Eileen Slovak

Chapter Sixty-seven: Seeing Ghosts   

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

The last few weeks have been excruciating. At least career wise, I’m killing it for now. Frank says I’ve earned a bonus based on the new inventors I’m signing. Larry called to congratulate me as well and said he’s looking forward to seeing more of me in New York. After his call, by no coincidence, I hear from Barry. He presses me to consider a permanent move to New York. For the first time, I agree to consider it. I definitely plan to spend more time there.

      On the drive home, I debate going to the Un Pub first or going to Catherine’s. A glass of wine sounds good to me after the long day. I wasn’t up for more questions from Catherine, so I told her I was too tired. From Corky’s tone, I suspected Scott was sitting at the Un Pub bar. She texted me, confirming my suspicions. Since I’m still undecided as to how to deal with Scott, I go straight home.

      The main house door is unlocked which is unusual. Mrs. Adams is a stickler about locking it. I knock on her door but there’s no answer. Her daughter takes her out for dinner on Friday nights. She must still be out and forgot to lock the door. When I put my key in the lock of my apartment door, it gives more easily than normal. Did I forgot to lock it? I’ve been so distracted lately. Who knows? Flipping on the light, I look around, but see no sign of anything missing from my apartment. I lock the door behind me. The ramblings of a weary mind, I guess.

      I lay my purse and valise, along with the box of ‘utilities’ on the dining room table. I realize I hadn’t taken inventory to ensure all of the items were accounted for. I open the box and place each of the samples on my coffee table. Everything’s in order. Strolling over to the kitchenette, I pour myself a glass of wine. Stooping to return the wine bottle to the lower shelf of the refrigerator, I swear I see something flash past me. Great, now I’m seeing ghosts.

      The wine tastes good. I feel myself relaxing more with every sip. I set the glass on the kitchen counter. Suddenly all of the lights go out. Crap! Thinking about utilities, did I forget to pay my electric bill? I fumble under the sink for the flashlight which I manage to find. Switching it on, I realize the batteries are dead.

      Just then, a sharp pain shoots through my arm.

      “OW! What the hell!”

      Warm, hot liquid runs down my left arm. I’m bleeding? Putting my hands out in front of my face, I feel something unexpected. The body of another person is standing inches away.

      “HELP! SOMEBODY!” Attempting to flee the kitchenette, the body blocks my exit. I hear raspy breathing. Then hear the swishing of the weapon cutting the air next to my head. My attacker wildly slashes at me in the dark. Whoever it is swings at me with a sharp object again, grazing my thigh. I scramble backwards, just missing the counter with the back of my head. I frantically crawl out to the living room. Staying low, I hold my breath, so as not to be detected. If I can’t see, neither can the assailant. I hear my aggressor shuffling along the carpet trying to locate me. Focusing on the sound, I gauge the direction of the breathing. When it’s close enough, I curl back my legs, then thrust them out with all the force I can muster.

      “Umph!” The body drops to the ground. But only for a second before the intruder is back up again, swiping at air with the blade. Whoever it is, they’re in good shape.

I slide up, backing into the kitchen again. It’s my only chance of finding a weapon. I have the advantage of knowing the apartment. I can better navigate in the dark. I pin myself in the corner of the kitchenette, below the counter, next to the refrigerator. I reach around for the knife block, debating opening the refrigerator for light. I abandon this idea. It will only help whoever it is have better aim. Without a weapon, I can’t defend myself. Where did I leave wine glass? I could smash it. Furiously trying to think of a way out, I stifle a scream as the blade whips down grazing my stomach. I spin to the right feeling around on the counter, coming up blank. Damn OCD! Swoosh! It’s a miss. Before the strike, I feel long silky hair brush my arm. I break the silence.

      “Serena?”

      “Who the hell is Serena? Someone else who’s life you’ve ruined?”

      “Oh my god, Trish!”

      “It wasn’t enough to take Sean. You had to get your little minions to screw things up for me with Carl too? For once, you’re going to get what you deserve.”

      She swings the weapon down stabbing fiercely at me, missing by a few centimeters. I move again. Staying in motion is my only hope at this point.

      “Trish, you were right about Sean. He did love you. He never wanted me.” It’s all I can think to do.

      Saying a silent prayer, I blindly feel around the counter behind me for something I can use to protect myself. Finding a large and solid object, I grab hold of it. It’s so heavy I need both hands to hold it over my head.

      “Don’t you dare speak his name,” Trish spits, helping me better locate her.

      I bring the object down as hard as I can. Hearing a smacking sound followed by a thud, she hits the ground. I drop the statute. Leaping over her body, I run toward the door, aware I’m bleeding from multiple wounds. Disoriented in the dark, I trip over the hassock, going down hard. Trish moans. At least I haven’t killed her. I crawl toward the apartment door. I hear pounding coming from the other side. Someone is trying to break the door down.

      “I’m okay!”

      “SCARLET, OPEN THE DOOR!”

      “I’m trying.”

      On my knees, I fumble with the lock in the darkness. My hands are wet and slippery from my own blood. I climb up and unlock the door, dropping back on my haunches as it swings open. Light from the hallway floods into my apartment. Scott is standing there, gun drawn.

      “Thank God,” he says. He holsters his gun and gathers me up in his arms. “I know who’s been stalking you.”

      “Me too,” I say. “She’s over there starting to wake up.”

      “You’re bleeding!” He shouts, just as I lose consciousness.

      Gary had called for two ambulances. They load Trish into the first one. She’s strapped to the gurney. The EMT fastens an oxygen mask to her face while checking her skull for fractures. As a precaution, Gary handcuffs her to the rail, telling the crew he’ll meet them at the hospital. He sent his partner into my apartment to gather any evidence he can find. The EMT’s load me into the next truck. Gary checks on me before heading to the hospital. He says Catherine will meet us there. Mrs. Adams and her daughter arrived to find the house surrounded in emergency vehicles. They’re on point helping the police as needed. All of the neighbors are outside, some in pajamas, watching the show.  

      “Scarlet, hold still, you’re still bleeding badly.” Scott says, sitting next to the gurney while the EMT works on my wounds.

      “I’m sorry Scarlet. I should have been there sooner,” he adds. “I went to Catherine’s first.”

      “It’s okay. I can take care of myself.”

      This makes the EMT’s laugh.

      “You don’t say?” Scott laughs.

      “I guess you should know,” I say, “I’ve decided to forgive you.”

      At the hospital, Maggie checks the dressing on my wounds. I’m on the phone with my dad assuring him that he does not need to drive up to Providence tonight.

      “If they keep me overnight, you can come up tomorrow,” I tell him.

      “Hey I thought of something. PI, Patricia Iannuccilli.” Maggie says, with a knowing look.

      “How did I miss that, huh? But couldn’t Helena have told me that, saving me all this trouble and pain?”

      “It’s a good thing none of your inventors designed a gun,” Maggie says with one eyebrow raised.

      “I can see the headline now, near death by pizza cutter,” I joke. “Woman narrowly escapes being sliced into eight pieces.”

      “Corky says we’re all taking a self-defense course together once you’re feeling better,” Maggie insists.

      “Oh no, the samples! I have a meeting Monday morning, I need those.” I’m wondering what condition I’ll find things in back in my apartment. “Gary said they took the pizza scissors for evidence.”

      Gary steps into the room with the update. “You gave her a bad bump on the head. She has a concussion, but she’ll live. Lucky your mom’s statue wasn’t made of marble.”

      “Lucky? You mean, unlucky,” Maggie chimes in.

      “Maggie, I’m not ready to add murderess to my long list of credentials.”

      “Scarlet, she tried to kill you.”

      “She’s not well,” Gary adds.

      “Great, after she tries to murder my best friend, she’ll get the spa treatment with three squares a day. It doesn’t really seem fair, does it?” Maggie asks.

      “She’s in her own living hell. She wanted me to pay for what happened to Sean.”

      “Dang, she almost made you pay the ultimate price,” Maggie says.

      Catherine enters the room with the kids in tow.

      “No jumping on Auntie Scarlet, please.”

      Charlotte and Christopher stare up at me with serious looks on their faces.

      “Auntie, did you win?” Michael asks wide-eyed. “Against the bad guy, I mean?”

      “I think we both lost something,” I answer.

      “Gary said the police made a mess of your place. I packed you a bag to stay at our house until we can get it cleaned up,” Catherine says.

      “Thanks, Cat. For once I’ll take you up on some care taking. I hurt all over,” I say, catching a glimpse of Scott lingering in the hallway.

      “Well, I have some other patients to see,” Maggie says winking, then taking her leave. “So glad you’re okay. I’ll be back later to check on you.” She gives Scott a light punch in the arm as she walks past him.

      Gary, Catherine and the children leave for the night. Catherine tells me she’ll call me in the morning.

      “You know, it’s going to be awfully hard to hold my head up when the other guys find out my girlfriend cracked the case for me,” he says.

      “Some PI you turned out to be. But you’re slick. I’m sure you’ll find a way to spin it.”

      “Only if I can say that in the end, that I got the girl. Are you okay?” He asks gently, kissing me. I’ve been putting up a brave front, but the gesture makes me feel vulnerable. I start to tear up.

      “Never been better.”

      “Patricia Iannuccilli confessed to stalking both Sean and you. I have some information from Gary and the other detective who spoke with her. I can give it to you later.”

      “Please. I’d rather know now.”

      “Since the cases are linked now, I filled Gary in on what I know about Trish. She was there the afternoon of Sean’s accident. She called him that day threatening to hurt herself. Then she took off, so he gave chase. She wanted his attention. In her defense, she didn’t know about the accident until afterward. She thought he gave up following her. She left and flew home. What baffled me was that no one would confirm he was still seeing her. As it turns out, he wasn’t. She’d go by his place unannounced using a stolen key. She’d leave things behind or take other things. She took his mail, a copy of the letter he wrote, your phone numbers, and the keys to your apartment. There were crucial recall notices for Sean’s car that he never received in Trish’s stolen mail pile, never opened. The model he was driving had a sticky gas pedal, as well as faulty airbags. If she hadn’t attacked you, we probably never would have known she was stalking you. She admitted to damaging your car too. She seemed proud of that actually. Should you decide to press charges, her family would have to pay for the damages.”   

     “What a mess.”

      “After the accident, she went into a tailspin, stopped taking her pills, and you know the rest. I’m sure she feels responsible. Technically, she’s to blame.”

      “Hopefully she’ll finally get the help she needs. That’s a horrible thing to have to live with in any case,” I say.

      “Yeah. The guilt likely fueled her rage toward you.”

      “Are you off to Florida or Virginia? Now that your case is finally closed?”

      “You must be kidding. I don’t plan to let you out of my sight. I’ll be here until they kick me out. If that’s alright with you.”

      “I should warn you…I snore.”

      “Not to mention drool.”

      “Hey! Well,” I say with a smile, “only if I have a reason to drool.”