Killing Roses Book 2: Blood on the Petals
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Ekridah
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Chapter 65: Skeletons in the Basement
MARTIN
TWO DAYS AGO
Wednesday 27/08
4:00 p.m.
The place was as black as the devilâs soul. It was like walking through hell, and yet his feet didnât stop.
For other thirteen-year-olds, being uprooted from their hometown where all their friends were and suddenly moving to a place like the Bronx was a nightmare.
However, for young Martin Field, it was a dream come true.
Not only did his mother finally leave his piece of shit of a father and take control of her own life, but she also bought something to start her business with that made Martin extremely excited to live here.
That something was nothing other than the very building he was currently walking through.
His aunts had told her it was a bad purchase. The place had been empty for the past fifteen years, abandoned and an unlivable wreck.
An unlivable wreck that was like the mecca of Martinâs thirteen-year-old ghostbuster fantasies!
He had to explore it quickly and find any ghosts there were to be found before the cleaners swept out the whole building!
A trembling grin spread across his face as he walked through the hallway, going to the basement apartment. The first two levels were connected and seemed to have been lived in compared to the other disastrous apartments, so Martin had snuck down to the basement apartment.
Heâd heard that places like this were occupied by hundreds of vengeful ghosts. Spotting just one was enough to prove that ghosts existed, as heâd always tried to tell his friends.
It wasnât that scary since he knew that his mother was just upstairs with the cleaners on the first level. A single scream from him and sheâd be down there in a second.
With that reassuring knowledge, he continued walking.
Finally, he spotted the end of the hallway and the dark pit into which it disappeared.
There were stairs going down into the darkness and ending off the hallway, which heâd so far been so confident to walk in.
Martin came to a shaky stop and stared wide-eyed into the dark space. It looked like the portal to hell.
âLightsâŠ,â he whispered. There had to be lights, right? If it was true that the place hadnât been occupied for over fifteen years, would the lights even work, though?
He shook his head. He had to find out because if he was going down there, he wouldnât be doing so in the blind dark, despite being a kickass ghostbuster.
Reaching out at the brick wall on the inside of the basement opening, he felt around the rough wall for anything resembling a switch.
He flicked it and nothing happened. When he took a step toward the wall, however, he kicked something, and light flashed out of it. A flashlight!
One of the cleaners mustâve dropped it when they came down earlier.
Thanking his lucky stars, he picked up the flashlight and continued walking, forcing himself to brave the eeriness as his feet inched toward the stairs.
He counted each one as he descended: step two, step four, step six, until he counted fourteen and stood on the basement floor.
âWhoaâŠ,â he whispered, looking at the things in the room. They were so old, it looked like the ancient Egyptians could have used them.
There was a single rickety bed on one side of the room, the stale, thin blanket on it probably infested with bugs and dust mites. There was a small table by the bed and a single chair, both covered in a three-inch-thick blanket of dust. Someone had lived in here?
It wasnât a large room, but rather uninteresting to behold.
There was a wall across from him, however, which looked like it had been put there; the door in its center made of thick and heavy metal.
Martin tilted his head in interest.
His feet went to move to the door, but stopped cold at the sudden, shaky feeling that gripped his guts.
The boy stood still, staring at the door.
Could it be? Beyond this metal portal could lie the answer to all his questions about the world of the invisible!
Biting his lip, he looked back at the basement entrance. The sound of the cleaners and his mother moving around upstairs reached him, bringing an immediate reassurance.
Martin squared his thin shoulders and shoved his glasses up his nose bridge. He would see this to the end!
With determined steps that quickly slowed and hesitated, he approached the door.
It was cold in the basement, and the metal of the heavy door was icy to the touch.
He wrapped his hands around the handle and then pushed.
Nothing happened.
Martin pushed again, with more force this time.
The door wouldnât budge. Gritting his teeth, he gave another strong push.
Still nothing.
In frustration, he grabbed the handle and jerked it back and forth.
A loud, dragging sound suddenly jumped out at him, making Martin jerk his hands away, his heart hammering in his chest.
He stared at the door, not believing his eyes. It had inched toward him!
Biting his lip, he stood still. It would be embarrassing if he did find a ghost here, because it would mean there had been someone watching him idiotically push a pull door.
Clearing his throat, he shook it off.
There was no time to be embarrassed.
With a gut-clenching inhale, he grabbed the handle once more and, with as much strength as he could muster, pulled the heavy door toward him.
It dragged forward loudly, as though the metal was in physical pain after being still for so many years.
Finally, it was open.
That was when it hit him.
The smell.
Martin gagged and recoiled, covering his nose with his elbow as he glared at the door as if it had passed gas.
What was that revolting smell?!
Keeping his hand over his nose, he came back to the door and stood there, not really understanding what he was looking at.
His young eyes trailed slowly over the place, his knees quivering inside his dungarees.
Despite the light, he really couldnât tell much of what was in the room. There was stuff in it, all right, but Martin just couldnât tell what he was looking at. His brain couldnât process it.
Was that it?
Was that all there was to it? Was it just some sort of storeroom?
He coughed. The stench assaulting his nose said this place was more than a storeroom.
But then, it could just be a couple of dead rats in here.
Pressing his elbow harder over his nose, he stepped into the room.
His movement sent light from the flashlight to different corners of the room.
The light hit something. Something he hadnât seen before.
Martin stopped.
The sight was unbelievable.
It was horrific and drained every inch of blood from his face.
Trembling, his legs tried to move. They failed.
Martin couldnât stop staring.
âM-m-momâŠ,â he whispered hoarsely. Then the panic exploded, and he flew back, crashing into the wall before he burst out of the room, running for his life. âMooooom!â
He didnât dare look back. But the image wouldnât leave his head.
The empty sockets. The twisted spine.
It wasnât a ghost.
It was a rotting human skeleton.
ROMAN
Friday, 29/08
two oâclock p.m.
Roman handed the tablet back to the officer with instructions to wait for his orders and, in the meantime, look for Rachel Finleyâs missing car.
Continuing on his way, Roman could barely unclench his fists.
Things were making very little sense and spiraling out of his control in a very short space of time.
Heâd thought he was going insane. Letting his gut instincts run away with him. Now his gut instincts had a video of proof on their side, and what did Roman have? Nothing but wishful thinking, prayers, and hopes that it wasnât true.
Rubbing a hand over his forehead in frustration, he finally came to where Valerie and Michael were sitting, cops on either side of them.
Both of them stood when they saw him, Valerie scanning him for bullet holes.
âRoman.â
âHey, you guys all right?â he asked them, his voice more tense and unstable than heâd thought it would be. He wasnât surprised by that. The fact that he hadnât already exploded was what currently shocked him.
âYeah.â
âIâm sorry I was gone for so long.â
Valerie shook her head firmly. âNo, donât be. You had to work; that takes priority. Besides, Dane was here up until just before you arrived.â
Her words were like a ton of bricks landing on his head. Roman turned to stone, staring at her. âDane? Dane wasâŠhere?â
She nodded. âHe brought us some water.â
Roman looked at her like she was declaring the manner in which he would die slowly and painfully.
Before he could pry open his mouth and speak, his phone started to ring in his pocket.
âYour phone,â said Val.
Roman fished it out, recognizing Kaceyâs number on the screen.
Immediately, he answered. âKacey?â
âRoman,â she said.
He straightened at the grave tone of her voice. âWhatâs going on?â
She released a harsh breath. âI got a call from a colleague of mine in the Bronx District. You need to get over here, Parker. Weâve got a lead on the original Rose Killer case. ThisâŠis huge.â
