Legends of Windemere

Crescent Hotel

Bridget covers her eyes as the glistening dancer removes his pants and gyrates for her maid of honor. Never being interested in parties, she knew her bachelorette party would reach a level of discomfort. The only thing keeping her calm is the nearly constant refilling of her champagne glass and a bowl of cherries. Her toilet paper veil has been discarded with a few pieces stuck in her long, curly hair. Jackets, shoes, empty bottles, and phallic-shaped favors are scattered about the suite, which she worries will need to be repaired after they are done. With her friends focused on the predictable entertainment, Bridget slips out of her chair and tries to sneak into the nearby bathroom. She has her hand on the doorknob when she is pounced on from behind, the clumsy hands squeezing her chest to get an angry squeak.

“I hate it when you’re plastered, Rhonda,” the bride-to-be complains while freeing herself from the other woman. Turning around, she can see a wicked grin on her childhood friend’s face and fears the antics have only begun. “Don’t do stuff like that. We aren’t goofy teenagers anymore and I’m getting married tomorrow. I agreed to this party, but don’t make me do stuff that I don’t want to.”

“But that’s the point of these things,” the raven-haired bridesmaid declares, cornering her friend against the wall. She plants a little kiss on the sweaty woman’s neck before finishing the tequila shot in her hand. “You were a lot more fun before you got engaged. A grope like that wouldn’t have phased you back in high school. I told you that stuffy college would kill the party girl. Now you’re marrying some lawyer. Hope he’s good in the sack.”

“Sorry if what I am now angers you, but we all have to grow up at some point,” the bride argues, sliding toward the bathroom. With her hand on the handle, she clicks her tongue and faces Rhonda. “I’ll have you know that my sex life is fine. Better than it’s been in years because we love each other. You’d understand that if you didn’t have more alcohol than blood in your body.”

“Is he better than me?”

“Don’t start that, Ronnie.”

“Keep in mind that I’m the only one here who tied a cherry stem with her tongue.”

“Let’s not do this tonight.”

“But it’s the only one we have left.”

“Start drinking water, Ronnie.”

Bridget ignores the angry scowl while she goes into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She takes a seat on the edge of the bathtub, but quickly slides down to the floor where she stretches out her legs. The tension flows from her body while a pang of guilt stabs at her chest, the feeling causing a few tears. Pulling out her phone, the exhausted bride considers calling her fiancée and asking if it would be wrong to cut Rhonda from the bridal party. Bridget knows he does not like her old friend, but accepted that including her was a promise made long ago when they were closer. She is fairly certain it is because she told him that they were once more than friends, her attempts to ease his suspicions failing due to Rhonda’s love of messing with the easily flustered man. It takes several minutes for her to make a note to talk to her friend when they are sober and turn the phone off.

Getting to her feet, Bridget prepares to return to her party and try to enjoy herself. The festivities are tame compared to a few of the parties she snuck into at seventeen, which makes her feel old and boring. For a brief moment, she wonders if Rhonda is right and she is rushing into adulthood before enjoying her younger days. Spotting her reflection, she can see that her makeup is smeared and picks out the toilet paper from her hair. Cleaning her face, the bride listens to the music change and another chorus of cheers from her friends. As Bridget reaches out to unlock the door, a strangled scream erupts from the party and the other voices become filled with fear.

“You tore it off!”

“I’m calling the cops.”

“Grab something to stop him from bleeding to death.”

“Hey, get off m-”

The last voice is cut off by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor and a strange crackling noise. There is a high-pitched scream before glass shatters and the woman seems to fade away. Heavy furniture can be heard getting thrown around the room, a blood-covered chair leg piercing the bathroom door. Bridget backs towards the bathtub and fumbles for her phone, which falls into the toilet that she did not know was open. She scrambles to retrieve it, but the device is sucked into the pipes where it remains lodged out of reach. Trapped and confused, she can only listen to the massacre going on outside. Bridget cannot identify most of the noises beyond the smashing of blunt objects. With a gurgling scream that she believes is from the stripper, the carnage ends and an eerie ringing consumes the suite.

The clink of glass on glass tells Bridget that there is still someone outside, so she crawls toward the door. She cups her hands and listens to the survivor take a shot, giggle, and kick an object into the wall. The shattering of a thrown bottle makes the bride squeak in fear, the noise answered by a friendly whistle. A gentle knock makes her back away from the entrance while a slender shadow looms out from under the door. She watches the chair leg wiggle as it is pulled out of the wood and cast aside by someone standing out of sight.

“I didn’t appreciate that getting put in my face,” Rhonda casually states, sticking two of her fingers in the splintery hole. She playfully beckons for her friend to get closer while scratching at the door. “You know, I’ve been patient all night, Bridget. Thought I made my desires very clear and you kept foisting me away. I know you don’t like me because I’m part of your dirty, little past. Wouldn’t be proper for a woman like you to be associated with someone like me. Guess making me a bridesmaid was a way to rub it in my face that you’re going away.”

“I asked you to be one because we’re friends,” Bridget replies, hugging her knees to her chest. She wipes at the tears that stream from her face and looks for anything she can use as a weapon. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. We were still going to be friends whether my husband likes you or not.”

“He doesn’t like me!?” shouts the crazed woman, slamming a fist against the door. She walks away for a moment before coming back to put her eye against the hole. “He’s scared I’ll steal you away. That’s why you don’t want to have a final fling. If he found out then your precious marriage would be over. Then again, maybe you know he’s right and you’d leave him for me in a heartbeat.”

“I love my fiancée!”

“As much as you love me?”

“More so. Leave me alone, Rhonda.”

“Nope.”

“What do you want from me?”

Snapping the lock with a twist to the handle, Rhonda pushes her way into the bathroom and licks her lips. “Just like old times, Bri, I want to eat you all up.”

With the sounds of celebration ebbing from the rooftop, Gemma relaxes in the pool and tries to spot stars in the cloudy sky. She is surprised that the sounds of the city are so distant and only the banging of a truck over a pothole manages to jolt her out of a gentle trance. A bubbling fountain shaped like a nest helps to make her drowsy as she floats from one end of the pool to the other. The heated water relaxes her muscles after a day of wandering the hotel and talking to employees about their boss. Nobody has said anything other than praise and compliments, one passionate chef going so far as to call Dawn his muse. Wanting to forget the disturbing barrage of loyalty, Gemma can think of nothing better than to take advantage of the pool being relatively empty. Only two other people are outside, one of them asleep on a lounge chair and the other preparing to go back inside. By the time the detective finishes another lazy lap, she finds herself alone in the water and she grips the side to remain in the shallow end. The thought of falling asleep and drowning helps throw off some of the blossoming lethargy that is caused by the serene surroundings.

The fluttering of wings draws Gemma’s attention to the fence where a large raven can be seen in the shadows. The bird’s ebony feathers shimmering even in the dim light that abruptly flickers. Hopping to the ground, the animal wanders around the lounge chairs in search of fallen food. It stops at the sleeping guest and pecks at the man’s foot, getting no reaction beyond a muttered complaint. More crimson-eyed ravens appear around the pool, each one silently staring at the first arrival. With a loud caw from their leader, the flock divides into groups of two to hunt for easy meals. It is not until Gemma moves that they stop and turn toward her, the animals showing more curiosity than fear.

“I must have fallen asleep,” the nervous woman whispers as she sinks up to her chin. She pinches her arm and winces at the pain, but the birds remain. “Maybe a very deep dream. I saw those fake ravens in the lobby, which is where all of you came from. Come on, Gemma. Wake up and avoid drowning.”

With a chorus of human-like shrieks, the flock takes to the air and flies around the pool in a brief frenzy. The banging of a window causes most of the ravens to leave the area, only the leader and two others remaining behind. They return to the sleeping man, all three pecking at his body and drawing blood from his exposed skin. He rolls over and the birds jump onto his chest where they continue their casual attack. When their victim waves at them, the ravens hop down to his legs and greedily eat his toes.

Gemma looks for something to throw at the birds, but freezes when she looks up to see the flock is returning. The thick mass of feathers and beaks descends on the man, covering his entire body. Not a sound is made as he is devoured and the ravens carry off the remains to finish on a distant rooftop. A strong wind out of the sky to remove the fallen feathers and the guest’s broken sandals. The gale is strong enough to bring a chill to the detective’s body and she swears a layer of frost is forming over the deep end of the pool.

“Definitely dreaming,” Gemma mutters as she feels warmth flow through the pool again. A small plop makes her float toward the stairs, the sound repeating closer. “Maybe I was poisoned when I touched my clothes. Some kind of contact hallucinogen. Yeah, that would give me some vivid dreams or make me see stuff if I’m awake.”

The water in front of her moves as if a creature swam by and broke the surface for an instant. As the lights on the bottom of the pool go out, Gemma sees the motion continue toward the opposite wall. The parting waves stop and the gurgling of bubbles causes her to hurry, the water making it impossible to run. She pauses when the mysterious creature returns and turns back only an inch from the young woman. The feel of rough skin touches her right leg, making her think of a shark. As if to feed the ridiculous idea, the nearest light turns on long enough for Gemma to see that she is bleeding from tiny cuts. Whatever is in the pool with her moves faster than before and is nearly on the detective when she rolls herself onto solid ground. The concrete shudders when something large bangs into the side and another collection of foamy bubbles reaches the surface.

“Are you okay, lady?” a young man asks as he approaches with a towel. He helps Gemma sit up and examines her leg as the lights come back on. “Really sorry about that. I didn’t see you in there and I put the cleaning machine into the water. Looks like one of the rough brushes got you, but it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“A machine,” Gemma repeats while getting to her feet. Staring into the water, she can see the distorted imagine of a pool cleaner moving in the deep end. “I’m awake? That doesn’t explain the ravens and the man they ate.”

“Think you’ve had too much to drank, ma’am,” the patient employee says, pointing at the slumbering man. The distant figure rolls over and flexes his toes, the motion almost mocking the confused cop. “Mr. Silver always passes out by the pool when he visits. He’ll wake up and go back inside soon. We don’t get ravens here, but there are pigeons that come for scraps and sleep in the bushes.”

“I should get back to my room.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Just a towel please.”

“Here you go, ma’am. Have a nice night.”

Still shaken by the vivid dreams, Gemma can only nod while she wraps herself in the soft towel. Grabbing her sandals and small bag from nearby, she stops and waits for the employee to go back inside. Shifting her left foot, the red-haired woman is sure that something is inside and sits to remove the shoe. Her mouth goes dry when she holds up an ebony feather that is too big to belong to a pigeon.

Haunted Whitney Restaurant

Gemma sighs as she continues walking around the suite with her cellphone held out in front of her. The live video of a blonde-haired man pauses for a second, forcing her to wait until she can hear him talking again. A creak of his old chair and thud of his feet landing on a desk tells her to continue the tour. From the canopied balcony to the small kitchen, the man voices his opinion as if Gemma is trying to sell him an apartment. The only time she shares his surprise is when the refrigerator is opened and they find it is fully stocked. Agreeing that the food should not be touched, they move through the bedroom that has mirrors on the ceiling and a cylindrical fish tank in the corner. Her partner finally whistles for the tour to stop when they enter the bathroom and find a large bathtub with built-in waterjets. Gemma can hear him fake a sniffle and can easily imagine him wiping a nonexistent tear from his cheek.

“My bad back would be so happy if I had one of those tubs,” Max declares while he pushes his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. Launching a rubber band at the picture of whichever politician he is angry at this week, the tired cop can only sigh at his partner’s luck. “I always thought administrative leave was a punishment. They take your gun and your badge then tell you to stay home until things cool down or you’re kicked to the curb. Way to raise the bar on lucky breaks around here, Cook.”

“Considering who my benefactor is, I’d gladly trade positions with you,” Gemma replies as she goes back to the bedroom. Opening the large closet, she finds her bags have already been unpacked and there is a robe with her name stitched on the breast pocket. “This place is creepy and the sun is still up. Almost like Ms. Addison had my forced vacation planned for a lot longer than anyone realizes. The food in the fridge is all of my favorites. Pretty sure they’re poisoned or at least laced with something to make me vulnerable.”

Not wanting too many people to hear the conversation, Max plugs headphones into his computer. “Paranoia has always been your strong suit. Then again, you tend to be right most of the time. I hope you realize that we shouldn’t really be talking. While the chief is acting strange in regards to you, I don’t want to get in trouble. The best I can do is listen to what you have to say about the case and keep my findings to myself. If you happen to guess stuff then I’ll feel obligated to agree, but I’d like to be careful. After all, Marcy is still in college and Brett is only a year away from that. Money is going to be tight.”

“I’ll play a few lottery tickets on your behalf since I’m so lucky.”

“You’re a regular rabbit’s foot, but that never bodes well for the bunny.”

“Would you rather do this by phone instead of video?”

“That is easier to hide, so I’ll hang up and head for the roof.”

“Grab the fake smokes from my desk to give you cover.”

“Nah, I have my pipe and nobody ever seems to notice that I keep it empty. Give me five minutes.”

The screen goes blank and Gemma puts the phone on her charger to take advantage of the break. Going back into the closet, she moves all of her belongings to new locations while checking each one for signs of tampering. The thought of a stranger folding her underwear makes the detective gather all of them and head for the bathroom. Dropping the clothing into the sink, Gemma takes a minute to figure out the stopper and choose a bottle of unscented soap to dump on her underthings. Spotting her toiletries on a nearby shelf, she empties the bag into the garbage can and empties the worst smelling shampoo she can find in the extensive collection supplied to her. The tense woman is filling the basin when her phone goes off, so she races across the suite to grab it and return to the bathroom. The sound of a siren hits her ears when she answers, the voice of her partner inaudible until the deafening noise has ended.

“Before you ask, it was an ambulance,” Max says while he pretends to puff on his mahogany pipe. The sound of crunching gravel can be heard as he paces from one side of the roof to the other. “I went to the morgue and talked to Sammy. The severed fingers we found in the filter threw her off because they were removed cleanly. We couldn’t find any blood in the room either, so nobody can figure out what happened there. If his hand hit the pavement like his head did then it would look differently and not be in the filter. Sorry I don’t have better news for you.”

“Don’t worry because Ms. Addison doesn’t seem the type to make this easy,” Gemma replies while she wrings out her clothes. She hears her partner stop moving, the only sound an urgent lip-smacking on his pipe. “Not sure how to explain this since I barely understand it myself. My host told me that she is going to kill again. I think she’s bored and had me sent here as some kind of rival. Probably watches too many movies and TV shows.”

Max coughs and spits, a sign that he is waiting for someone to finish a quick smoke break and leave the roof. “I don’t know what to say. Makes sense that you can’t wrap your head around that because it’s insane. Seeing the outfit she wore to the interrogation made me think she was eccentric, but we’re talking full on loopy. Also means we might be seeing a lot more corpses coming into the morgue. My younger self always dreamed of cracking a serial killer case. The old me wishes he was somewhere else. I don’t like it when things get messy. How do you want to play this, Cook?”

“You do your job while I play the game,” the young woman replies, putting her partner on speakerphone. She hangs her underwear on a laundry line that she finds behind a removable tile, the cord running over the bathtub. “If this is going to be fair then she can’t strike again without giving me a clue. Once I have that, I’ll watch her targets and bring Ms. Addison in before she strikes. Unless she uses poison, but I’m putting all emergency numbers on speed dial. Not going to let this maniac win.”

“Don’t treat this like a game because people are in danger.”

“I’m taking this very seriously.”

“Hard to tell with how you’re talking.”

“Go back to your desk and I’ll give you another call.”

“Kind of pushy for a vacationer.”

“Please go back to your desk, Boros?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Setting a five minute timer on her phone, Gemma heads for the kitchen and searches for the garbage can. She is happy to find it along with latex gloves that she puts on even though they are a size too small for her hands. Dragging the can to the refrigerator, she goes about emptying all of the food that smells good enough for her to sniff at a few of them. Discovering smiling unicorn stickers on the underside of a tinfoil covered dish, she quickens her pace until the bag is full. With thirty seconds to spare, Gemma brings the entire can out to the hallway and hits a button that she assumes will contact room service. Taking off her gloves, she jumps when her phone unexpectedly rings with a tone that she does not recognize. Seeing that it is only Max, the tense detective answers and takes a seat on a soft lounge chair.

“I know you said to wait, but I need to get home. Did a late shift to clear my schedule for your mess,” her partner says with a yawn. He tries talking before he is done, but none of his words are understandable. “To be honest, I’m not much help until something happens on your end. Is there anything you could use in the meantime? Preferably something that would require I visit your suite and test that bathtub.”

“That’s actually why I called you,” Gemma admits while making herself comfortable. She touches a button on the arm and watches the wall open to reveal a huge television. “I need to know what I’m up against. As much as I was going after Dawn Addison, I never looked further into her than when she first arrived in the city. Maybe there are clues in her past that will help me out here.”

“That sounds like a reason to visit.”

“I can’t have any paperwork on her in my room, Boros.”

“What about a thumb drive?”

“Nothing that she can find.”

Silence fills the other side of the phone, ending with a sigh of resignation. “I’ll see what I can find, but know that you owe me a spa appointment. Give me a day or two since I’m sure a lawyer will get involved. Maybe I’m the one being punishment here and you’re getting rewarded for being a pain in the chief’s ass.”

“Get some sleep, old man.”

“Have some fun, slightly younger woman.”

Placing her phone on the table, Gemma tries to forget that she is contending with a potential murderer. Unable to push the thoughts from her mind, she paces around the apartment until a rapid knocking startles her. Taking a wine bottle out of a cabinet, the detective tiptoes toward the door and looks through the hole to see an empty hallway. Putting her expensive weapon on the floor, Gemma takes a peek outside to find a purple and yellow straightjacket with her name bedazzled on the back. Rolling her eyes, she leaves the gaudy clothing alone and decides to take a restless nap. As an afterthought, she moves a chair to the door and wedges it beneath the handle to prevent anyone from getting inside.