Deadliest Intuition Read online

  Chapter 4

  Their First Encounter

  Their neighborhood over the years had vastly transitioned. In the ’70s, the Doolallys were the only mixed-race residents, adding a bit of color to Gable Street. Now, the neighborhood was a melting pot, housing people of many diverse cultures. Construction on the house across the street ceased after Cecilia’s death. After hearing of the accident, the owners declined to build on the property. The Doolallys gladly purchased the land, leaving it as a shrine to their fallen daughter. “Cecilia’s Lot” sat decorated with wildflowers surrounding her headstone. Although her body had been laid to rest at the cemetery, her greatest testimony could be seen right from Ronald’s bedroom window, a fact his parents had no idea would go on to torture their son throughout his adolescence.

  Ronald cruised past the memorial, pulling into his driveway. He remained in the house they grew up in even after his parents died. Unable to overcome her daughter’s death, Mrs. Doolally took her own life only a few years after Cecilia had passed. Mr. Doolally eventually succumbed to alcoholism, dying of kidney failure just before Ronald’s eighteenth birthday. All the couple owned was left to him. That, along with the memories, were all he had, memories that damaged Ronald much more than they could ever heal.

  He pulled into his driveway, shutting the engine down when the memory surfaced.

  * * *

  Mr. Doolally flipped burgers and hot dogs on his barrel-style smoker offsides as young Ronald played basketball in the driveway.

  “One hand, son. You dribble with one hand at a time, no matter what,” he coached on as the little boy panted, trying to catch his breath.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ve got an idea. You’ll be an expert in no time.” Mr. Doolally ducked inside the garage briefly before resurfacing with a small rope.

  “Now, what do you plan to do with that, sweetheart?” Mrs. Doolally spoke up from the sidelines, slightly nervous about what her husband was about to do.

  “I wouldn’t harm a hair on his curly head, my love. Don’t you worry.” He turned to young Ronald, “You trust me?”

  “I trust you, Daddy,” Cecelia shouted from the blanket spread atop the lawn along the driveway.

  Mrs. Doolally smiled, rolling the end of one of her daughter’s pigtails around her index finger as she admired her little girl’s beauty.

  Meanwhile, her husband had tied the short rope around one of young Ronald’s wrists, then attached it to the beltloop on his jeans. “Now, you have no other choice than to dribble with one hand.”

  * * *

  The memory drifted as Ronald heard the screen door to the unit next to his close. He hopped out of the van to head inside.

  “Mrs. May, how are you?” the young man politely inquired as he jetted up the porch stairs.

  “I’m doing just fine, Ronald. How are you?” she replied, looking up at him, surprised he’d even furnished her more than a wave. May Constance had been his neighbor for years, and in that time, he’d barely spoken more than a few words to her.

  “Pretty good. You have a good day,” he quickly ended the conversation, unlocking his door, then shutting himself inside.

  “What an odd young man,” the old woman remarked as the door closed in her face.

  The first thing Ronald gave his attention happened to be the personal computer that sat atop the desk in his living room. Most people would have thought it odd Ronald didn’t have a television in the sitting room, but he never had company. When Mr. Doolally died, Ronald rented out the flat alongside him. Even though he and his neighbor were in separate units, it was the closest he had to a roommate, being they shared part of the basement. It was the only space with a washer and dryer connection.

  His current position had helped him to choose a neighbor befitting his home. Under the guise of watchful eyes, they were all subject to Ronald and Cecilia’s scrutiny. The security job he had obtained at Wayne State University before he’d decided to enroll officially as a journalism student made him all-knowing as to the comings and goings on campus. He hoped to one day become a writer. Releasing the many stories that had been trapped inside him for so long was tempting. Though they wanted out, if revealed, Ronald’s freedom would be at serious risk. His descriptive writing class would surely allow him to create a fantasy around those sinful deeds threatening to boil to the surface. At least, Ronald surmised as much.

  The mentally exhausted young man plopped down in his office chair, rolling across the wood floor toward the bookcase against the wall beside him. He pulled down a book, Compelled to Murder, by E. Raye Turonek. Of course, he had read the book more than a few times already, as it not only fueled him with ideas of inspiration as to his aspiring writing career, but it also housed the key to his knowledge. Ronald used an algorithm that frequently changed his password so that the chances of him being hacked or found out were slim to none. Had anyone stumbled upon the fact that he’d hacked into the college’s security footage, he would be jailed—posthaste.

  Ronald cracked open the book on page 133, which happened to be the same time his twin, Cecilia, was pronounced dead. Wedged in between the pages sat a small piece of paper with the current password printed. He rolled back over to his personal computer, then proceeded to log in.

  That’s when the doorbell rang, initially causing him to pause. I don’t have time for this. He huffed, then sprang up from his chair to peer out of a small opening in the miniblinds he had created with a nudge of his finger. He could see her standing, arms folded across her abdomen, waiting for him to answer. Ronald tried surmising who she was along with what she wanted before answering. After drinking in her voluptuous frame, big, rounded beautiful eyes, and abundant long, black coils, he couldn’t recall having ever laid eyes on the young woman.

  Ronald twisted the brass knob, pulling open the front door but left the iron security gate closed to greet his unannounced guest. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

  Damn . . . Auntie was right. He’s packed full of gorgeousness. Her eyes jutted open wider. “Hello, my name is Gertrude, Gertrude Liberal. I wanted to introduce myself, being I’ll be staying here now with my aunt.”

  “Excuse me?” Ronald unlocked the security gate, opening the screen door for clarification.

  “My apologies . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt you while you were getting ready.”

  “It’s fine. I’m actually ready for the day.”

  “Oh . . . Then, I think you may have forgotten something.” She blinked, attempting to clue him in before blurting it out. “You have one gray eye and one brown.” She snickered at what she assumed was an innocent mistake.

  “I don’t wear contacts, but I promise they won’t change any other colors,” Ronald admitted.

  For a moment, Gertrude stood staring in awe of him but eventually snapped out of it, noticing his look of anticipation. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me, standing here staring at you like some sort of lab experiment. My aunt May rents the connecting flat. She told me you were the landlord. I wanted you to know I’ll be staying here awhile with her. Until I finish school at least.”

  “School?” His brows wrinkled.

  “I’m officially enrolled to take classes at Wayne State University. It’s downtown Detroit.”

  “I’m aware of it. I attend school there also, so I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

  Gertrude smiled, showcasing a row of straight, gleaming white teeth. “That’s comforting. I don’t know anyone in the area except for my aunt. Would you mind showing me around the campus? My student advisor seems a bit too busy helping out the—” she paused for a moment of contemplation, trying to find just the right words—“pretty girls.”

  Although Ronald found Gertrude quite beautiful, he understood precisely what it was she meant by the statement. “Seems he’s misjudged.”

  She blushed at his kind words. “So, can I count on you to show me around?”

  I guess it can’t hurt to show her around, he quickly convinced himself b
efore announcing the good news. “Sure. Why not? I know the campus pretty well. I’ll show you around.”

  “Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it. And to show my appreciation, I’m going to liven this place up. You could use a good gardener. Maybe I can plant some gorgeous flowers like they have in that lot across the street.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ronald replied, the reminder of his sister’s death having instantly soured his mood.

  “Oh, it’s no problem. I think my aunt could use the added scenery. She’d do it herself if she could. But then, what kind of niece would I be if I let my elderly aunt do gardening while I’m living here rent free? No way. I’m not that kind of person. I’m going to create you both a beautiful landscape, and I’m happy to do it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

  “I have,” Gertrude grinned, hoping to see Ronald lighten up a bit.

  To her dismay, the sour expression on his face had yet to wane.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to monopolize your time. Not today, anyway.” She flashed an innocent smile. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning? My classes start at 8:00 a.m.”

  “I’ll be up and ready at 6:00 a.m. If we get there by 7:00, that’ll give us plenty of time to peruse the campus,” he responded.

  “Perfect. I guess I’ll see you then. I mean, I will see you tomorrow morning. I don’t want you to think by me saying ‘guess’ that I’m going to stand you up. Not that I would ever do that anyway. I’m not that kind of girl,” she rambled on.

  Ronald could sense Gertrude’s nervousness yet failed to realize it was due, in most part, to her fondness of him. “I’ll see you in the morning, Gertrude Liberal.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess that’s my cue.” She waved goodbye, then scurried off toward her end of the porch as Ronald shut the door to continue the task at hand.

  Chapter 5

  Duty Calls

  Cecilia was there waiting as Ronald turned to head back to the living room, blocking his path. “You like her, dear brother.”

  “What are you going on about, Cecilia? She’s just a neighbor and seems to be a genuinely nice person.” He continued, passing right through the apparition as if she weren’t even there.

  “We’ll see how nice she is.”

  “Cecilia, just stop,” Ronald implored with a sigh as he plopped back down into his chair in front of the computer. “Don’t you have bigger fish to fry?”

  “Arthur Columbus,” she hissed with a seething glare.

  “Let’s see if we can find Mr. Columbus on campus.” Ronald clicked at the buttons on the keyboard, bringing up security footage at the college. “I do know that he works at one of the restaurants on campus,” he continued, looking closely at the monitor until spotting his person of interest in the student center. “There he is, enjoying some tacos on his lunch break,” Ronald uttered in a low lull, not taking his eyes off Arthur. “I don’t know. Looks pretty standard to me, Cecilia.”

  “Look closely, dear brother. Under the table,” the apparition suggested, leaning her face in toward the monitor.

  Only then did Ronald see it—Arthur’s hand under the table, snapping pictures of the woman sitting across from him at a separate table. A blue jean skirt barely reaching the halfway point of her extremities allowed sight of her most private places. His disposable camera was perfectly positioned.

  Ronald sat back in his chair, allowing the realization to set in. “Guess he isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

  Without looking away from the monitor, the arm of the apparition stretched behind her, gripping Ronald’s forearm as it rested on the armrest of the chair.

  “That’s just the tip of the iceberg, dear brother,” Cecilia rejoiced, forcing a flood of Arthur’s past transgressions into his psyche. His head fell back, leaving his eyes and mouth wide open. Ronald could see everything through the eyes of his sister’s apparition. All the filthy things Arthur had done to those unsuspecting young women came clear.

  Upon Cecilia’s release, Ronald’s head shifted up right. “I should never have doubted you, dear sister.”

  “I would never steer you wrong.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Ronald spun round in the direction of the kitchen just as the security alarm affixed to the wall chimed, alerting him of something awry. “Well, look at that. I think our guest must be awake.” He slowly lifted from the seat to settle the issue, not too concerned with whatever happened to be setting off his alarm.

  He moved through the living room into the kitchen, where nothing seemed out of sorts. Not that he’d expected it to be. Decorated with the same daisy-printed wallpaper his parents had themselves chosen, the rounded kitchen was spacious. It had more than a few exits leading to various rooms in the house, a bathroom, the basement, the back hall, and the living room entrance. The kitchen sat at the center of his unit. A bathroom off the kitchen led to the upstairs, right where Ronald was going. After twisting more than three dead bolt locks lining the door to open it, he headed up the dark stairwell, wood creaking under his sneakers every step he took. Just up ahead was another door secured with three additional dead bolts. Ronald turned the locks, releasing the metal bars from their hole to open the heavy wooden door. It dragged across the floor, sounding off a loud grumble, which is precisely why he was in no panic to handle the problem. If something were genuinely awry, Ronald would have heard much more than a buzzing alarm.

  And there, Joe was strapped to a wooden chair. His ankles were bound to two of the legs, with his wrists tied to the arms of the seat. Even his head was covered with a white cloth bag. You know, the one that would hold the clothespins for the line. Attempting to escape, he’d tipped over onto the floor, setting off the alarm button under the leg of his chair.

  Ronald walked over to the only cabinet in the empty room, pulling out a device that wrapped around his head to cover his mouth. He used the apparatus to distort the sound of his voice. “You almost made it, Joe. Bet you fought as hard as those little boys fought down at juvie. What’s your mission statement? Do you know it? Juvenile correctional officers ensure the security of the facility with incarcerated minors by enforcing the rules and maintaining order,” he informed him before swiping up a police baton from the corner of the room—one of those old nineteen sixties batons, an heirloom of his father’s.

  “Enforcing the rules.” He terrorized Joe, jabbing the object into his battered rib cage. “Not your sick-ass fantasies.”

  Joe yowled at every shot that landed on his sweat-drenched, bruise-riddled abdomen. “Please stop,” he whimpered.

  “Maybe he’s had enough,” Ronald surmised.

  “He hasn’t had enough,” Cecilia hissed, now standing over the top of him to see the pain up close. “No, dear brother.”

  “I have. Please. I’ve learned my lesson,” Joe pleaded.

  “Like little Mickey learned his?” Cecilia rebuffed, yet only Ronald could hear. “There is no time for hesitation,” she demanded, grabbing hold of her brother’s wrist.

  His head fell back, eyes wide, mouth just the same, while the vision maintained its hold.

  * * *

  Ronald spied Joe pushing the boy onto the cold cement floor of his solitary cell as he cried in protest. “Please, not again . . . What did I do? Why are you doing this to me?” the juvenile whimpered, recoiling further into a dark corner before burying his head in his knees.

  “I thought we were pals, Mickey.” Joe inched closer, removing his black leather belt.

  * * *

  “Had enough, dear brother?” Cecilia inquired, lessening her grip to allow Ronald to return from the heartbreaking insight.

  Hard, rapid breaths foreshadowed the hateful glare that fell upon Joe once Ronald’s head fell upright. The slight smirk made with a single side of his mouth told of the sinister deeds he’d anticipated exacting on his captive. He turned without a word, flipping a switch on the wall beside the door as Joe lay, begging for his life.

&nbs
p; “Hey, man. Come on. Just let me go. I won’t even tell anyone about this. I mean, why would I?” he pleaded, fingers jutting outward. “Goddammit, man. Let me go,” Joe continued, choking down tears he’d vowed until then to restrain.

  The then shamed corrections officer whined, all the while the house went on securing itself. Each open door in his unit slammed shut. First, the door to the room where they stood, then the door at the beginning of the staircase. Down through the bathroom, even that door slammed shut. Several bedroom doors, the additional three doors surrounding the kitchen . . . All slammed, one after the other. Of course, the front back and side doors were already closed. Still, reinforced locks on every door shut his unit down, all from the flip of his switch.

  Next door, Gertrude leaped up from her chair in the kitchen, where she sat filling out a stack of official-looking documents.

  “Oh my God, Auntie. What is all that racket?” She rushed through their side of the unit to ensure the safety of her elderly aunt.

  Aunt May may have been pushing eighty, but she got around pretty good. And as far as wits went, she’d make you feel as if you were a ticket short for the ride at the county fair. Gertrude found her sitting in the living room watching an episode of Ricki Lake.

  “Are you okay, Aunt May?” she huffed, concerned and winded.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt May turned to her. “You look like your mama did when I threw that dart through the garage window when we were just little ole girls. It stuck right in her forehead.” Her aunt faintly chuckled, recalling the event.

  Gertrude gasped, covering her chest. “Auntie, that’s a terrible story.”

  “Oh, don’t ruin your bloomers. She lived, didn’t she? You’re here.”

  Gertrude rested a hand on her hip, letting out a sigh. She knew better than to put up a fuss with her aunt. “I guess you’re right, Auntie. Auntie, what was all that commotion I heard?”

  “Probably that boy next door, fixing up the house for his boyfriend or something,” Aunt May answered before turning back to her show.