Legends of Windemere

American Horror Story

Sitting on a bench in the park, the two detectives tried to enjoy the warm sunlight and cool breeze. Gemma’s report is still sinking in as Max watches a group of children run around a nearby playground. He pulls out a picture of his kids, both of them too old to join in the lawless game of tag that is resulting in a collection of skinned knees and elbows. A flock of pigeons wanders around the walkway where they snap up fallen food and wait for the quiet pair to throw pieces of bread. It takes several minutes for the birds to realize that they will have to look elsewhere and they leave in unison. The sound of flapping wings and cheering children fail to puncture the gloom that has come over the detectives.

“Seems Ms. Addison has a thing for cannibalism,” Max finally says while chewing on his empty pipe. Tucking the picture into his jacket pocket, the man leans back and stares at the sky through the branches. “Then again, I’ve no idea what we’re even dealing with. The idea that she’s drugging people to act insane is farfetched, but there’s no alternative. Possibly a gas being pumped through the hotel, which gets triggered by stress? That could explain Mr. Anders, the Langs, and what you’re seeing.”

“It doesn’t cover anything we just saw,” Gemma states, rubbing her thumb against her badge. She finds herself unable to take a lot of comfort from it or her firearm being returned for the rest of the investigation. “So the chief said I’m not on leave, but I’m to stay at the hotel to figure out what’s going on. Get the feeling that this is going to be the case that kills either my career, my sanity, or both. Still no idea why anybody would do this.”

“Because they’re a mentally disturbed psycho,” her partner declares with a laugh. Drawing the attention of a jogger, he nods his head to the young woman and lowers his voice. “I don’t like throwing this idea around. The idea of dealing with a person who simply enjoys killing doesn’t sit well with my ulcer. Give me a motive beyond bloodlust because that’s something a jury can wrap their heads around.”

“Do you really think this will end with her on trial?”

“Don’t go there, Cook. You might not come back.”

“It’d be worth it to stop her.”

“And if the murders continue anyway?”

Cursing under her breath, Gemma gets off the bench and jams her hands into her pockets before walking toward a pond. She kicks rocks out of her way while Max remains a few steps behind. Several times, the young woman’s hand swings down to graze her firearm, but never does more than a subtle tap. The last thing she wants is for somebody to think she is about to draw the weapon and cause a scene. Gemma considers handing the gun over to her partner and getting rid of the temptation, but she is sure it will be needed at some point. For a brief moment, she wonders if a bullet would even stop Dawn. Shaking her head clear of the ridiculous thought, she stops near the edge of the water and looks across at the loud traffic.

“I need to know more about her,” Gemma admits while unwrapping a stick of gum. She holds the minty snack between her lips before using her tongue to roll it into her mouth. “There is nothing that makes sense about her. She is always doing something different at that hotel, but it’s never what you would expect the boss to be doing. Did she get a degree in business? What about chemistry? How did she get the money to open Heaven’s Nest? Now I’m the one rattling off questions.”

“Well, Dawn Addison is practically a ghost because she never did anything beyond existing until now,” Max answers, flipping through a notebook. Running his finger along the barely readable scrawling, he gives a helpless shrug. “She was born and raised out in Suffolk County where her mother still lives. Homeschooled until she went to a public high school and not on social media, so there are no friends to talk to. One year at a community college with no major before dropping out. Random jobs, traveling around the country, and many stays in psych wards covers everything until she ended up at Raven’s Hold. Her fortune came about after that and I still have no idea how. I thought it was mob ties at first then I found evidence of her inheriting it from the doctor who ran the asylum. A grainy video shows her as a lottery winner in Oregon too. International trading is another possibility, but damned if I know what she was trading.”

Thinking her partner is making a joke, Gemma carefully takes his notebook and reads through his notes. “Can’t believe I know how to read your chicken scratch. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of what you’re finding are lies created by Dawn to throw people off. She wants to be entertained and have fun, so this would be a maze with a lot of dead ends. We really need to focus on her childhood since the rest is straightforward. You said her mom still leaves out on Long Island. What about her father?”

“Louis Addison died when she was two,” Max answers while handing Gemma a folded article. He taps at the picture of a house, the entire right side having collapsed into rubble. “I don’t know anything about the man other than he worked and barely saw his family outside of the weekend. Neighbors said he was a loving husband and father, which is the usual responses. Nobody could explain the freak accident. One night, he was in the kitchen while Ms. Addison and her mother were upstairs in a bedroom. Whole side of the house caved in and crushed Louis, who was found with a beer still in his hand. The whole thing is considered a cold case that I’m sure the local precinct has forgotten.”

Reading over the article, Gemma pulls it closer when she sees the image of a dark-haired man in one of the house’s surviving windows. A blink causes the figure to be replaced by partially open curtains and cracks in the glass. Two ravens are flying in the distance and seem to gently flap their wings without moving forward. Peeking from around the corner of the house, the detective can see a small girl with a single pigtail and chocolate smeared across her face. It takes the detective a second to realize how clear the old photo appears to her, which becomes blurry when she coughs. Cautiously handing the article back to her partner, Gemma takes a shuddering breath and rubs her eyes to stave off a headache.

“You need to get some sleep,” Max mentions while offering an anxiety pill. Taking one himself, he watches two ducks chase each other around the pond. “I’m going to head out tomorrow to talk to the mother. Her name is Kate Addison and she works at the local library, which means a quiet setting. Just hope she’s nothing like her daughter. Charge your phone and keep it on because I want to be able to contact you quickly. I’ll do the same if you need me to get you out of there.”

“I’m sure it won’t come down to that, but thanks,” Gemma replies as she stares at the pill. With a tired sigh, she hands it back and tucks her hands into her pockets. “Probably should head back and see what Dawn has in store for me. After last night, I’m sure she has a new challenge ready and I can’t bring anyone else into this. Though I do want to put a plan of my own into action.”

“Thanks for making me the sole passenger on your trip to hell.”

“You would have come along anyway.”

The Dakota

With a nurse standing outside, Gemma and Max quietly enter the hospital room that reeks of rubbing alcohol. They can see that Rhonda is resting, the former bridesmaid handcuffed to the bed for her own safety. Large bandages are around her head after she briefly woke up to tear out most of her hair, a few remaining wisps hanging limp by her ears. The remains of a simple breakfast is on a tray, complete with a half-eaten cup of pudding that is a sickly green. Rhonda’s is getting an intravenous drug that is marked as a tranquilizer, but the bag is nearly empty. The woman’s dried lips move to mouth words that cannot be heard until Gemma gets close enough to lean over the bed. The detective pulls back as soon as she hears the repeated words and notices that the patient’s fingers are twitching rapidly. With a violent shudder, Rhonda bangs her knees against the tray and opens her eyes, which go directly to her visitors’ badges.

“Are you here to arrest me?” she asks in a strained voice. The medicine has made her mouth dry, so she carefully reaches for a thermos of water. “Now that I’m awake, I can be put on trial for my crimes. See how I don’t even deny it. I know exactly what I did even though I couldn’t tell you why. I loved Bridget and liked everyone else there. There’s no reason I would have hurt them, but I know what I did.”

“Let’s start this over again,” Max says with a warm smile. He steps outside, knocks, and comes back in while flashing his badge. “Hello, my name is Max Boros and this is Gemma Cook. We’re working your case and wanted to ask you a few questions about that night. It is important that you know what we’ve learned about the situation. You were drugged by one of the hotel’s cooks who had a grudge with the bride’s husband-to-be. He claimed to have laced all of your drinks and food, which led to your psychotic episode. His former employer is paying for all of your medical bills and your friends’ funerals. She sends her best wishes and hopes you make a full recovery.”

“Dawn Addison is paying for all of this?” Gemma whispers, suspicious of the unexpected news. Pushing her hatred of the hotelier out of her mind, she takes a seat next to the bed and meets Rhonda’s wide-eyed stare. “The drug tests are still pending, but the cook admitted to the crime as soon as it was found. So we are treating you as a victim and not a suspect. As my partner wrote in your file, you were mentally compromised.”

Rhonda tries to sit up, but a jolting pain in her lower back causes her to twist beneath her blankets. “Why didn’t the others get violent like me? They were completely normal, but we all had the same things. I mean, I was having different drinks than them, but shouldn’t they have been acting strangely? Sorry. It’s hard to believe what you’re telling me considering everything I saw and did.”

“Drugs effect people differently,” Max states, adjusting his glasses. With a heavy sigh, he grabs another chair and moves it to sit at the foot of the bed. “We don’t want to take up too much of your time. If you could tell us what happened then we’ll be on our way. No matter how small or strange the detail, we would like to know.”

Drinking more water, Rhonda tries to move the arm that is cuffed to the bed. Staring at the polished manacle, she can feel a headache brewing behind her heads. A loud beep from the intravenous machine makes the woman jump and she turns to see that the bag has run out of medicine. She is about to call a nurse, but stops before even reaching for the button. Stirring the remains of her pudding cup, she struggles to recall every detail of the massacre. Her appetite is gone when she remembers the taste of her friend, which returns to her tongue and makes her stomach twist. Looking from Max to Gemma, the traumatized woman lets herself cry long enough to gain enough strength to speak.

“Things were going normally until Bridget went to hide in the bathroom,” Rhonda explains while wiping her eyes. One of her tears is crimson, the blood drying quickly against her pale skin. “The stripper was starting another song while I got myself another drink. I looked outside to see a raven on the balcony railing. The bird disappeared for a minute before returning to slam into the door and drop dead. It scared all of us, but I began laughing. A man’s voice was in my head and it was telling me that nobody appreciated me. I was looked down upon and didn’t fit in, so I should kill them. Soon after I started attacking the others, the voice changed to that of a woman who kept telling me that I deserved Bridget. She said if I ate her then she would never leave me and it made sense at the time. The best way to explain it is that I had control over my actions, but I didn’t. Not sure that makes any sense.”

“It does prove you weren’t of sound mind,” Gemma points out while she writes notes on a small pad. She pulls out her cellphone and scrolls through several videos until she stops at one that has Dawn’s voice. “There have been many incidents at Heaven’s Nest. You’re actually the first witness and living victim that we’ve had. I’m apologize in advance if this is too forward, but could you listen to this? This is a woman we think may be responsible, so I wonder if she’s the voice you heard.”

“How is that even possible?” asks the woman, her breathing becoming ragged. She scratches at an itch on her neck while sweat pours down her face. “The voice was in my head. If it was over an intercom then everyone would have heard it.”

“True, but it’s possible she planted a bug on you,” Max replies, struggling to cover his partner’s odd request. Seeing doubt in the patient’s face, he clears his throat and leans forward with a smile. “It’s very high tech and sounds like it would be fictional. Yet, it’s possible this woman slipped a tiny bug into your hair. Given how much you drank, you’d never notice and she could whisper to you as a voice in your head. The worst that happens here is that Detective Cook makes a fool of herself.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, old man.”

“Let me get some water first.”

“Are you feeling well? Your face is really red.”

With a violent cough, Rhonda spews blood and bangs her head against the tray, which gets a metal fork stuck in her forehead. The medicine bag is rapidly inflating and deflating, the movement sending air into the patient’s veins. A maddening cackle erupts from the woman’s blood-dripping mouth as she pulls the fork free. She runs the tines around her cheeks with enough force to leave oozing cuts, her eyes darting from one detective to another. Not wanting to be stopped, Rhonda kicks the tray into Gemma and pulls her legs away from Max. Two nurses rush into the room with tranquilizers and approach to restrain the thrashing patient. Before they can pounce on her, the woman licks her lips and swings her arm back. The fork drives into an empty outlet and a burst of electricity explodes out of the wall. With a gurgled laugh, Rhonda feels her heart explode and she collapses in the bed. Steam wafts off her body, which is covered in patches of blackened skin.

“What the hell happened?” Max asks, his voice changing from anger to confusion. He jumps back when the body’s clenched mouth opens to reveal a cooked tongue. “Who uses metal utensils in a hospital? How did the bag do that with the air? Can an outlet really carry that much power? Somebody please answer one of my questions.”

“We’ll leave you to take care of this,” Gemma tells the nurses, who are frozen by the horrific sight and barrage of questions. Guiding her partner into the hallway, she refuses to let go of his arm no matter how much he struggles. “You and I need to share our notes. Preferably in a place with fresh air. A lot of strange stuff has happened at Heaven’s Nest since last we talked. If you really need an answer to your questions, there wasn’t a metal fork there when we first arrived and I have no idea about the other two things. Are you still with me on this, old man, or do you want out?”

“I’m only staying on this case to help you, slightly younger woman,” he answers before taking a relaxing breath. They are both hesitant to get on the elevator, but the urge to get outside drives them forward. “I do have more on Dawn Addison. By the way, what was that woman whispering when we came in?”

“Never any fun in normal.”

“Odd phrase. What does it mean?”

“That things are escalating.”

“Fancy meeting you here, kitty,” Dawn says as she takes the seat across from Gemma. The detective stares at her, a piece of bacon still in her mouth. “Glad you’re enjoying the breakfast buffet. We don’t do this often for dinner, but this is a special occasion. Think of this feast as a reward for solving the riddle. Fluffy and crispy things are always nice in the evening. Are you expecting someone?”

“Just looking for a friend,” Gemma bluntly answers, her eyes darting in every direction. She wonders why she has not seen Roy all day, including when she went to his room and found a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. “I realized something. By solving your riddle and warning your victims, I have no evidence that you were going to do anything. Still, I’m happy to have stopped you from killing.”

“I have a little secret,” the hotelier sings, her fingers dancing on the table. The brown-haired woman stops and stares at her erratic movements, her mouth moving silently until a loud crash snaps her out of the trance. “My good friends met with an unfortunate accident. They were at the zoo and decided that the rules didn’t apply to them. So Demarcus Lang broke the glass to the alligator cage and went swimming with them. Not a long swim since it was just around feeding time and he must have smelled delicious. Alicia Lang thought these poisonous frogs looked delicious and ate one. She died painfully. Here’s a printout of the article that’s going to be all over the papers tomorrow.”

With a shaking hand, Gemma takes the papers and reads through them while slowly munching another piece of bacon. She notes that the zookeepers swear that the poison dart frog should not have been toxic due to their controlled diet. Another oddity is that there was no clear sign of how Demarcus broke the thick glass to the alligators. With most of the article stating why the scene made little sense, Gemma becomes to wonder if Dawn is lying and created the report on her own. Grabbing her phone, she searches for the site and curses when she sees the printout displayed on the screen. Picking up a butter-covered knife, she taps it on the papers and considers leaping over the table to slit the other woman’s throat. Her murderous glare is met by a wide grin and hungry, twinkling eyes, the disturbing expression giving the detective a reason to hold back.

“Oh, don’t look so angry. Turn that snarl into a friendly raspberry,” Dawn teases as she leans forward and claims a strawberry. Wiping a few bits of bacon off the fruit, the young woman rubs it around her eye patch before taking a bite. “I have a confession to make. The riddle was a bunch of rubbish I came up with on the spot. My brain gremlin assured me it would lead you to someone here. Then I went after your choice. Guess this makes you an accomplice more than a rival.”

“You’re a sick bitch, but there’s no way you did any of this,” Gemma declares, dropping the knife into a glass of water. She looks away from the wounded expression on her enemy’s face, her attention falling on the entrance. “Getting a cook to drug a bachelorette party is one thing because it’s on your turf. This is you getting two guests to act suicidal in an entirely different borough.”

Dawn yawns before curling her legs into the chair and running her finger around her crimson lips. “I give mints and kisses to my favorite guests when they leave. Though what I use is untraceable and unique. Too bad it didn’t work on your new friend. Maybe I wasn’t really into it, which happens when I’m bored or have more delicious plans. He was skulking around for a while, so I forgot about him when you fell into my lap. Imagine my surprise when you cheated and went for help. You’re supposed to be my equal in this, which means you solve my puzzles on your own.”

“What did you do to Roy?”

“Removed him from the game.”

“How?”

“I said I had a delicious plan.”

Confused and worried, Gemma scans the room until her eyes fall on the buffet. A fresh platter of bacon is being served, the smell drifting throughout the restaurant. People are swarming the buffet table to grab the fresh meat, most of the guests grabbing the food by the handful instead of waiting for the tongs. The detective glances at Dawn, who eagerly nods her head and flashes a toothy, shark-like grin. Nausea sets in and gets worse when Gemma thinks about how many she has eaten, the crispy slices her favorite part of the meal. She picks up her last piece and holds it in front of her face, the smell slightly different than before. When she drops it back on the plate, Dawn snatches the bacon and pops it into her mouth. The sight of the hotelier’s eyes rolling back and the sound of her sensual moans makes the red-haired woman cover her mouth to avoid vomiting.

Knowing she will not last much longer, Gemma’s hands are shaking as she stands and staggers toward a nearby bathroom. She is thankful that nobody else is inside to watch her empty her stomach into the nearest toilet. Dawn appears in the opening of the stall to hold the detective’s hair back, the amused woman whistling her favorite pop song. The irritating noise angers Gemma to the point where she grabs the hotelier’s wrist and tries to slam her into the tile floor. Instead, the cop is yanked off her feet and hurled into the mirror, which cracks without shattering into dangerous shards. The confident and playful glint in Dawn’s eyes falters before she rushes out of the bathroom. Rubbing her aching back, Gemma is about to follow when her phone rings and she sees that it is Max, who has been texting her for the last hour.

“You need to be at the hospital in the morning. I’m talking before you even think of having coffee,” the man urgently says, his breathing ragged as if he recently ran up several flights of stairs. A raspy cough cuts off his voice and is followed by him guzzling a bottle of water to ease his throat. “That bridesmaid regained consciousness. She’s asleep now, but we have permission to talk to her in the morning. No idea what’s going on, Cook, but the chief wants you to be involved. I’ll have your gun and badge waiting for you too. Not sure if you’re back to work or not though. You’re pretty quiet. Everything okay over there?”

“No, but I’ll tell you the details in the morning,” Gemma replies in a low voice. Running cold water, she throws some on her face and takes a drink to settle her stomach. “Ms. Addison . . . Dawn won a big round. Get some sleep, old man, because we’re going to have a rough tomorrow.”