The Truth of Yesterday (32 page)

     “What if we get caught?”

     “I have a contact on the police force here,” I said, hoping that was true.

     She was quiet for what seemed like an eternity. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head and tried to decide what to do. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked into my eyes.

     
“Fine.
Let's do it.”

     We crept out of her apartment like a couple of cat-burglars after she checked to make sure no one
was
in sight. I caught a glimpse of movement in the stairwell, so I knew
Chris
was still on duty, for whatever that was worth. I unlocked the door again and Sabrina quickly slipped in with me close behind. The first thing I noticed was an unpleasant odor that I hadn't smelled the first time. I probably hadn't had time for it to register before Sabrina had charged in. I couldn't quite place it, although it smelled faintly rotten.

     Sabrina knew where the lights were so this time there was no fumbling around in the dark. She gasped as the room was revealed. After a quick glance around, I couldn't blame her. It was a disaster scene. I'd never seen anything quite like it. Before the tornado had struck, it must have been a mirror image of Sabrina's apartment. It was laid out the same way. Paul's decorating taste seemed to have had an Asian flare as well, but from what I could piece together in my head, his had a little more Indian influence. Now, though, the room had been deliberately and maliciously demolished, item by item.
Razi's
description of the chaos didn't even begin to describe it. The beautifully embroidered cushions that had covered the wooden couch had been ripped to shreds, their innards strewn across the floor. Ceramic and glass shards covered the parts of the floor not hidden by the cushion stuffing.
Art that had once hung around the room, much of it original oil and watercolor paintings, had been torn off the wall and destroyed.
Even the TV sitting on the entertainment center had its screen shattered, its insides exposed and looking strangely vulnerable. A huge fish tank took up most of one wall. Its front had been smashed and its contents must have washed across the floor judging from the mess in front of it, which included a few dead fish. At least now I knew where the rotten smell was coming from.

     “Oh my God,” Sabrina whispered.

     “Is this the first time you've been in here since it happened?” I asked her in a low tone. It seemed somehow inappropriate to speak loudly in here, or to even voice the reason we were here, Paul's murder.

     She nodded.

     “I don't even know where to begin,” I said, hoping I didn't sound as overwhelmed as I felt.

     “How did the police find anything? Wouldn't they have to collect all this as evidence or something? They always do on TV.”

     “I don't know,” I confessed. “Maybe they aren't done in here after all. Don't touch anything.”

     “I already touched the light switch,” she hissed, a touch of panic entering her voice. “I should have never agreed to this.”

     “Calm down. I'll wipe the light switch off.” I grabbed a scrap of material off the floor and carefully wiped the light switch clean. “There. If you have to touch something, make sure you put your shirt over your hand or use something like this. And for God's sake, don't take anything.”

     “I'm not touching anything. I think we should leave.”

     “We're here now. We might as well look around.”  

     “I'm not moving.”

     “Can you tell if anything is missing?”

     “How could I tell that? How can you tell anything in this mess?”

     “What did he have of value?”

     She took a deep breath.
“His electronic equipment.”
That was all plainly visible on the entertainment center and amidst the rubble on the floor.
“His art collection.”
Also readily identifiable.
“And his coin collection.”

     
Razi
had mentioned that, making a point of saying that it had been left. “Where'd he keep that?” I asked her.

     
“In the bedroom.”

     I started making my way carefully across the room, glass crackling under my feet. As I passed the kitchen, I saw that the destruction continued in there. All the dishes had been pulled from the cabinets and shattered on the floor. I pitied whoever had to clean this place up.

     I made it to the bedroom door and carefully opened it using the scrap of cloth I still held in my hand. I reached in to find the light switch, but before I could find it, my breath caught in my throat and a feeling of complete and total terror overcame me. I couldn't breathe; I tried to scream, tried to gasp, but I couldn't seem to force air into or out of lungs. My chest began to burn and the room started to fade into black. I clawed at my throat and stumbled back from the door. In the background, I vaguely heard Sabrina yelling something, but the words wouldn't penetrate, it was if she was far, far away.

     Suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. I gasped in great gulps of air as I slumped against the door frame.

     “What happened?” Sabrina asked fearfully.

     “I don't know,” I gasped. “I couldn't breathe, it felt like...” I broke off as I realized what it had felt like. It had felt like I was being strangled.

     “What? Felt like what?”

     “It felt like I was being strangled,” I finished shakily.

     Her eyes grew wide and she took a step back. “What?”

     “I couldn't breathe. It felt like my throat was closed off...exactly like I was being strangled.”

     She looked through the open door into the dark bedroom, her eyes full of fright. “That's where Paul was killed,” her voice was tight with rising panic. I felt my own panic rising right along with hers. “What the hell is going on?” she asked hoarsely. I only wished I knew.

Chapter 14

     My mind was racing. What had just happened? Had I somehow experienced Paul's death? Or had it just been my imagination? The thought that I might have actually felt Paul dying was terrifying. And what purpose was there in that? We already knew that he's been strangled. Then again, who said there was a purpose in any of this? I only knew that I needed to talk to Judy…and soon.

     “I want to leave.” Sabrina brought me back to the moment with her frightened whimper.

     I looked up; she was slowly backing away from me, keeping a wary eye on me as if I had suddenly sprouted a second head, a tail, and horns. I nodded and started to follow her, but before I had taken two steps, I felt as if I had been lassoed and was being pulled towards the bedroom. It wasn't even so much a physical feeling, but more of a psychic sensation. I stopped in mid-step and slowly turned back towards the doorway. The feeling grew stronger.

     “What are you doing?” she asked in a shaky voice.

     “I…I have to go in there,” I answered distractedly.

     “No! You can't!”

     “I have to.”

     “I'm not going in there.”

     
“Fine.
Stay here.” I took the few steps through the door and stopped again. With my body blocking most of the light from the other room, this room was left in deep gloom. It almost seemed like the shadows were alive, or as if there was something or someone hiding in them. There was a definite feeling of pain and anguish within the room. It stopped me at the door as effectively as a wall; I couldn't make myself take another step. Then, without any thought, I reached out for the light switch and was surprised when my hand went directly to it with the surety of someone who lived there. It was behind the tall armoire that stood by the door, a few inches from the wall. It wasn't the sort of thing you noticed or would know where it was. I spared a fleeting thought to wonder how I had seemed to know right where it was, but as light filled the room, all other thoughts fled, along with the awful feeling of death.

     This room was as neat as the front rooms were chaotic. For a moment, I wondered why this room hadn't been trashed like the rest of the apartment, but then I realized that it probably had been and the police had gathered everything as evidence.
Yet another hint that they weren't done with the apartment.
I hoped we hadn't left any signs of our illicit visit.

     Thanks to the lack of mess in here, it didn't take long to see that if the coin collection had been on the floor, it was gone now. I wondered where he had been killed, where his body had lain until
Razi
had found him. No sooner had the thought fluttered through my head than I had the answer. I staggered a little as the room seemed to shift out of focus and then slowly refocused, except this time it was as if I were looking at a double exposed photograph. Over the image of the room as it appeared now I saw a fainter, ghost image of the room as it must have looked when
Razi
found Paul. Drawers had been yanked from the dressers and dumped all over the floor; clothes lied strewn about everywhere. The mattress had been shoved off the box spring and the bedside table had been knocked over, shattering the ceramic lamp that had stood on it. Coins preserved in little cardboard squares lay scattered everywhere; and in the midst of it all, lying on the far side of the room, between the bed and what I assumed to be a closet door, was Paul's body.

     The effect was quite dizzying. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. When I reopened my eyes, the ghost image was gone; the room was back to normal.
I'm going crazy
, I thought.
I'm losing my
freakin
' mind. This can't be happening. No one ever mentioned anything like this. It has to be all in my head.
Somehow, though, I knew it wasn't. The question now was why had I been drawn to this room? What was I supposed to see? I didn't even want to think about what, or who, had drawn me here.

     “What?” I said out loud in a low croak that I barely recognized as my own voice. “What am I supposed to see? Why did you want me to come in here?”

     As if in answer, a muffled thump came from the door that I had thought to be the closet, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. As much as I really didn't want to go any further into the room, I needed to know what was behind that door. I started edging my way around the edge of the room, carefully avoiding the place where Paul had lain. I reached the door and, covering my hand with my shirttail, tried the handle. It was locked.
Now what?