Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Read online

“We didn’t start no fire.”

  “Not according to the fire department. All other possibilities have been ruled out; you two were playing with fire and ignited a gas-filled pipe. That’s all there is to it and according to our report, your friend died fuckin’ around.”

  “We didn’t light any fire. Maybe one of the neighbors did!”

  The slightly overweight detective bursts into laughter.

  “The neighbors, what neighbors?! You mean the other bums that stayed with you, were those your neighbors?” He changes back to his serious face. “Look, stay out of the buildings! I would fine your ass, but what’s the point, you ain’t got shit! If I ever see your white trash ass in any of those vacant buildings, I’ll throw your ass through the jail!” Pointing at Melissa, his stern voice is loud and clear.

  Calming his tone slightly, he has one more statement to make.

  “Hey, do us all a favor, you know, the taxpayers, and get your- self a job and stop soaking up all the welfare! You people make me sick!” He shoves his notebook and pencil into his torn shirt pocket. Giving Melissa one last stare, he turns and leaves.

  Melissa’s face steams with pure rage as she watches the arrogant cop exit the room. She is so numb with anger she doesn’t realize she is biting her bottom lip before a small droplet of blood forms. All she can imagine is grasping his shiny 9MM that is tightly strapped to his side and putting it to his face, then without any haste, unloading the entire clip. Melissa imagines the blood splattering all over the white walls and ceiling, causing a dazzling array of red droppings.

  “Hello, hello in there.” The young man, unnoticed by Melissa, has re-entered the room. Looking directly into her eyes, he tries to break her trance. “Hey, I think you bit your lip.” He pulls from the box of tissues sitting next to the phone and proceeds to wipe the blood.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” Melissa’s daze is broken as she pushes his hand away, knocking the blood-tainted tissue to the floor.

  “Just trying to help,” he says while taking a step backward.

  “Who the hell are you? You been in here all this time like we’re related or somethin’! Look, if you want to help me, help me get the hell out of here! Other than that you’re just another useless man, and at the moment, that’s the last thing I need.”

  “When you get out of here, where are you going to go?”

  “You nosy bastard! How’s that any of your business?”

  “Look! My friends at the station said don’t get involved. But, when I found you in that back room choking on black smoke, you asked me to help you. In fact, you kept asking until we loaded you into the ambulance!” Taking a deep breath, he calms his irritated voice. “I’m only doing what you asked me to.”

  Melissa slams back into the hospital bed, pouting like a child.

  “From the information we’ve gathered, you spent a lot of time at the mission downtown. Your only friend was the woman killed in that fire; others you associated with cannot be found. You have no one else.”

  “Is any of this your business?”

  “I guess not,” he answers, indignantly snatching his wrinkled newspaper and storming out of the room.

  2

  Later that evening, Melissa carefully opens her hospital room door and peeks through the narrow opening. Looking down the hall, she sees one nurse running to answer

  a call for help. Melissa spots another nurse carefully reviewing a patient’s chart. Other than those two nurses, the hospital hallways are barren.

  With only her hospital gown on, Melissa creeps down the hall, flattening her body against the cold tiled wall. She cringes at the feeling of her bare butt rubbing against the ice-cold wall, and her bare feet ache for a pair of warm sneakers. Steadily maintaining her silence, she passes open doors. Keeping a sharp lookout, Melissa takes a glimpse around each and every corner before proceeding.

  Damn, someone’s coming!

  Melissa, hearing the chatter of oncoming hospital staff, quickly darts into an unknown room. Closing the door softly, she backs into the darkness as the doctors walk by. Sliding her hand along the wall, she flicks the light on. Melissa finds herself in a hospital locker room. Hoping she can find something to wear, she begins searching through some of the lockers. All she finds is some hospital scrubs and an old pair of white sneakers that were tossed in the trash for obvious reasons. The sneakers are covered with dried blood and reek of a stomach-churning stench. To make things worse, when Melissa tries the sneakers on, she gets a toe full of an indescribable organic mess. After pulling the mess out of the sneakers, she puts on the scrubs marked with bold letters: “Livingston Medical Center.” Melissa walks over to the mirror to see what she can do to improve her looks. Remembering the scene from the movie “True Lies,” where Jamie Lee Curtis uses water from a vase to slick her hair back, Melissa pours a handful of water. Hoping this works, she proceeds to saturate her hair. Using an extra scrub top, she then pads it slightly dry.

  She makes sure the hall is clear before she exits the room. Feel- ing a little bit more comfortable now that she is out of the patient clothing, she walks with less concern. After passing a few of the hospital staff unnoticed, she abandons all caution, looking desperately for the elevator.

  “Excuse me, may I help you?” The soprano voice that seems to have come out of thin air stops Melissa in her tracks. Turning slowly, Melissa wonders if she should run, bluff, or flat out kick this woman’s ass and run. She decides to bluff. Considering the nurse stands about six foot and has to weigh at least 200 hundred pounds, kicking her ass has to be quickly discarded as an option.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Who are you?”

  Melissa struggles to think.

  “Who am I?” Melissa answers with a goofy, confused tone.

  “Yes, who are you?” The nurse’s patience begins to wear thin. Melissa senses this.

  “Dr. Curtis, Jamie Curtis.” Melissa’s eyes drift to the side, won- dering what the hell made her say that.

  “Why are you up here? What kind of doctor are you?” the nurse asks. Melissa answers with the only type of doctor she knows anything about.

  “Podiatrist.”

  The hefty nurse takes a second to think. “Oh, you must be here for Barns.”

  “Barns?” says Melissa.

  “Mr. Barns just came in the ER with a broken ankle. You’ll find him in room four, down on the first level.”

  “I knew the patient’s name began with a B, yeah, Barns, that’s it,” Melissa answers as she desperately attempts to play it off. “I appreciate your help, I’ll head right down.” Melissa turns and begins to walk away. She feels the nurse still standing there looking at her walk.

  “Dr. Curtis.”

  Melissa’s nervousness shows as she reluctantly turns to face the huge woman.

  “The elevator is down that hall.” The tall, stout nurse points her in the right direction. Melissa wastes no time quickly changing her direction.

  Moments later, Melissa casually strolls out of the electronic emergency room doors. The night breeze sends a slight chill through her scalp as it greets her water-saturated hair. The evening sky, dark and cloudless, only houses the shimmering lights of the distant stars.

  Melissa’s enjoyment of freedom is short-lived as the grief of Sarah’s death suddenly overcasts the pleasant evening. In an unfamiliar city outside Newark, she begins to weep when memories of her best friend emerge. Not even the loud sirens of the passing emergency vehicles can break her reminiscing as she walks toward the distant lights of downtown Newark.

  “So, you’re going to walk the entire way?” A familiar voice star- tles her.

  Melissa turns, and her tears are greeted with a pleasant smile from the young handsome fireman. “Still thinking about your friend?” he asks. Melissa wipes her face.

  “What are you still doin’ around?” Melissa sniffles.

  “Hey, it’s a busy night, we had a few fires, so I came down to see a couple of people in the ER. Then I see
you scurrying out the door. You know, you should stay until they release you, to make sure everything is all right.”

  “Everything’s fine.” Melissa continues to walk.

  “You going to answer my question?”

  “What question?” she asks.

  “Are you walking the entire way?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know, it looks close, but it’s actually about fifteen miles.”

  Melissa slows her stride, following this brush with reality. “Fif- teen?”

  “Yep,” he replies with a grin.

  Melissa turns to face the young man.

  “So, you givin’ me a ride?”

  “Sure, after we get something to eat, unless you’re in some sort of hurry.”

  Melissa’s growling stomach and hunger pangs voice their opinion. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll walk over to Don’s 24-Hour Diner.” After a few more strides with nothing but silence, he stops and introduces himself. “Oh, by the way, my name is Morgan Lowery.” He reaches out for a pleasant handshake.

  “Melissa Shelton,” she answers nervously, greeting the palm of his right hand with hers. Reluctantly, she asks a disturbing ques- tion. “Did they bury Sarah...my friend from the fire?” Her voice is low and shaken.

  “Yes, I believe the city buried her earlier today,” he answers in a compassionate tone. “I’m sorry about what happened. I know how it is to lose a good friend. I lost a close buddy during that huge blaze at the paper warehouse last year.”

  “I remember that.” Melissa notices the faint look of grief over his soft smile. They both take a brief pause from their conversation as they continue to walk.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair. What’s up with the scrubs? A disguise?”

  Melissa just grins, shyly rubbing her hair. She doesn’t answer his question, but allows him to lead the way with a very faint smile.

  3

  Moments later, the two sit in a comfortable booth at Don’s Diner, reviewing the menus. Melissa takes a slight moment to take a good look at the man who’s treating her to this

  meal. She methodically reviews his entire face and upper body with a slow probing stare. Being sure not to miss anything that may identify him as a possible lunatic, she makes a mental note of every distinguishing mark.

  Nice face, cute smile, I see he has a tattoo, I see it peeking out the arm of his T-shirt, I wonder what it is. If it’s a heart or his mom’s name or somethin’ like that, that’s fine, but if it’s a picture of the devil or a skull and cross bones, I’m outta here.

  “What’s your tattoo say?” Melissa asks. Looking at his right shoulder and lifting his shirt, uncovering the colorful picture, he replies.

  “It’s a Capricorn, that’s my sign.”

  “Oh yeah, when’s your birthday?” asks Melissa.

  “December 28th.”

  “Mine is the 31st,” she responds.

  “Well, Capricorn is the best sign to be, I mean, that’s what they say.”

  Melissa can’t help but acknowledge the humane nature of this young man who came out of nowhere. He seems like the type of companion she’s longed for. The type of companion Harry pretended to be. The thought of that monster fills her stomach with nausea, but luckily her hunger pangs stifle the brief sensation. Her mind shifts between the death of her best friend and this kind-faced man opposite her, blinding her with mixed emotions.

  “You can order anything you want.”

  “Thank you.” Melissa picks up the oversized shabby menu, then shifts into a comfortable position.

  The diner is clean and designed like any other city diner. The floor is tiled with multi-colored mini squares. The booths have cracked bright red leather seats that are tightly stitched into more mini squares mimicking the floor. The high stools surrounding the counter are a brightly polished silver, topped with the same cracked red leather.

  The cook is intense as he flips his hamburgers with precision. He seems to be proud of what he does. Happily finishing each order, he rings a tiny bell with his oversized spatula, then hollers, “Order up!” He fills the diner with a pleasing aroma of fried onions, crispy home fries, and a host of other delightful scents that immediately cause the patrons’ mouths to water.

  The waitress’ hair is pulled up into a big blonde sixties beehive, which houses all her writing utensils and probably her car keys. Dressed in a sky-blue uniform with a food-stained apron, she eventually comes to their table. Smacking on a wad of DoubleMint, she is surprisingly cordial as she takes their orders.

  “So, why the visit in the hospital and the meal?” asks Melissa.

  “We’ll call it a rookie learning the hard way that he can’t change the world.” As he clasps his hands in front of him with his elbows on the table, he starts to explain, “I’ve only been in the fire depart- ment for a year now, and I can’t help but see victims every day. I’ve seen entire families wiped out. I’ve seen situations where all die except a young child, protected by his or her car seat.” He takes a brief pause, honoring the victims of tragedy with a respectful moment of silence.

  “Most of the firemen have learned over the years not to get emotionally involved, but I guess I haven’t learned that yet. I can’t help but notice when I’m fighting a fire there is someone who is about to lose everything. I try day after day not to think about it, but I do anyway. I feel that if I am able to do something, then why shouldn’t I?”

  “So, I’m a charity case?” Melissa asks, looking at him with a gun-fighter stare.

  “No, that is not what I meant. After I put you in the ambulance, word got through the crowd that your friend was killed. I heard people saying things like, ‘Now she has no one’, and ‘Who’s gonna look after her now?’ ‘Not me!’ someone answered. As I said before, you asked for my help, so I decided to help you. You would have gotten away if I hadn’t seen you sneaking out the ER.”

  “How do you plan to help me?” Melissa’s eyes are situated in a pessimistic glare.

  “Well, for starters, I could give you a place to stay for a little while, at least until you can get yourself situated with a job.”

  “How am I goin’ to get a job?”

  “Well, see, here is where your luck gets even better. Before I became a fireman, I spent a few years teaching high school. I held a special after-school program where other teachers and I assisted students with anything from college applications to job interviews, and the program always has room for an aide, no experience necessary.”

  “What makes you think I want a job?”

  “That’s the only way you’ll get off the streets. Do you want to get off the streets?”

  Melissa turns her head to the window that parallels their booth and contemplates his question. She just stares aimlessly at the illu- minated parking lot. Morgan just sits quietly, allowing her some time to think.

  Two hot plates of sizzling burgers and fries slide directly in front of them.

  “Y’all need some ketchup?” Without waiting for an answer, the waitress plops a fresh bottle in the middle of the table. “Anything else?” she asks, placing two full glasses of bubbling Sprite on the table.

  “No thank you, we’re fine,” answers Morgan.

  The two eat quietly, analyzing each other. Periodically Melissa lifts her face from her plate to take another gaze at the handsome young fireman. Thoughts of Sarah quickly invade this pleasantry.

  4

  O

  nce outside, Melissa again ponders Morgan’s offer. With so much on her mind, she looks as if she is in pain. “Headache?” Morgan asks. Another gesture of concern from the gentle fireman. Melissa tries her best to fight the desire to give in to this stranger. Sarah is no longer around to give motherly advice. Melissa has no one else. As her mind swirls with questions and mixed emotions, she turns to the waiting fireman.

  Melissa opens her mouth slowly. Her soft, shaken voice emerges.

  “This is for real, no jokes?�
�

  “None,” he answers promptly.

  “What do you want in return?”

  “Absolutely nothing,” he states, opening his palms wide and raising his hands to further gesture his sincerity. Melissa nods, mildly motioning acceptance of the young man’s offer.

  5

  S

  lowly walking beside the quiet woman, Morgan leads the way back to the hospital where his car is parked. The night is peaceful with the city sounds far away and drenched within the distant lights of downtown Newark. Melissa hasn’t felt such a tranquil place since her young days in Erie, Penn- sylvania.

  As they walk, she actually hears the crickets chirp, a sound she’s failed to pay attention to for many years. The smell of freshly cut grass still looms within the night air, filling her lungs. Her vision is slightly hindered by the evening shadows, but she can still catch a small glimpse of the colorful gardens that surround each house. Each flower looks as if its every need is ada- mantly tended to by its owner. They bloom with such brilliance that even the evening darkness cannot fully engulf their magical splendor.

  Melissa begins to enjoy the quiet neighborhood around the hos - pital. Even as she steps into Morgan’s car, she stares at the beauti- ful evergreens that line the streets. Morgan makes no attempt to interrupt her thoughts. Looking at her occasionally, he smiles.

  Melissa leans her face out the open window, enjoying the fresh clean breeze that passes through her hair. Watching the streetlights breeze by, she makes silent wishes, wishing for her nightmares to cease, the nightmares of homelessness, of friendlessness, despair, and poverty--she wishes them all away.

  Please, God, help me. Then suddenly a sharp pain rips through her abdomen, stifling her breathing. She places her hand over her stomach to try to dampen the pain, but it stops as quickly as it began. It only lasts a few seconds, but its memory lasts longer.

  As the streetlights begin to slow their swift pace, Melissa notices Morgan making a turn into a long driveway.