American Nocturne Page 15

  I yanked the cassette from the envelope. “Oh, yeah? Well, what do you say we listen to a few bars of this?”

  I shoved the tape into my tape recorder and pushed the play button. A high-pitched melody from a flute rang out.

  Holding the player out toward Skadden, I cranked up the volume and sidestepped over to the mirror. Skadden bent his head down and buried his face in his hands.

  “Reveal yourself!” I said.

  Skadden lifted his brow, which was red from where his hands pressed it. He did not look amused.

  “Now I know you. You’re the annoying one the detective told me about, with your plantation-retro suit and your yard-sale hat. What she didn’t tell me was what a complete and utter moron you are! Phillip! Get security now!”

  This time Phillip did as he was told. Within thirty seconds, I was being dragged out the front door by two men in blue polyester with patches shaped like badges on their sleeves. They dumped me unceremoniously on the concrete.

  “Hey!” I shouted as they headed back toward the building. “I want my mirror back! And my crowbar!”

  Phillip waited as the guards reentered the building, then he stepped toward me.

  “Mr Skadden wants me to have security to call the police.”

  I looked up at him. There was no reason for him to pass along that information, unless he was thinking of passing along more. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “I must confess, you had me going there for a minute. Had me confused. I wasn’t sure what to make of what you were saying. I have to admit that Mr Skadden has been acting, well, strangely lately. I doubt he’s some monster, though.”

  “Strangely, huh? I suspect you don’t know the half of it.”

  “I’d probably be fired if he knew I was even talking to you. But Skadden can be… scary. Unpredictable. I’m more worried about him than I am you. How about you just go home, Mr Kolchak. Leave, now, and I’ll call you if I notice anything weird. And I’ll see if I can convince him not to call the police, since you already left.”

  “All right. I’ll go. No use sticking around here at this time of night. What’re you guys doing here so late, anyway? Using the concert hall for a black mass at midnight?”

  The man snorted a laugh. “Hardly. Von Mueller got here last night and is still jet-lagged. He slept most of the afternoon. He commented to Mr Skadden at dinner that he would be up all night, so Skadden offered to show him around our facilities.”

  “At the witching hour. How convenient.”

  “Hmm. That’s a laugh. I never thought of it that way. You certainly have an active imagination, Mr Kolchak.”

  “Yeah, well, even I have problems imagining what would make a young woman scratch her own eyes out. Something screwy is going on here. I would suggest you watch your back, kid.”

  Phillip lowered his head, scraped the sole of his shoe against the pavement. “Funny thing is, ever since I started working for Skadden it seems I’ve been doing little else.”

  He turned and left me on the walk. I picked myself up as he entered the building and dusted off the seat of my pants. The building sat there indifferently as I wondered what I was missing. It had to be Murmur. It had to be.

  I gave my pants one last slap and felt a smear of something rubbery stuck to them. Gum. A thin tendril off it trailed off in the direction of a large wad on the concrete. Great, I thought. And I just got these back from the cleaners.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  I looked back over to the building, into the many darkened windows. It had been right under my nose the whole time. In more ways than one.

  I double-timed it to the back of the garage, hoping the door I had jimmied hadn’t been discovered yet. It hadn’t. Once inside, I roamed the halls as stealthily as I could until I found who I was looking for. Not only did he confirm what I suspected, he loaned me what I needed for a mere twenty bucks.

  When I walked into Skadden’s office pushing the janitor’s bucket, he and Von Mueller were standing over a glass case, discussing the instrument inside it. The lights to the concert hall were on, brightening the room significantly.

  I picked up a conductor’s baton from Skadden’s desk and gave it five quick whacks against the shaft of the mop to get his attention. I don’t think he appreciated the joke.

  “You again!” Skadden said.

  “Yes. Me again. Funny, here I was this whole time thinking that you revealed your demonic self because of Ms Humphrey’s music. I realize now the truth was much simpler. You see, your janitor uses a strong concentration of ammonia in his cleaning solution. Ammonia and, it turns out, salt. A lot of old timer’s favor that kind of a mix. To get rid of odors. And it just so happens there was a time when precursors to ammonia and certain salts were used to ward off demons. Demons like you.”

  “You’re a madman! Phillip! Phillip!”

  “Well, see who is mad when I do this!”

  I pulled the mop from the bucket and dumped its contents onto the floor. The sudsy solution rushed forward like an incoming tide, splashing over the shoes of both men.

  I stood straight and waited.

  Nothing happened. Nothing, that is, except that Skadden grew more furious by the second.

  “PHILLIP!”

  Skadden looked close to having a stroke. Von Mueller merely looked afraid and confused. But there was no demon. I think it’s safe to say I’ve never felt so stupid in my entire life.

  I was struggling for something to say, when I heard the pounding of footfalls outside the door. Then a voice yelled, “I’m coming,” and I turned as Phillip rushed into the room. He ran straight into the thick, gray tangles of the mop I was holding. The splash soaked him.

  “You idiot,” he said. An angry groan escaped as he flapped his hand in front of his face, trying to wave away the odor. “You’ll pay for that, Kolchak.”

  I thought for a second he was talking about his shirt, which did look expensive. But then his eyes widened and turned a searing shade of red. His body stiffened. He seemed frozen in place. I didn’t notice the first finger rip through his scalp, but I did the second, third, and fourth – all the way through the tenth. Two sets of talons poked through the top of his skull, then thrust themselves apart with a vengeance, shredding what had been the young man’s body in two.

  “Don’t look at it!” I was screaming at them, but Skadden and Von Mueller either didn’t hear me or were too stunned to react. I ran toward them and pushed them to the floor. “Cover your eyes!”

  I had to remind myself to heed my own advice. I held a hand out in front of my face, blocking out Murmur’s eyes from my vision like a centerfielder blocking out the sun.

  He was big. At least seven feet tall, with triangular, bat-like wings that each curved at the tip over their corresponding shoulder into a single long claw. From what I could see of his face, it was shaped like something between a crocodile and a horse, with protruding upper and lower fangs at the end of its snout. I could see a huge set of antelope horns over the top of my hand. Every inch of him looked like he had been soaking in a vat of blood.

  And, thanks to my linebacker imitation, he was standing between me and the mirror.

  Now what. I had to find a way to the mirror, but the beast seemed to read my mind. Without looking he raised a fist and thrust it back into the glass, shattering it.

  The thing lunged toward me and I scrambled out of the way, stumbling until I bounced up against the glass wall overlooking the concert hall. I turned to face the demon, covering my eyes, and found myself clinging to a desperate idea. I peeked through my bottom fingers as it took several deliberate steps toward me. It was closing in slowly. Patiently.

  “Look,” it said, tossing aside a chair that shattered against a far wall. The voice was like the scrape of sand across slate.

  It was toying with me. Enjoying the moment. Savoring it.

  “Look at me.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “You dare to interfere? Dare to thi
nk you could stop me? I’ve waited too long. Worked too long. This is my destiny. Hell on Earth. My Hell. Look at me! Or I will make you wish you had.”

  The creature took another step. Two. A third. Then I threw my hand out and slapped down all the switches to the lights in the concert hall and dropped to the floor.

  I held my breath and waited. Within seconds, a roar buffeted my eardrums and sent my hands slamming against the sides of my head. Even with my ears ringing, I heard the thumping eruption of a flame, felt the heat singe my clothes. And the smell. The overwhelming, putrid stench of rotten eggs. It caused me to retch.

  Then it was over.

  When I opened my eyes, a huge puddle of thick yellow liquid, clumped and gummy, formed the center of a large circle on the floor. On the other side of the room, Skadden and Von Mueller were slowly lifting their heads, blinking.

  I stood and rubbed the small of my back. I turned to face the glass wall. With the lights of the office on and the lights to the auditorium off, I may as well have been looking into a giant mirror.

  Handsome Devil, I thought, straightening my hat.

  * * *

  The police let me go around six am. They had nothing to hold me on, as much as they wished otherwise. Nobody took my account of what happened seriously, but the witnesses weren’t blaming me, either. Or at least no one would let on that they were. Lt Sanchez made a point of letting me know I was absolutely free to leave town.

  I headed straight for the Observer to jot down some notes and dictate the story while it was fresh in my mind. Then I was going to get some much needed sleep.

  Updyke showed up just as I was finishing. He acted surprised to see me. Over-acted.

  “My, but you’re here early, Kolchak.”

  “Yes, Ron. But not for much longer.”

  “Mr Vincenzo called me last night. He told me to make sure you turned in your assignment.”

  “Oh, yeah? The walk from his office putting too much of a strain on his heart?”

  “Hardly. Mr Vincenzo won’t be in today. One of his Vows-of-Marriage pledges was to take one day off this week to spend with Mrs Vincenzo.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “One of his what?”

  “Vows-of-Marriage pledges. You know, for the Vows of Marriage program. The one where husbands and wives do their best to be the most supportive, reliable spouses they can be. Mr Vincenzo seems intent on getting the most out of it. He’s met Mrs Vincenzo for a lunch and dinner date every day this week. He must really believe in the program.”

  I settled deeper into in my chair and tilted my head back, letting out a subdued laugh. “Yeah. I’m sure that’s it.”

  “Well, anyhow, Kolchak, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve been wanting to tell you that I’ve had enough of your snide comments. I want to clear the air.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “You know. You’ve been ribbing me about it for days.”

  “Oh, that. What is the story with that, anyway?”

  “If you must know, it was a prank gone horribly awry. I was young and foolish and wild. It agonizes me to even think about it.”

  Updyke wiped at his eye, as if it were welling up. I sat straight, suddenly feeling like a jerk. “What happened?”

  “The Music Appreciation Society at my college accepted me as a pledge. As my final initiation requirement, I had to sneak into the philharmonic – the old facilities downtown – and… and…”

  “And what?”

  “And reverse the strings on one of the violins! Oh, the humiliation! They caught me walking up to the front entrance. Lying in wait for me, they were. I’ll never forget the way the security guard casually asked me if I needed help, as if they didn’t already know. I confessed immediately, of course. I’ve borne the shame ever since.”

  I tried to hold it in. I really did. But then it just burst out, ripping through my lips, spraying like a spit-take. I hadn’t had such a laugh in a long time.

  “Go ahead,” Updyke said, indicating the conversation was over. “Ridicule my pain. But now it’s out in the open.”

  I don’t know how long I kept laughing, but my sides really hurt when I was done.

  My line rang and I answered it. The legal department was calling to apprise me of a recent development. I thanked the caller for the information and hung up. After a moment, I picked up my digital recorder and pressed the record button. When I finally finished, I grabbed my hat and coat and headed for my room at the Gilbert.

  It turns out no birth record was ever found of a Phillip Ashcroft that could possibly be the same man two esteemed maestros swore was torn to shreds by some wild animal that appeared out of nowhere. They did find his car, which inexplicably contained a number of neatly folded changes of clothes in the trunk, including several pairs of socks and shoes. The vehicle was registered to a Phillip Ashcroft, born in 1978. That person, however, died in 1982 in a car accident that claimed the lives of his entire family. Likewise, there was no explanation for the hundreds of starlings that were found dead outside the Pacific Coast Philharmonic’s business office. A local expert eventually concluded they had died slamming into the walls of the building. Television news reports passed it off as a rare occurrence of navigational confusion. The fact the moon was three-quarters full on a clear night was ignored. There never was any mention of a Phillip Ashcroft in the media.

  I owed Karen Humphrey an apology. Her flute playing was not the catalyst that forced Murmur into human form. It was the unusually strong cleaning solution that did it. The demon needed to take a life to avoid being sucked back to Hell. Poor Karen just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  As for my legal problems, the call I received was from the paper’s attorney to let me know that the lawyer for the Collingsworth family decided to drop the suit. Word had come down that Hampton Collingsworth was about to be indicted on charges of securities fraud, and apparently those legal issues were considered a little more pressing than a libel action. Adding to the decision was the fact the Collingsworth attorney’s law firm had suddenly found itself infested with a rare species of toad, the presence of which in vast numbers could not be explained. When I heard that, the mystery of how that story made it to press after being spiked by Vincenzo no longer seemed so perplexing. It would appear Francine Collingsworth, her nature-girl exterior notwithstanding, is quite the sorceress. I guess my not chewing her out was a good idea.

  The concert was canceled. Von Mueller retired without conducting another symphony and Skadden announced he was taking a leave of absence to pursue other interests.

  And if you’re wondering about the autograph, well it wasn’t easy, but I got it. Before they took me downtown the police cuffed me and sat me on a bench while they decided such important matters as whether to go with a phone book or a rubber hose. They left me alone while they did this, which tells you how serious a suspect I was. I saw Von Mueller being walked out and I tore a page from my note pad and grabbed a pen from my pocket. Tricky when your hands are cuffed. He would have probably signed anything to get me to promise he would never see me again. I wonder what Updyke would say.

  I suppose it makes more sense to me now why Von Mueller’s autograph would be considered desirable. Apparently, the Devil’s own composer thought Von Mueller’s orchestra was the best on Earth, and one capable of playing a perfect rendition of his apocalyptic composition. But even though you might say I had to go through Hell to get it, get it I did.

  The funny thing is, the handwriting is so shaky, I doubt Vincenzo’s sister-in-law will ever be able to convince anyone it’s even his.

  Nurture

  AS WAS OFTEN the case, Seth Wilson was thinking about his father.

  The early-morning sun fired bright yellow fragments of light while it climbed its way over the trees, causing the dewy grass to sparkle along the path as Seth reached the halfway point of his jog. The eastern sky was stained a fruity shade of red, and a soft but steady wind undulated through the swaying rows of oaks and ma
gnolias, exposing the undersides of leaves.

  Nature was issuing its warnings. A storm was coming.

  Seth was lost in the rhythmic pace of his footfalls, the hypnotic repetition of his breathing. His father was in the middle of teaching him to fish, showing him how to Texas-rig a worm, how to tie a proper fishing knot. Seth’s memory of him was vague but powerful, a collection of air-brushed scenes half-real, half-imagined, polished smooth from use. Seth pictured his father as a slender man, tall and strong, with salt-and-pepper hair and a prominent nose. In this particular memory, they were in a rowboat, surrounded by lake water, coffee dark and glassy in the early calm, facing each other over an open tackle box and a can of night crawlers on a warm summer morning. Just like a hangman’s noose, he told him. Over and under, then around and around and around a dozen times, then back through and tighten. Same knot my father taught me, Seth heard him say.

  The looming sight of an intersection tugged Seth into the present, and he sensed that rainfall was on its way. He could smell it, the earthy scent of descending moisture carried on the breeze, flowing cool and sullen – stomp, breath, stomp, breath, stomp, breath – into his nostrils and mouth. Seth didn’t mind jogging in a light rain, but April showers in Houston were typically violent downpours. He looked up and thought he felt some tiny drops find his face. Oh, well. He would have to just tough it out.

  Seth rounded the corner, leaving the section of the trail that followed Memorial Drive, the park still dead at that hour on a Sunday morning. He tried to turn his attention to the presentation he needed to finish, but thoughts of his father kept intruding. He was once more tying imaginary fishing knots on Lake Conroe, entering the last leg of his three-mile route when he heard Philo Gorman’s voice carry from the street. It was about the last thing he expected to hear.

  “Seth!”

  A man was sitting in a gray Isuzu Trooper, leaning over toward the opened passenger window, coasting the compact SUV along the road adjacent to the jogging path. The vehicle was keeping perfect pace with Seth, who glanced over, but kept jogging. The face was all too familiar.