Legends of Windemere

Even though nobody is looking in her direction, Gemma feels like she is being watched by several eyes. Stopping at Dawn’s private elevator, she sees reflections of the stuffed ravens in the polished metal. All of the fake birds are aimed in her direction, causing the detective to grip her leather bag to her chest. With a quivering hand, she uses the key to open the doors and gingerly steps inside. Imagination running wild, she expects the floor to give way or blades to erupt from the walls. Instead, the elevator closes and a lullaby plays over the loudspeaker, the song soft and lilting. The smell of roses and chocolate seep through a vent until the lift gets halfway to the penthouse. A loud crunch makes Gemma jump before the smell of smoke and cooked meat waft in from above. Low groans and gentle whimpers can be heard beneath the song, which has become harsher in an attempt to drown out the other noises.

“This was a bad idea,” she whispers as she reaches out to push the stop button. A tremor of electricity goes up her arm and numbs the muscles while the elevator moves faster. “Why did I think I could plant bugs in the room? She gave me the key and had to know I would try something like this. Damn it, I’m getting desperate and sloppy. Now she might get angry if I don’t do this.”

The elevator comes to a gentle stop and a bell rings before the doors open, a muffled voice talking about lingerie and golf clubs. Gemma is about to step on the plush, white carpeting when a sign drops from the ceiling. Telling her to remove her shoes, the simple warning dangles on thin strings that give it the illusion of floating. Bending down to take off her boots, the detective notices that the floor panel moves slightly and guesses she set off a pressure plate. Peering into the space between the elevator and carpeting, she can see a rusty hook has caught on some thin wires. Leaving her shoes on the lift, Gemma steps with a little more confidence since she is now sure that Dawn’s tricks are not supernatural.

Wandering the penthouse, she is surprised to find that many of the rooms are barely furnished, except for a stunning bathroom. With a chandelier above the ruby-studded tub and a wine cabinet built into the back wall, Gemma wonders if Dawn practically lives in this place and ignores the rest. She picks out a few places to leave a bug before searching the rest of the apartment for her enemy’s elusive husband. Most of the bedrooms have nothing more than a desk, an uncomfortable cot, and a trashcan. The walls are painted a dull tan that reminds Gemma of the neutral tones of a hospital instead of a lavish apartment. An old television and stained couch sit in the living room, neither of them showing signs of recent use. She is surprised to find a collection of VHS tapes that are covered in a layer of dust, except for a row of unlabeled ones that could be home movies. Empty birdcages are everywhere, most of them having black feathers that are warm to the touch. She notices an open window and assumes that the birds spend the day outside before returning at night.

“Where is this supposed husband?” Gemma asks in a low voice.

Feeling a breeze come from a large picture of a raven on an apple tree, she gets closer and runs her hand along the edge of the frame. With a dull click, the work of art shivers and slides into the wall to reveal the master bedroom. A king-sized bed takes up a lot of the space, the sheets a flawless crimson beneath blankets of the purest black. Pink pillows with unicorn horns sewn into their tops are against the headboard, which is shaped like a seashell. The walk-in closet is filled with dresses, costumes, and accessories that smell like they are fresh out of a laundromat. Searching the two racks, the only article of clothing that would be for a man is a nicely tailored suit in the back.

A chill running up her spine, Gemma returns to the main room and only peeks inside a tiny bathroom that would be more suited for a prison cell. Out of the corner of her eye, the detective thinks she sees something move beneath the sheets and blankets. Putting her bag on an oak dresser and drawing her gun, she tiptoes to the bed that remains unchanged. Focused on where she saw movement, Gemma shrieks when a scaly creature rushes out from under the dust ruffle and grazes her feet. Leaping away, she tries to catch sight of whatever she startled, but it has already disappeared. A low groan makes her jump again before the toilet gurgles and the sink faucet leaks for a few seconds.

“This place is creepy and there’s no husband here,” Gemma says to herself. Opening her bag, she goes about hiding listening devices and tiny cameras around the penthouse. “Just one of each in every main room. Not sure what I plan on finding, but it’s better than nothing. Maybe I’ll put extra in the kitchen.”

Entering the room of porcelain counters and stainless steel appliances, Gemma feels a wave of warmth hit her face. She checks the stove to make sure it is off, but none of the burners do anything more than click in vain. Standing to the side, she opens the oven and is shocked that her arm is hit by a burst of cold. The detective hides the devices in well-stocked cabinets and among the rural decorations, some of which have obviously been made by a child. Gemma stops at a pull out apron rack and considers bugging the seven, pristine garments. Checking each one, she can see that they are missing pockets and too thin to be useful. A whiff of bleach comes out of the narrow opening as she pushes the aprons back into the wall and she hears liquid getting sprayed once the rack is locked in place.

Holding the final camera, Gemma heads for the refrigerator and slides the device into a bowl of fake fruit on the top. When her elbow touches the freezer handle, she feels her skin stick to the metal for a brief moment. She touches the same place and watches as a thin trail of slime comes away. The rest of the refrigerator is clean, so she finishes setting the final bug before checking inside. To her mild amusement, the freezer is stocked entirely with orange-flavored ice pops that have been unwrapped. Their sticks are embedded in perfectly shaped ice cubes that are a light pink color. Running a finger along one of the treats, she shudders at the sour taste and spits into the sink. Reaching out to the lower section’s handle, a strange stench emerges when she opens the door a crack. Gently closing the refrigerator, the detective tries to place the smell that reminds her of the morgue.

A prickling sensation on the back of her neck causes Gemma to slowly turn around, the flicker of movement across the doorway making her heart leap. Creeping toward the entrance, she hears skittering across a solid surface and a repeated tapping. She steps out of the kitchen and finds herself facing twelve giant ravens. The birds are perched on the empty cages and she can hear flapping wings in the other rooms. All of them stare at her as she reaches back into the kitchen for her bag and walks back to the elevator. With the animals following her every movement, Gemma uses the key and jumps into the elevator as soon as it opens. The sound of their ear-wrenching caws echoes down the shaft as she returns to the lobby at what feels like an agonizingly slow pace.

Drake Hotel

Making a brief stop at the bar, Gemma orders two cocktails and carries them to the pool where she sees Dawn. The sight of the other woman, who is wearing an old-fashioned swimsuit and bright yellow floaties, makes her skin crawl. Before she is spotted, the detective slips two sleeping pills into the hotelier’s drink. Swirling the alcohol, she takes the long away around the pool to give the medication time to dissolve. Many of the splashing children point at the gun on her hip, their parents moving them away until they spot the badge. Ignoring the sea of stares that follow her, Gemma takes the seat next to Dawn and offers the spiked cocktail. The brown-haired woman refuses to accept, her eyes peeking over a pair of large sunglasses.

“Consider this an apology for cheating in our game,” the smiling detective says, taking a sip from her own drink. Placing the cocktails on a small table, she leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “Though to be fair, you didn’t say I had to work alone. My partner was already helping me, which I’m sure you know about.”

“Good point. Though there is a difference, kitty,” Dawn replies while pulling a long straw out from behind her back. It takes a minute for her to get it into her drink, which she quickly drains. “Wow. That’s a tingly one. Where was I? Oh yes, the reason why I had that man cooked and served. First of all, the grocery delivery didn’t include bacon, so I needed to improvise. It isn’t always fun being charge. Second of all, your partner is looking into me and staying on the outside. He’ll never find anything worth talking about. The handsome dish, on the other hand, was in my territory and helped you solve my riddle. That was made specifically for you and I’m so hurt that you shared my gift. Okay, not that I hurt right now. Getting a nice numbness going on from something.”

“I still plan on stopping you,” Gemma states, making herself comfortable on the sagging lounge chair. Putting on her own sunglasses, she watches the sky where a collection of clouds circle the hotel. “I hope you realize that this game can continue for only so long. At some point, my boss will decide that I’m wasting my time and put me on a different case. That’s if he doesn’t suspend or release me. Not sure how you expect to win or keep being entertained.”

Dawn rolls onto her side and curls into a ball, her eyes fluttering to stay open. “You sound like my husband. He wanted me to stop causing trouble, but I think it’s because he has a bad headache. I’m like a unicorn. Rare, unique, and unable to be contained. This game will end when I say it ends or forget it’s going on. You’ll be fine as long as you stay within the rules. Next time I give you a riddle, I expect you to do it on your own.”

“What happens to me if you forget?”

“Kitties are much smarter than puppies. I’ll let you live . . . or kill you.”

“I won’t go down without a fight.”

“That’s the type of show that my husband and I prefer.”

A scream from the pool causes Dawn to sit upright and resist the sleeping pills, her eyes widening as she scans the crowd. The disturbance is coming from a crowd of barely clothed men, who are fighting in the water. It is a friendly wrestling match, which is fueled by alcohol, but they are constantly bumping into the other guests. Children are pushed against the wall and their parents struggle to get them to safety as the grunting battle gets more heated. Snapping her fingers, Dawn calls for the lifeguards to get involved. She whistles at the men and women in bright yellow swimsuits, who easily drag the drunks out of the water. The crowd parts to let the complaining guests get escorted back into the building, all of them being shoved into a room marked by a thumbs up symbol.

“Some people really need to grow up,” Dawn states, her drowsiness returning. She smiles when her companion hands her another drink and nods to the empty glass in Gemma’s other hand. “You drink a lot faster than me. I owe you another riddle. Let me think for a second. This is so yummy and . . . eye-fluttery. Here’s the riddle with some drool and slurring. With one eye, I watch my prey. Old and young and man and woman. All are in my sight. Yet the one I truly want is just beyond my grasp. That was pretty.”

“And sounds like more gibberish than the last one,” Gemma says as she watches the hotelier follow her movements. Leaning far to the side, she guides Dawn into lying down and getting more comfortable. “I’ll go back to my room and work on the riddle. There really isn’t anything else for us to talk about.”

“It’s weird how people scream,” the other woman whispers, a tiny hiccup making her body jerk. She reaches out to caress a small object that only she can see before casting it over her head. “Some people holler at the top of their lungs like whatshername with the veil. Others don’t make a noise like Demarcus Lang. His wife did scream, but then kind of locked up. I guess that was the poison more than the fear. There are also those who fight back, which I haven’t managed to find here. To be honest, I prefer the screamers because the noise makes me feel like I’m at a concert.”

Inching closer, Gemma keeps her enemy’s eyes on her and does long blinks to help her fall asleep. “I really don’t like you. Despise is a good word, but only because I can’t think of anything stronger. Your games are going to end either with me arresting you or putting a bullet in your head. So enjoy the fun until you make a mistake. That’s when I’ll tear your entire world down. Does that scare you?”

“Your lips are so shiny.”

“I think you need a nap.”

“This has been a taxing day.”

“Sweet dreams.”

“Go check on my husband, would you?”

Gemma is surprised when the key to Dawn’s private elevator is pushed into her hand. The warm metal is slick due to a layer of suntan lotion and sweat, the keychain a heavily chewed rabbit’s foot. She carefully takes the offering and slowly backs away while searching for a sign that the snoring woman is trying to trick her. With a sudden whimper, Dawn rolls over and stretches her leg until a pop causes the limb to flop onto the lounge chair. Deciding that she has nothing to lose, Gemma pockets the key and hurries to the public elevators to get some equipment from her room.