Paradise Harbour chapter 3

Chapter Three

When I awoke, the sun’s rays pierced my eyes, and I turned away to adjust for a moment. I slowly sat up and looked around the room. It was large, with beautiful, clean grey and green walls, grey carpet, and a couple of comfortable chairs. One door led out to a balcony. I got up and walked into the hall. It led into the large living room, which was next to a small kitchen. The apartment was incredible. Again, the pressure of needing to do a good job on the case seemed to descend like a weight onto my shoulders. All this luxury. I would pay dearly if I failed the investigation.

Well, what I needed first was food. After that, I could plan my day and begin the investigation.

I went down brown wooden steps and opened the door leading into the street. It was somewhat busy already. I walked a block and then politely asked a lady reading a newspaper where I could grab a bite to eat. She jerked her head to the right and said there was a twenty-four-hour diner just another block down. I strolled there, breathing in the clean ocean air and enjoying the clear, bright morning. In the distance, I could hear seagulls despite all the morning sounds of the town.

In a moment, I was in front of a small diner. Big silver letters on the top read Heavenly Diner. So Paradise Harbour had a Heavenly Diner! Well, of course.

I stepped in and noticed an older gentleman with a bald head behind the counter. He pointed to one of the tables by the window, and I made my way there.

“New in town?” asked a man sitting at the table on the way to mine. “Never seen you here before. You look like you’re from out of town, anyway.”

The man had chubby cheeks and an arrogant way of speaking. I confirmed to him that I was indeed new. He introduced himself as Jackson Thormund and indicated that the large tall house behind a gate across the street belonged to him. “I hope you’ll try one of my group’s meetings,” he said, without any further explanation. I politely answered that I would try and cut the conversation short. I was very hungry.

The bald man approached me. He smiled politely and introduced himself as Bill Linwoody, the owner. I was pleased to meet him and felt good energy coming from him. I ordered eggs, bacon, and waffles with two coffees. Bill nodded and left to give my order to the cook.

I relaxed and sat back, trying to get my bearings. Outside, Jackson Thormund, who had exited the diner, noticed me looking through the window. He pointed at the large house across the road and nodded to me in a commanding manner.

When Bill returned with the food, I had to ask.

“Hey, Bill, what kind of group is Jackson running?” I asked, eyeing my plate at the same time.

“The kind that you should be careful with, young man. The Klan.” Bill nodded and walked away.

He obviously meant the Ku Klux Klan, and it made me uneasy. I was a little shocked and revolted. The Klan as far north as Rhode Island? I always made sure to steer clear of those people.

Once I tasted the eggs, I felt almost euphoric, the comforting food satisfying my hungry body and mind. The black coffee was next, and its rich, welcome taste filled my mouth, and its warmth took over my throat and chest. All my uncomfortable feelings seemed to take a back seat as I truly enjoyed this early meal.

I left Bill a large tip due to my deep satisfaction, and before leaving, I asked if he knew directions to the Garrison School of Medicine and hospital. Bill said that the hospital was only seven blocks away, and when I showed him my map of the town, he marked it for me, indicating that the medical school was actually in a separate location, together with the university, Kilkatonix. He also indicated that Garrison owned an asylum on the edge of the city right at the cliffs. He marked it all on my map. I thanked him and said I’d be back often.

I stepped out onto the busy street and followed the map. With every block leading away from the main streets, the surroundings became less vibrant and more quiet. I noticed the intensity of the ocean breeze. I was closer to the water than before, and once I was only a few blocks away from the hospital, the streets were completely empty, and I could hear the ocean in the distance.

Empty, that is, except for one man standing on the other side of the street. He had a rugged, worn-out brown trench coat and an old black fedora lying on the sidewalk, with no money inside of it yet. I crossed over, took out a dollar, and placed it into the hat. He paused for a moment as his eyes got big, and then he stared at me with gratitude. He smiled, revealing some missing teeth. “My name’s Charlie,” he said, and I introduced myself as well.

“Do you know anything about Garrison Hospital?”

Charlie smiled a little sadly and told me his story. “I was a big one for the drink. My wife and two kids took out the boat one day, and I never saw ‘em again. They found the boat, barely afloat, but never did find the bodies. That made me take to the drink more and more. I lost my job and my house. By the time Dr. Furtikos got me on the wagon, I had nothin’.”

Now Charlie played the harmonica in remembrance of his family. My investigator’s nature pushed me to ask for details. He said his former home was close to the docks by the water, at the end of Graham Street. I took mental notes, thanked him, and moved on.

Just behind Charlie’s spot was a small park, and next to it was an old rusting twisted fence enclosing what looked like an old church. I couldn’t tell whether it was still functional. Despite its worn-out look, it might still be used for worship.

I continued on down the street. Beyond four parked cars and a few row houses stood the hospital. At the foot of the steps leading to the entrance was a table with a rain roof above it, manned by a nurse sitting in a chair. Since she made no eye contact with me, I breezed by and entered the hospital.

The typically institutional light blue walls and floor of black-and-white linoleum tiles were the first things I noticed. I approached the front desk. There was one man standing behind it, frowning as he read some papers. He was tall with broad shoulders and a strong build, and his name tag said Dr. Furtikos.

I cleared my throat, and he looked up.

“May I help you? New in town?” he asked.

I grinned. “Is it that obvious? How can you tell?”

Dr. Furtikos lifted one eyebrow slightly. “Well, when you’ve lived here long enough and seen many people, the way they behave and use their facial expressions…you can tell. What brings you here, young man?” he asked in an authoritative tone.

“I’m a private investigator. My name is Luc.” “Uh oh.”

“Are you uncomfortable with my profession?” I asked.

“Oh no, I’m not, but this town is. It’s not the best place for people who come digging around.” Sighing, he tossed the papers onto the desk. “Some things are better left buried, untouched, undusted….” Dr. Furtikos paused, thinking. “But I don’t mind you at all. In fact, perhaps if you do me a favor, I could be of more use to you? Tell me, what are you investigating.”

“I am looking for a missing woman. In fact, she was supposed to work here and had a special scholarship from the medical school,” I said. I wasn’t ready to reveal Aranxa Van Dausen’s name.

Dr. Furtikos lowered his eyes for a moment and rubbed his strong hands together. I could tell he now was uncomfortable but trying to hide it.

“And who is this lady?” he asked.

“So you’ve had more than one female go missing from the staff or the school recently?” I answered with a question of my own.

Furtikos leaned forward on the desk, his face close to mine. “Listen. Some people just leave sometimes. Some do disappear. It’s not my job to be their guardian,” he said calmly.

I stood my ground, though nothing in the man’s tone seemed threatening. “Her name was Aranxa. Did you know her?”

“Yes. She was very talented. I have some of her paperwork here, in fact.” The doctor’s face grew a little sly. “But about that favor, eh?” He smiled, but there was a fleeting calculating look in his eyes.

I decided to play along. “Sure, go ahead. I’m all ears.”

Furtikos took a deep breath. “This city has actually had quite a problem with missing people. Actually, and just between you and me….” He leaned toward me again and continued sotto voce, “There is even a serial killer on the loose. The public doesn’t know, but they bring me the victims’ bodies for autopsy. It’s pretty grisly. This is truly a demented killer.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I had a man in the city who was supposed to bring me certain…shall we say, ‘supplies.’ You know, Luc, it’s illegal for me to give you those documents of hers, but...the ‘supplies’ I, um, ordered—not quite

legal today either. I paid A LOT! Hmm. It’s been two weeks. He’s never shown up. Would you check up on him for me?” Dr. Furtikos smiled disarmingly.

I paused, rubbing my chin. “Okay, playing a henchman is a first for me, but I guess I really have no choice if I want to get anywhere with my investigation.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” said Furtikos as he scribbled an address on a notepad. He pushed the piece of paper toward me. “Come back when you have something.”

You never know where a lead will take you, and I needed those papers of Aranxa’s, so I took the small sheet of paper, nodded, and left without saying anything else. Such was my task. I did not expect this investigation to be smooth or to get easier. This town was different.

I didn’t want to waste any time, so I found a young man standing by a car and offered to pay him to drive me to the address on the paper. He was startled, but at the flash of some cash, he reluctantly agreed. He wore an old coat with holes in it, shoes that had seen better days, and a thin gold wedding ring. In the back seat of his car lay a small wooden toy, so he most likely had a child at home. He could not turn down the money.

The drive was rather short, and the driver knew the streets well, making me wonder about what he did for a living, but I thanked him and departed the car without asking him anything.

The address was that of a pub, which actually had a board over the door with “closed” written on it. This was a problem, but I glanced around to make sure no one was watching and picked the lock, ducking under the board and into the pub. The old floor creaked as I stepped inside. There was dust and cobwebs all over the place.

Right away, my heart rate began to race. On the floor was a severed human hand, and bloodstains led to a basement staircase. Swallowing hard to force down bile and an overwhelming feeling of terror, I took out my pistol and my flashlight and slowly descended the bloody steps. I tried to focus on my breathing and stay calm.

Finally, I reached the basement. There was a string hanging from a bare light bulb, and I jerked on the light. The floor was also wooden, while the walls were made of red bricks. It was a mess down there, with chairs, tables, and boxes. And in one corner, there were the mangled remains of a body.

I climbed over boxes and chairs to get closer. The face was nearly obliterated. Maggots crawled on the exposed flesh of the corpse, and the smell was sickening. I decided to get out of there, fast.

As I swung around to leave, I saw the “supplies” Furtikos had spoken of—a box of whiskey bottles. I wrapped it in my overcoat and carried it up to the first floor.

Then I heard the sound of something moving in the basement. I froze and watched the wall. A shadow of something that looked like a tentacle appeared on the wall of the stairwell, and I heard strange squeaking sounds. I kicked the basement door shut, grabbed the booze, and ran out of there as fast as I could.