A Special Case - Chapter One

Early April 1996 - Buffalo, New York

The sounds of gravel crunching underneath worn tires, mechanical wheezing, and coughing from an old tan Buick betrayed an intrusion in the old warehouse district. Inside the car, a blanched and overweight man wiped sweat from his brow; his nervous mumbling threatened to drown out the low tinkling music from the antique turn-dial radio.

The biting cold in the air did little to stop persistent beads of sweat from forming on his brow. He stole a few glances at the still form in the passenger seat beside him before catching himself. Since he was driving with the headlights off, the only light source came from the hazy orange glow from the few street lamps around.

The greasy driver let out an inaudible sigh of relief as the suffocating gravestone-like buildings receded to a large river. His road t-boned another which told him he was nearing his destination. Soon the canker in his passenger seat would be gone. There was no way he could convince anyone that he didn’t murder her. He didn’t even know how the whore died. Her silent presence beat at him, denying his conscience.

He cursed aloud to himself. He hated the dead woman beside him, blaming her for his predicament. How could she do this to him? All he wanted was a quickie while his high lasted. He did not sign up to become a victim of circumstance.

He repressed the ludicrous habit of using his turn signal, and would have laughed at himself if the situation weren't so dire. Once he turned, he was in the old run-down port. Directly in front of him, the abandoned buildings were stained, old and black; desolate shadows from a more prosperous time.

His car traveled parallel to the wire fencing on the right. Beyond that was a river that cut through the ground with freezing waters. The great serpentine river with its scales of ice roamed the land and passed below the hollowed out warehouses that acted as long-forgotten sentries.

He found a good spot beside the fence and parked the old Buick. Leaving his car idling, he scurried out and rushed to the passenger side; throwing nervous glances to be sure he was the only living soul around. He threw a few more anxious looks about then flung open the door and reached in. Grunting and heaving, he lifted the surprisingly heavy and ungainly body into his thick arms.

He forced down the bile that rose in his throat and hauled up the body to the chain-linked fence overlooking the river. Her curly bleached hair thrashed about as her head lolled with each jarring motion. Her stiff limbs were the worst hindrance of his task. Steeling himself for the undertaking, he grunted as he hefted the body up and over the rusty fence. The nagging feeling of someone watching him fed his paranoia. He made a last desperate heave, but the awkwardness of the body made him stumble when he released it.

Breathing heavily, he watched the body roll down toward into the slushy waters below. His heart hammered in his chest as dread overwhelmed him. For instead of crashing into the great river as was his intention, the body tumbled to a halt; lacking the momentum to carry it the rest of the way.

Fighting another onslaught of nausea this time brought on by overwhelming paranoia and foreboding, he scrambled back to the car, tripping over his feet in his haste and drove away. Once back in familiar streets, he flicked the lights on and turned the radio up. But an icy sliver of fear replaced any inkling of his relaxation when he saw the fallen amulet the bitch had been wearing. He jumped and a shaky hand reached down and retrieved the necklace from the floor boards. He had ripped it off the stupid whore's neck in frustrated rage when she refused to consent.

He wondered what to do with the damned thing when he remembered his daughter. "Brandy might like to have a nice trinket."

With that ingenious thought, he drove home with more confidence. The song on the radio ended and a female voice replaced it. That breezy, sexy voice was the main reason why he listened to the station.

"That was 'The Great Pretender’ on Buffalo’s only oldies station, ninety-six five, WELV..."

***

"...and I’m Amy O'Connor encouraging all you night owls out there not to go gentle into that good night." Amy poised her hand above the old cart machine in order to time the cue. "I'll be back with another round of requests on WELV, Buffalo's Elvis Radio." In quick succession, Amy fired up the track to begin the commercial break.

Sighing, she removed the over-sized headphones and slumped in the tall, old bar stool chair. She glanced at the coffee pot and resolved to brew another batch. The room was lit with all of its yellowed florescent lighting turned on which almost seemed a waste. It should have reassured her that it was a routine of hers to check and double check all the locks were secure. Amy shuddered at the thought of turning off all lights but what was necessary to work with. She was afraid of shadows; her mind played tricks on her, thinking she saw movement when there was none.

She rubbed grainy sleep from her eyes and pushed the chair aside. She was going to need to stand for the rest of the shift or else fall asleep right then and there.

"Don't worry Amy; things get worse before they can get better." Her words sounded hollow. At least talking to herself seemed to help keep her awake; even if the content was questionable and the action further strained her voice. She took a draught of cold coffee to soothe her crackly throat. "I hope it gets better soon, 'cause I don't know how long I can handle this whole lack of sleep thing."

The faint sound of brewing coffee and the scent of its fresh roast tickled her senses. Amy jumped up and down shaking her body back into awareness when she noticed a call light up. "Wonder who it will be this time...freaky perverts are getting old." Bracing herself, she cleared her throat and got back into announcer mode with a fake smile and lightness in tone. "Hi, who’s this?"

"Hi..." The rumbling male voice was a little hesitant. "Is this Amy O'Connor?"

"Yep, sure is. What can I do for you this morning?" She had already punched the Record button on another cart to play back just in case this caller didn't have an agenda like so many others before. The disadvantage at working overnight besides the sleep deprivation was an alarming number of perverts and miscreants that called in at the sound of a female voice.

"Wow, it is morning already, isn't it?" She heard a raspy sigh on the other line. “How do you do it, work such hours and still sound so chirpy?” Oh, what the heck, it was slow and she was about to fall asleep. So why not indulge in this guy's obvious need to talk?

"Sounds like you're having a long night." Sometimes there were moments like these that had her feeling like a radio bartender.

"Yep. Working late again." She empathized with the weariness in his tone.

"What's your name and what evil company do you work for that has you pulling such long hours?" She noticed her radio voice had begun to slip, having heard the exhaustion in his voice. She gave herself a mental kick back into gear.

"It's usually me who asks all the questions." He chuckled a little. "Feels good to be on the other end, for once.” The man paused as if about to reveal a great secret. “I'm Detective Mark Holliday with the Buffalo PD."

"Nice of you to call in, Detective Mark." She wasn’t sure if she was successful in recovering from her momentary pause or hiding the nervousness in her voice so she dropped his last name in a teasing way to make up for it. "Was there a song you wanted to request?"

"Why don't you pick one out for me? Something with a beat to help keep me awake." Was it her imagination, or did his voice seem to have changed to what she thought was disappointment?

"One caffeinated song coming up." Her tone changed from her cookie-cutter announcer voice to something more herself as she pushed the Record button off.

"Don't stay up too much later."

"You're sounding just as tired as I feel." It was a sure sign of her sleep depravity when she could swear his voice sounded warmer.

"Well not for long. Got a fresh batch of coffee with my name on it." She eyed the pot. Sure enough, the rumbling stopped and a full pot sat there waiting for her to claim it. "Have a good rest of the night, Detective Mark."

Moments later, an edited version of the detective's conversation broadcasted and Amy cued up 'I Fought the Law and the Law Won.' Amy let out a sleepy chuckle and imagined the response from the nice detective with the hypnotic voice.

She turned to look the clouded-over windows as she saw movement in her peripheral vision but whatever it was had disappeared. Outside was darkness broken only by a weak flickering street lamp casting an orange glow. For a minute Amy could've sworn she saw a bleach-blonde woman in a slinky dress that barely covered her slight frame walk by. And without even a whisper of a coat to protect her from the cold. It must've been her imagination. No one in their right mind would be out there in that freezing wind dressed like that. Shaking her head, Amy returned to the console to queue up the next stream of songs and willed the clock to speed up.

***
The sky opened with a deluge of pelted water bullets, spears of lightning and booms of thunder shaking the ground below with its power. The hard rain came down like missiles accompanied by lightning that illuminated the area in blinding and sharp relief. As the storm overtook the city, it plumetted everything in its path like a bull, wild and crazed and loosed among the streets. A lone squat building sat in its path and the storm raged in indignation against the offending obstacle. The aged brick walls held fast against the fury of the storm, but this did nothing to reasure the person within.

Amy listened to the fierceness of the weather outside. She had never experienced a monsoon before, but that's exactly what she would call the abnormally violent storm outside. The tempest was unnatural in its strength and she couldn’t control the shiver that crawled up her arms. She fought the instinct to run and hide under her desk, like a small child..

A flash of lightning struck a little too close, causing a power outage. Even her console was out, which meant the backup generator was blown. Everything was dead all around her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she tried to peer around to see in the sudden darkness. The lightning outside acted like a strobe light. She was able to catch a glimpse or two around her before she was back in the impenetrable blackness. Wasn’t there a flashlight on one of the shelves somewhere? All the old carts were stored on the shelves behind her and it got dark in between them, which was what the flashlight was for.

Amy’s fists clenched and she could feel her heart pumping wildly in her chest. She stood there, encased in a dense and impenetrable darkness, feeling the walls of her chest tighten as she tried not to panic. She couldn’t stop her mind from comparing it to being buried alive. It only added to her fear to know she was alone in this small hell.

She heard a creak and yelped. Amy looked for the source, but without a light it was too dark. She had to get that flashlight or her imagination would end up being the death of her. She scrambled around towards the bookshelves when she heard a faint tinny almost inaudible through the constant beating of the rain outside. It reminded her of a banshee wail that shot her heart rate up and widened her eyes in fear. But the door was locked and she hadn't heard the door at all.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded hollow and weak with fear. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Is anyone here?” Then she added in a smaller voice, “Besides me?”

Her hand found the shelves and her panic subsided as she fumbled on the flashlight with her blind fingers. She moved back to her console. Amy's fingers shook as a cold chill overtook her. The tumult of the rain almost sounded like faint sobs. She flipped the switch of the flashlight she now possessed and quickly scanned her surroundings, heart in her throat. But there was nothing.

She glanced at her watch now that she was able to see. Her chest felt lighter with relief. Just thirty minutes and she’d be on her way home. Better get things cleaned up and organized for the next shift. She passed by a small mirror and noticed her haggard appearance. She looked gaunt and pale; the shadows under her eyes giving her a haunted look. No wonder she wasn’t having any luck with a social life. What if that detective saw her like this? Maybe she should...

The keening wail of a little girl was definitely audible this time. The voice was closer and speaking broken sentences between sobs. Amy detected a mess of emotions from that voice: anger, confusion, sadness, hate and much, much, more.
Though she could clearly hear this cocktail of a tirade, her eyes gave her no evidence of another presence in the building with her.

Amy’s hackles rose and in the bone-chilling cold she could see her foggy breath. Then a flash from the storm outside momentarily lit up the room. There, in front of the door, a silhouette of a girl hunched over filled Amy’s terrified eyes. Amy screamed, unable to suppress herself and stumbled back against the shelves. She would run, but the ghost - yes, a ghost, she could see right through it! - blocked her exit.

The beam of the flashlight speared right through the girl and she didn’t seem to notice. Amy’s heart hammered in her chest as the girl turned to face her and stared back at her. She was looking at Amy, clearly upset to catch someone witnessing her pain. For a moment the two of them studied each other; Amy looking like a frightened deer.

“Please don’t hurt me.” The sound of her own voice came out as a small squeak. She was shocked she had said anything at all.

Amy became alerted to the fact that she didn’t need the flashlight to see the girl. The ghost shone with a faint inner light. She could see the girl’s face contorting in a reaction Amy couldn’t begin to fathom. Maybe the ghost didn’t hear or understand. Then her face revealed a loathing, ferocity before she charged Amy, coming just short of touching and floating so they were nose to nose.

Amy’s heart hammered in her chest, forcing the blood to speed through her body and rush into her head. She was screaming, but no noise passed through her instantly dry lips, mouth and throat. Her body retreated away, crashing into the barrier of the bookshelves behind her; hands splayed on either side seizing the shelves in a death grip. Her mind recoiled from the maddening horror in front of her - incapable of handling the reality of the situation. The flashlight had fallen to the ground, forgotten.

“Hurt YOU!?!” The girl child’s voice was coated with primitive anger, disbelief, and contempt. It rang in Amy’s ears like a siren. “I’M THE ONE WHO’S DEAD!”

The ground seemed to give under Amy’s feet. She felt a welcoming numbness overtake her, easing the stiffness in her body. She was dimly aware of the ground rising up to meet her, opening herself as unconsciousness claimed her.

"A Special Case - Chapter Two"