Caraliza (31 page)

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Authors: Joel Blaine Kirkpatrick

BOOK: Caraliza
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That was a waste of my time,” was all she said.

Something went terribly wrong, didn’t it?” Evan wanted to know, refusing to believe she could walk out like she had just taken a bad taxi ride. “What happened, Sareta, you can’t just act like that was strange and nothing more.”

I’ve had worse nightmares!” she snapped, suddenly too frustrated to deal with him, and she lied. She wanted out of the closet so badly she froze. That event in her father’s barn when she was but five years old gave her nightmares until she grew to adulthood and forced it from her mind. The spirits in the closet were malicious, they opened a wound she thought healed, and it might never seem healed, ever again.

Why on earth did you want to go in there?” Evan pleaded as she sought to sit down suddenly. He helped her instead back into the studio so she could sit more comfortably on the divan. She had not tried to reply to his question, and he waited, because he knew she would answer him.

I did not want to go in there, I had to. We must find out if the spirit upstairs is Papa, because if it is, we will never be safe here. I thought I would recognize if it was him. If it is Papa, he lost his soul, and with it, his mind. Whatever that is, it enjoys being murderous. The look in its eyes last night, it wanted you dead. If that is Papa, Evan, you must understand, this place will be pulled apart brick by brick to rid us of him. I will do it myself.”

I asked Caraliza yesterday, who was up those stairs. She only spoke in riddles, it was not Yousep.”

Why were you here yesterday? You have never told me. I think it is time you did.”

 

Evan had to agree. With no luck the day before, and the building in a foul mood, he was not sure he wanted to stay and keep searching. He explained what he was looking for and Sareta sat thoughtful at the idea the window work was done too soon after the murders. She agreed it must have meant something very important to Papa.

But I can’t find any clue any of those windows have ever been touched since they were originally installed,” Evan confessed. “Each one was looked over twice,” then he hesitated, “except the very front window, the display box in the front window. I never spent any time there.”

Are you going to go look there? May I sit here while you do? I do not feel I should be near the closet again, ever-” she trailed off. Sareta was finally beginning to reveal the pain the experience caused her.
Evan was not sure it was wise to leave her alone, but he did. He no sooner reached the front window than she called him back in distress again. She came to the doorway of the studio to meet him, but her face was changed. She was relieved, and had just been eager to tell him why.

It is not him. I was told!”

 

They both went quietly to the front of the shop and stood gazing out the great window, realizing for the first time where it stared. The police tape waved gently in the breeze. Caraliza’s prison was across the street. Yousep could see it from anywhere in the storefront, he could watch to see when she would appear, or she could watch for him to be in the window. Evan wasted his entire day, the day before, and he realized it now. He could have been home when Shelly arrived, and would have avoided the crashing fall from the attic.
He stood at the front window of the shop, and could see the doubled work receipt in his mind, as clearly as if it were in his hand. Front window. That is what it said, he wasted too much energy on windows that had indeed been installed, then forgotten. There were numerous places where work might have been done on the great window, and the display shelf, which always held cameras.
That window shelf was but a platform, high enough to easily reach into, deep enough, to require a person to climb into it, to clean the window, as Yousep did at least every other day, or to move the cameras that were nearly against the glass. The platform was as wide as the window, and was paneled in plain wood as were the walls inside the shop. The entire display platform underneath was storage, hardly needed for anything more glamorous than boxes, and cleaning supplies, which were constantly needed at the front of the shop. Either side of the great window, were shelves into the corners, they also held cameras, but the shelves were bare against the wall, the platform however was a large open space underneath, any part of which could be reworked to appear less than what it had become, perhaps a hiding place indeed.

 

Evan told Sareta what he just realized and she widened her eyes. Anything might have been done under there, to make a place safe enough to keep a secret, and it might be years until a hidden thing inside was found again. Evan had no flashlight; neither did Sareta. The closet had a candle. That accursed closet had the light Evan needed to peer into the darkness under the great window. It could not have been any worse for his poor heart.
Sareta held his hand and he held his breath. The candle was hardly an arm’s length in front of him on the bench inside the darkroom closet. He blocked the door from closing with his body, and he reached. He instantly heard laughter, but it was not what he feared. Somewhere a delicate spirit was laughing at Evan, and it embarrassed him she would think him a fool. He closed his eyes as his seeking hand found the candle, and he promised to find a way to kiss her, should she be brave enough to but appear once more beside him. Her laughter was wonderful to hear. It saddened him, Sareta could not have known what he heard, because it calmed his fears again. Sareta was still afraid of the dark space behind that door. The candle was his; they could leave the closet.
The space under the window display was dusty, and filled with webs of the stuff. Yousep never allowed such dirt to go uncleaned for long, but he had been gone a lifetime. Evan nearly sneezed his candle out. The bare bricks under the window greeted his eyes when they adjusted to the dimmed light, and he climbed further inside, to hold the candle to either side, and see what might have been built.

 

There was indeed woodwork, rough and not gently placed, on either end of the display platform. Only his ankles were visible to Sareta, as she stood, uncertain, outside the hole that swallowed him up. She did not like him being under there. Far into the space as he was, he could not reach either end of the space, to touch or investigate the wooded walls there, but his eyes told him, they were not the walls of the shop as he expected to find. There were walls inside the space, there was other space built inside the hole where he lay. Other voids to probe. His candle was failing. He breathed too hard and it nearly went out. He would have been a mess under there with no light, and he was sure he would scream like a girl, if the rotten light went out. Sareta bent to her knees and peered over his shoes, and frightened Evan, by speaking so that he did cry back. They laughed, because they scared each other.
Evan looked to both sides, long as he could hold out his arm to give them each light. He was certain the side on his right was different somehow. It was slight to his eyes, but they were not the same. He looked again, and saw the sawdust in the corners of the right hand side. It would not have been easy to work underneath this platform to do much to those walls, and perhaps more of the paneling had once been removed, but that side had been changed. He knew he found it, the one place where it made no sense to have work done after the murders. And the entire space Evan studied in his candlelight, suddenly presented itself to him for what it was. It was enough space under the great window - to hide away a child.

 

Sareta heard moaning and sobs from under the platform, because Evan could not contain the sounds within his chest. He did not want to be under there. This was not just a secret; it seemed to become another grave, more foul and unholy than the grave behind the shop. It was large enough to hide the most hideous of crimes and Evan did not want to see it uncovered by his hand. He was hurting himself trying to get out of the hole. Sareta could not help him. He dropped the candle and it had not gone out.
More out than in, he cursed and shouted that his stupid fear should make such a task impossible and Sareta did not yet know why he became upset, but she guessed. What he found must have been worse than he expected. She tried to soothe him as he worked to get completely out, and when at last he did, his breath was heaving his chest. He was filthy from the climb into the hole, and mess that he was - she hugged him, and tried to help him stand. This one space he would not return to for any secret.
He told her what was there, and they called the police as quickly as they could get back to the studio. If there was a body there, the Reismans would never return there, and Evan would keep Shelly out, if it cost him her heart.

 

Sareta wanted Evan to come back to meet the police the next morning, she would not come. She planned to spend the day with Shelly to judge what affects the building had been having, it was impossible the young woman could spend so much time there and remain whole in body or heart. Being exposed to, and expressing Yousep and Caraliza’s fear, love, longings, and pains, those Shelly could endure, but not the malevolence of the spirit upstairs. It was too certain, that person had taken the lives of the two children, and why his putrid energy still existed in the shop - Sareta could not fathom. Shelly was surrounded by it the entire time she worked there, it must have left some mark on the young woman’s own spirit, which her grandmother hoped, with desperation, to be able to see.
They could triumph for Yousep and his angel, but lose their Shelly. It would cost them Evan as well, and he was dear to Sareta now. What she had seen in him was fine, he was aged like a good wine, she thought. Well used, wherever he was allowed to pour his heart. Shelly could be his prize, and she would complete him as well. The building be damned if it had to be.

 

The police were early. They were having the stair opened across the street. Evan felt his heart crash to the sidewalk. He would rather be anywhere but standing there at that moment. They brought dogs, and tools to open walls or floors. They were not taking his research lightly; they believed something would be found which never had. Evan hoped they found as much luck as the police that came there all those years ago. He imagined the neighbors, shrieking in despair, as the Reisman Portraits again sought to horrify all who tried to live in peace nearby.
An officer had been assigned to look into the space below the window behind Evan. A smiling, fair-haired young woman, and Evan felt very small, and he did not care. She was paid to see the dead wherever they lay. He was not. He hoped she did not mind getting dirty.
The young officer was a bit better prepared than Evan suspected. She donned her dust mask and paper coveralls, and pulled a large vacuum into place near the opening. With her huge flashlight throwing light back out of the cracks in the panels, she went cleaning and searching. She was under nearly ten minutes when the cleaning stopped and she began to back out of the hole, dragging something. Evan was certain she worked in the morgue beneath one of the city hospitals, to drag a body out with such little care.
But she pulled out a box.
Papa’s treasure box. Another.

 

Identical to the one in Evan’s apartment, which held clues that enlightened and destroyed the family notions of their shared past. Here was indeed a secret, which followed Menashe into his fitful rest, and likely, little-used grave. With this much to hide, he certainly walked to keep it hidden still. And the young officer was not finished, but she pulled Evan’s pant leg and motioned he should climb in as well. She was brave, and stupid in the same breath. But he went; she could easily reach her gun.
They lay side by side in a moment, under the display, under the window and studied what had been built there. Two shelves, long as the platform was deep, rough and irregular, but sturdy. Covered by the simple wall, which was shoved into place and simply held by its size in the space. It had to be forced a bit either way, but would move after a good pull. This false covering was lying to the side and Evan found stacks and stack of documents and plates. Protected not in the least, many of the papers were moldy or mouse eaten, the dust was thick and choking Evan after having been disturbed. The officer told him she would leave the other removals to his pleasure, but the chest was large enough to contain something only an officer might look upon without feeling. They made their way out and Evan noticed, the whole time, she had been trembling.

 

When she removed her dust mask, she had bitten her lip badly. When she pulled off the paper coverall, it did not come away as she intended but caused her some distress and she suddenly broke into sobs and rushed out the door to the sidewalk, the coveralls mostly off, but still on. He rushed out behind her and found her on the curb drenched in perspiration, her head against her knees, and the coverall at her feet in a heap.

How can you stand it in there? That screaming is the most horrifying thing I have ever heard!” and she vomited on the curb.
Evan did not know what method worked best when soothing a violently ill, and terrified officer, with a holstered gun at her hip. Silence seemed the best possible way to help her deal with her experience in the shop. He applied it generously, and she seemed to appreciate that. When he stepped inside for a moment, to only return with the newly found box, she seemed better composed. They sat side by side on the curb and Evan pried at the lock with his keys as he saw Shelly do. The box came open with the same distressing sound he expected.

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