heard him howl in rage and the sound is one beyond description. Let it suffice to say that it chilled me to the very bone.

Suddenly the entire weight of her situation came crashing down around her. “The flesh of the living so that the dead may walk the Earth.”

The dead shall walk the Earth and the beasts shall feed upon the flesh of man.

Brenda was right. The demon needed human flesh to become stronger. A terrifying epiphany dawned on Abby. Jack was just the sort of man who was weak enough to be manipulated, and the demon knew it, a butcher in the making, for the kitchen of Hell. He would supply the flesh upon which the beast would feed, and it would grow stronger. She knew this was true, the demon had already breeched the first floor, something that Porter himself claimed it could not do. Abby was beside herself. The demon was growing stronger and she knew not how to stop it. Come on Porter speak to me.

30 November 1995

The demon has been silent for some time, I can only pray that he shall remain so, but last evening I again heard rumblings from the boiler room. My heart grows weary for I fear I do not have the strength to confront him again.

7 April 1996

Once again I was visited by a specter of the undead. He came to me while I was sleeping in the wee hours of the morn, and I awoke with terror in my heart. Clad in white he shone like the sun and I had to shield my eyes as I gazed upon him. He spoke to me with gentle tones and at once I was at ease. “Do not fear me my friend for I am here only to aid you. You have attempted to appease the beast through vile act, but instead it grows stronger and your heart is darkened by the stain of your sin.” When I asked him who he was he responded “I am Talcott, I built this place.” I asked him what he wanted from me and he replied. “Destroy the tomb of the dark one, for it is there that he draws his power.” I enquired how I was to accomplish this and he simply replied, “On this date the demon was given new life and it is within these numbers in which he shall be laid to rest. Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.”

Abby read the last couple of lines again. Second beast? What the hell does that mean? What the hell is significant about this date? She had only raised more questions than answers and her frustration was mounting. She flipped on looking for something more, she found nothing. The last entry was ominous. She drew a breath and read on.

3 February 1998

The demon has grown stronger than I had hoped. I cannot stop it. It tells me to do horrible things and I fear I am unable to resist anymore. I will take my own life before he forces me to hurt anyone else. I only pray that God shall have mercy on my soul, and that my precious Katrina will forgive me for the wrongs I have done unto her. I have instructed in my last will that I be cremated with no autopsy performed. I could not bear it if people were to know that I took the coward’s way out. The poison should work quickly and my death painless, at least less painful than the miserable existence my life has become.

My God have mercy on us all.

She snapped shut the cover as if closing the diary forcefully could erase the horrible things she had read. Her mind struggled to make sense of anything she had read but nothing came to her. Perhaps Porter’s Bible might be of use. If nothing else perhaps it might give her a little faith and hope, something that had been missing from her life for quite some time, but that would have to wait. She had been in the study far too long and Jack was due home anytime. She could not risk him finding out about the study or any hopes she had would be dashed. This time she remembered to turn off the light and the room was bathed in darkness, giving her the creeps. She turned the chair around and wheeled herself out of the room and up the ramp, easily this time. Abby knew she was getting stronger, but she was not the only one. She only hoped that she was strong enough.

Deep in the boiler room the demon rumbled. The woman had become a nuisance, a nuisance that must be dealt with. He was not strong enough to do the deed, not yet. His presence in the physical world was only a shadow of his true self. If he could not convince Darrow to do the deed, he would wait until he could do it himself. He only needed Darrow a while longer, for one more sacrifice, maybe two, but soon he would be made whole again. He tested his power once again, withdrawing the energy from the room. The ground rumbled sending vibrations that rattled the pipes and shook the rafters, echoing with terrible ferocity throughout the entire house.

EIGHTEEN

“Yes!” Ellie exclaimed. “Of course I’ll marry you!”

The ring was stunning, a full karat free from imperfections and shining with colorless beauty. It was more than he could afford but right now that didn’t matter. The look on Ellie’s face was beyond the measure of monetary value. Randall slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly. He breathed a sigh of relief. Having to guess at her ring size was nerve-wracking. But he was right, she was a perfect size five. The large diamond sparkled in the dim conditions, refracting what little illumination there was through a brilliant prism, breaking the white light down to its primary colors.  

Randall had chosen Richard’s Steakhouse as the setting for his proposal. It was a well-known restaurant in Seattle with exquisite steaks and a price to match. He had requested a quiet table in the back, free from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen and away from prying ears. A few people from the nearby tables did overhear and applauded with gentle golf claps and mouthed congratulations.

Ellie sat stunned by a combination of exhilaration and disbelief. The day had been a perfect one so far but she had no idea it would end this way. They had spent the morning walking along the docks and the downtown streets taking in the sights of the big city. The afternoon was spent at the ballpark, watching the Mariners do battle with the White Sox. To a lot of girls this wouldn’t be construed as a romantic endeavor, but to Ellie it was magical. She loved baseball, the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the numbers and inside knowledge of the game that you had to have to truly appreciate it. She munched on peanuts and devoured hot dogs, screaming “can of corn” and “swing batter” at the top of her lungs, elated to have a chance to catch a game before the season wound down with the fading of Summer.

Now she sat across the table from the man she loved, a man who had just pledged to spend the rest of his life with her. But more than that, Aiden would finally have the chance to have the father that she had always wanted for him. She tried to hold back her tears but they came anyway, flowing down her face and running her mascara. She relented and let the tears flow. Randall moved his chair around to her side of the table and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this.” She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin leaving dark splotches of mascara on the white cloth. “I hope they’re not mad, but I think I just ruined their napkin.”

“I don’t think they’ll be too upset under the circumstances.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

Their waiter had been on his way over to deliver the check but instead made an about-face when he realized what was occurring. Word spread fast through the employees and soon the maitre d’ arrived at their table bearing a bottle of their finest champagne. Ellie dabbed at her eyes, embarrassed by her appearance. The maitre d’ smiled a big wide toothy grin.

“I hear we have reason to celebrate tonight.”

“You could say that.” Randall said, smiling himself.

“Oh behalf of Richards Steakhouse, I would like to present you with this bottle of champagne and offer to buy your dinner this evening.”

“Oh no we couldn’t accept…”

The maitre d’ cut him off. “We insist sir. Just think of it as an engagement present and please make sure to dine with us in the future.”

“Every year on our anniversary.” Ellie said. “Isn’t that right dear?”

“That sounds like a good plan to me.”

“Well in that case, congratulations once again.”

And then he turned and walked away, leaving the happy couple to their champagne.

The ferry ride back across Puget Sound was the most romantic moment of Ellie’s life. They stood on the stern deck kissing gently and looking into each other’s eyes. Ellie had worn a low-cut black velvet evening dress and because the evening was a little chilly with the cool air blowing off the ocean waves she wore a thin shawl about her shoulders. The wind whipped through her hair blowing both it and the shawl behind her. To Randall she looked like a movie star, beautiful and breathtaking standing there in the moonlight.

“I love you Ellie Jean Pritchard.”

“I love you too.”

He kissed her passionately. A few tourists snapped pictures and whispered how cute they looked together. An elderly woman shook her head and muttered under her breath, something about kids having no sense of decency these days.

After the ferry docked they drove home in relative silence. Ellie was content just to rest her head on his broad shoulders. The silence was shattered by Randall’s cell phone.

“Don’t answer it.” She whispered. But Randall had an idea about who was on the other line, and the call would be important. Her pulled the phone out from the center consol and read the display.

“Cletus, what’s up?”

The voice on the other end had a calm urgency about it. “He’s here, tossing ‘em back.”

“How long has he been there?”

“Bout a half hour. Ordered a few shots, and he’s moved on to beer. Looks like he plans on being here a while, you back on the west side yet?”

“Yeah, I’m about thirty minutes out.”

Ellie leaned closer trying to hear the voice on the other end of the line, but trying her best not to make it obvious. She couldn’t quite make out what Cletus was saying, but she judged by Randall’s tone that it was a serious matter.

“What about Ellie?”

“I’ll drop her off at Denny’s. She can pick up Aiden and Denny can drive them home.”

Ellie’s expression soured.

“Call me if he leaves within the next hour.”

“Will do.”

He hung up the phone and looked at Ellie with apologetic eyes.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry honey, I’ve got some work to do tonight.”

She put on her best pouty face.

“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”

Randall shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What does Cletus have to do with it?”

“I promise I’ll explain everything later, but I can’t right now. You’ll just have to trust me, okay?”

“He’s not in any kind of trouble is he?”

“No, he’s just helping me out.”

The remaining ride was wrought with silence. He dropped her off at Denny’s and kissed her goodnight, and then sped off into the night. Ellie watched him go. Marriage to a cop was certainly not going to be boring she thought. When his lights were out of view she opened the screen door and went inside.

He sat in a clearing just underneath the hanging limbs of the pine trees that grew alongside highway four. The two-lane highway weaved and twisted its way through the rugged terrain that separated Talcott Manor from Saltar’s Point just four miles east. The road had earned a nasty reputation, and ranked as one of Washington State’s deadliest highways. On dark nights like this one the road could be especially ominous, it was windy, it was wet, and it was dark. The locals called it Death Adder because of its serpentine shape and rigid trees that stood guard along steep banks, striking at cars that ventured just outside the white lines and killing faster than venom. On this night however, the road was the least of Darrow’s concerns. Lying just out of view like a predator ready to strike was Randall Jackson, and he was determined to get his man.

He took as sip of coffee from the thermos he kept just under the front seat. It was cold and stale; Randall had made it two days prior, but the bitter liquid still retained its desired effect, stimulating his brain and heightening his senses. His cell phone rang, breaking the silence and sending a rush of adrenaline through his body. He picked up.

“Yeah.”

“He’s on his way.” Cletus’ voice betrayed a slight hint of excitement. “Liquored up pretty good too.”

“Thanks Clete, good work.”

He hung up, not waiting for a response. It wouldn’t be long now. He was eager to play his part in this investigation. Jefferson County homicide had muscled their way onto his turf, and he supposed they were justified in doing so, but this was still his town and he was determined to set things right. A set of headlights flashed briefly through the night air before disappearing behind another dip in the road. They appeared moments later, shedding the darkness like a winter coat in springtime. He was moving fast. Real fast. Randall muttered to himself, the last thing he wanted was a high-speed pursuit along highway four, but he was willing if necessary. The Econoline blazed by, creating a vortex of wind that sucked the tree limbs along with it before they escaped the vacuum and returned to their normal positions. Randall pulled the Cherokee out behind and floored the gas pedal, keeping his lights off until he got close. When he was within fifty yards he blared the siren and flipped on the lights. They blazed to life, basking the roadside trees in a blended combination of red and blue.

In Darrow’s rearview mirror the lights flashed brilliantly, momentarily blinding him to the road ahead, and startling him badly enough to cause him to drop his can of Budweiser in his lap.

“Mother fucker!”

He was up shit creek now. The damn pig had blazed out of nowhere. His mind raced as he tried to figure a way out of his predicament. For a moment he thought about trying to outrun his pursuer, but quickly dismissed the idea. The Econoline was no Corvette, and that would only land him in a butt-load more trouble. Instead he pulled the van off the road at the first clearing and eased it to a stop. He smelled like a brewery, there would be no talking his way out of this one.

Randall watched from behind as the van came to a gentle stop. This was too easy; he expected trouble from Darrow, not mild mannered compliance. It was out of character for him and the thought made Randall uneasy. He aimed the spotlight directly inside the van, but the small rear windows and the lengthy interior made it difficult to view what Darrow was doing. He used the loud speaker, something he rarely did during routine traffic stops, but the again, this one was anything but routine.

“TURN OFF THE IGNITION. PUT YOUR HANDS WERE I CAN SEE THEM, AND SLOWLY DROP YOUR KEYS OUTSIDE THE WINDOW.”

The loudspeaker shredded the silence like cabbage in a blender, causing Darrow to flinch in his seat.

I’d like to take that bullhorn and shove it right down your fucking piggy throat.

Instead he dropped the keys the keys outside the window, listening to them clink together as they struck the soggy ground.

“KEEP YOUR HANDS UP.”

Randall exited the Cherokee and cautiously proceeded around the left side of the van. He unsnapped the holster on his pistol. Just in case he thought. Darrow sat hands in the air, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his shoulders as he drew ragged breaths. Randall shined the powerful beam of his Maglight directly into Darrow’s eyes, they were glassed over and dim, but that didn’t disrupt the hateful stare resonating behind them.

“Do you know how fast you were going?”

The voice was familiar. “Spare the small talk Jackson, what the fuck do you want?”

“You’re not going to sweet talk your way out of this with that potty mouth Jack.”

“We both know that ain’t gonna happen now don’t we? “

“How much have you had to drink tonight?”

“Enough to shit-face an elephant, so let’s get on with this.”

“Alright then, step out of the vehicle, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head. Do it slow.”

The door creaked as he opened it. Darrow stumbled out of the van, nearly slipping in the soft mud. When he was on his knees Randall moved up behind him and snapped the cuffs on behind his back. They made a satisfying click click sound. He pulled him to his feet and walked him over to the Cherokee. Once he had him safely inside Randall breathed a sigh of relief. That went a lot smoother than he had anticipated.

He drove off, heading back to Saltar’s Point towards the station. Denny should already be there, waiting to book him. He could feel Darrow’s eyes behind him, boring into his skull. Rage and hatred radiated from Darrow and filled the truck with its ominous presence. An unnerving thought occurred to Randall. If Darrow could have killed him right there he wouldn’t hesitate to do it, no doubt about it. He was a bad seed embedded in the core of a rotten apple.

When they arrived at the station Denny was waiting for them. He had lined up the booking station in anticipation of their arrival. Darrow was complacent, resigning himself to his fate. When they had fingerprinted him, Randall escorted him to the single occupancy holding cell and slammed shut the iron gate. Denny started the paperwork.

Randall strode over to his desk and placed a phone call to Peterson. He picked up on the second ring.

“We got him.”

The voice on the other line tried without success to hide his excitement. “Where’s the vehicle?”

“Highway four, mile twelve.”

“I’ll send a tow immediately.”

“We’ll only be able to hold him for twenty-four hours, so work quickly.”

“I know the law Jackson.”

The voice on the other end went dead, Randall’s ear was filled with the ringing of a dial tone. He placed the receiver on the cradle.

God damn prick.