Authors: Brooklyn Hudson
He laughed faintly over his sudden clarity and relief. This worried Rachael and from the corner of his eye he saw her tense and tighten her grip on the baby.
“You have to stop. You’re going to squeeze the life out of her.”
Rachael looked down at Jessica and loosened her hold only a little. She slid from the bed. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she muttered and left the room in a hurry.
Julien sat, now alone in the bedroom, he stared at the empty doorway, disappointed.
How do I get through to her?
He found a pack of cigarettes in his nightstand and rummaged through the dresser for a pair of jeans with both legs intact.
He looked forward to standing upright in the shower.
* * * *
Rachael stopped at the bottom of the steps. She eyed Sarah sitting patiently on the couch and thought about her lying out there in the grass beside Julien; the two of them hand in hand. Sarah returned her gaze, but lacked definitive expression. Rachael wished she knew what the girl was thinking. She tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen, as if to beckon Sarah to follow. Sarah did as she was told and left the sofa to trail behind Rachael.
Jessica sat safely in her car seat at the center of the kitchen table while Rachael made coffee and prepared a bottle with formula. She fed the baby first then poured herself a cup while toasting a bagel to share with Sarah.
The two sat silently eating until Julien found them. Rachael had not heard him coming and lunged forward, placing a hand over Jessica’s chest as Julien walked by.
“Calme toi, Rachael,” Julien said with condemning intonation. He grabbed a travel mug and poured himself some coffee. Leaning back against the sink, he took a swig. “I have work to do,” he announced then walked back in the direction he had come. He made it only to the kitchen door before Sarah jumped up, ready to follow him.
Rachael roared, “SIT DOWN!” The baby broke into screams, startled by the ear-piercing command.
Julien didn’t look back, but heard the sound of Sarah dutifully scooting back into her chair. He came down the porch steps; the rain had stopped, though the air was thick with humidity beneath the pale gray sky. He looked over to the barn. He couldn’t remember the last time he had visited the loft. En route, he glanced around for the ducks. He hadn’t seen them in some time and wondered if they had flown off in search of food without him around to provide their daily meal.
He entered the darkened barn and flipped on the lights. It was at least ten or twelve degrees cooler inside and all was quiet except for the muffled cackle of the hens behind the wall. He approached the ladder and gave it several hard shakes--it felt as sturdy as ever. He overcame his nerves and ascended to his office. Carefully, he came over the edge and flipped on the radio and computer. He lit a smoke and stared at his home page, scanning the New York Times while he pretended he didn’t already know what he was about to do. He held his cigarette balanced at the corner of his mouth and began typing their address in the search bar.
The first item to appear was a map of the immediate area with a red marker pinpointing their home at the top of the mountain. The second listing was a home buyer’s website. Julien clicked on it. It listed the number of rooms, the lot size and the owner as Arlette Lam-Vandermark, followed by a purchase price of only twenty-thousand-dollars. He sat drumming his fingers on the desktop, baffled. He knew the previous owner’s had sold the property to Arlette for a good price, but the listed price was ridiculous, and compared to what he had paid for the Victorian, Arlette was the only party amongst the three involved who had not been robbed. He noted the name of the website then backed out to the search engine again. This time he typed in Arlette Vandermark and clicked the first search suggestion. Immediately, a Time’s newspaper article appeared on the monitor. He scanned it quickly.
Schoharie County, April 9, 1992—Philanthropist Albert “Bing” Vandermark, 59, was found dead on Tuesday, April 8. According to reliable sources, Vandermark was found in his Kings Hollow office with no evidence of foul play. As per reports, an unnamed individual placed a 911 call just after 6pm on Tuesday. Vandermark, a lawyer by trade, was known for his hand in charitable contributions around New York State. Vandermark was also noted for heavily contributing to local school art, music, and sports programs. The New York State Coroner's Office is currently handling the case. Assistant Chief of Investigation Ellis Forbes stated that the cause of death is still pending. Vandermark had his hands in a number of diversified ventures, including law, real estate development, investment projects and government. He oversaw Kings Hollow Bank and Loan as their President, and the law offices of Vandermark, Vandeen, and Lazlo; though he was no longer practicing law. He is also remembered for his involvement in erecting the Kings Hollow Public Library. Vandermark’s wife, Arlette Lam-Vandermark, is a city council chair and is an active member of the Schoharie County community. She is a local real estate agent and volunteer for the West Norris School, which assists developmentally-challenged children in preparing for mainstream public classrooms. There were early reports that the death may have been a suicide, though the coroner has yet to respond to the rumor. According to the Schoharie County Coroner’s Office, “The Department of Coroner is responsible for the investigation and determination of the cause and manner of all sudden or unusual deaths in the county.”
Julien printed the article and placed it aside, unsure if the information would later prove useful. He knew now that Arlette had been married prior to Mayor Lind, but the information seemed innocuous. He lit another cigarette and allowed his mind to return to the history of the Victorian, which declared Arlette the current owner. He typed
Reverse Phonebook
in the search engine and chose a website. He entered the property’s address again and found a long list of previous occupants, all of which resided in the home for relatively short periods of time, except for the initial entry. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the property had belonged to the Lam family, which he assumed to be Arlette’s maiden name, as per the article he found on her husband’s death. It appeared the home was passed down, amongst the Lams’, for several generations.
William Lam, Harrison Lam, Charles Lam, Samuel Lam, Arlette Lam-Vandermark in 1989.
Nothing he read was tangible, yet he could not shake the sinking feeling deep in his gut that there was more and it wouldn’t be good. He lit another cigarette and sat back. He remembered the sophisticated background check program used by the ad agency to research potential employees and clients. He wondered if his password would still get him onto the site and thought it was worth a shot. He pulled the website up and entered his old work I.D. and pass code.
Bingo!
He still had complete access to the site. He had rarely used the service during his time at the agency, but knew it had more capabilities than he had employed. He typed in their home address and found the same information. It showed Arlette Vandermark as the current owner of the property, having purchased the home for twenty-thousand-dollars in 1989. There were no records of the home being sold nor purchased thereafter.
Julien felt his body tense; perspiration stung his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was the muggy loft air or his task at hand, but he was not about to quit his investigation now. One by one, he typed in the names of the individuals listed as occupants of the home over the last fifteen years. None came up as having owned the property for any length of time, but all had utilities in their names at the Victorian.
Had she been renting out the house prior to our purchasing the property?
Julien printed out seven reports. Before reaching for the printer, he paused and typed his own name into the search. His heart began to pound when his own information surfaced showing utilities in his and Rachael’s names, yet no mention of their having purchased the property. Anyone looking at the report would assume he was renting the home from Arlette Vandermark as with the previous tenants. He printed the information and took the stack of pages from the machine then moved to the long worktable where he laid everything out and pulled up a chair. He bounced from report to report unsure of exactly what he was looking for. Arlette had clearly given up occupancy of the home shortly after her husband’s death. From that point on tenants of the Victorian came and went frequently. Upon closer inspection, he began to notice something more alarming.
Santo D’Anna – deceased, age 63. His wife, Vera – deceased, one year later, age 61. Their daughter, also deceased.
Only two days prior to her mother’s death, age 41.
He picked up the next report.
Kenneth Albert Craig – deceased, age 56. His wife, Gwen – deceased, age 51.
He fumbled for the next report.
Robert Sutter – deceased, age 48. His wife, Adele – deceased, five months later, age 45. Their 3-year-old child—deceased, the same day as the mother.
Julien could hardly react and he forged ahead.
Nancy Hourglass – deceased, age 59. Her sister, Margaret Hourglass DOB: 07/20/47.
She’s alive?
She must be alive.
Father Matthew Boyle DOB: 01/12/66.
He’s alive.
Donald Combs DOB: 05/22/51. His wife, Celest Combs – deceased, age 48. Children: Dennis, Desire, Renee.
All in their teens.
All alive.
Edward Johansen – deceased, age 37. His wife, Caroline and 6-year-old daughter, both deceased on the same day.
What does all of this mean?
Julien sat back. The information was inconsistent; some tenants were living, though several were deceased—
some at a very young age
, but many dying on the same day with multiple family members. The hair on his arms stood up.
Stop it Julien…
You creep yourself out.
He needed more details and began looking at the forwarding information for those still living.
He was confused to find there wasn’t any. The program was about as sophisticated as a background check program could be; outside of a Federal Office perhaps, yet none of the living had current addresses except for Margaret Hourglass. He typed the address listed for her into the search engine.
St. Mary’s Home at Cobleskill Memorial Hospital
He clicked on the link and found a discreetly-veiled website describing the facilities of a Mental Health Institution. He promptly dialed the phone number.
A young voice answered, “St. Mary’s Home, Carrie speaking.”
“’allo, I am calling about a patient I believe is in your care…Margaret Hourglass?”
“Margaret?” she questioned. “Did you say Margaret Hourglass?”
“Yes, is she there at your facility?”
“Well, yes, but…” The girl cleared her throat. “Miss. Hourglass is very ill. She doesn’t usually have callers. Are you family?”
“I am a friend of the family. I have been looking for her for some time, I am in the area and I was hoping to speak—”
Carrie cut him off, “Sir, Miss. Hourglass hasn’t spoken a word since she arrived several years ago. She hasn’t acknowledged a single person and I’m sorry to tell you that she’s now in stage four brain cancer. She’s been in a coma for nearly a month.”
Julien fell silent. The girl continued, “I can put you through to our director.”
He paused for a moment then said, “No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you very much.”
He hung up and sat back bouncing his chair on its springs, deep in thought.
She went crazy.
She lost her fucking mind here.
He sat up again and began entering the names of the remaining living occupants into the search engine, starting with the most recent tenants prior to him and Rachael.
His heart sank when he saw what came up. Several articles appeared; he chose the first and began reading about the
Johansen double-suicide
. He learned that their daughter had drowned in the pond he looked down upon from his office. The child’s drowning was deemed an accident, though both parents were found lying beside her, dead of self-inflicted bullet wounds.
He ran Father Boyle’s name. A church website popped up asking for information on the whereabouts of Father Matthew Boyle and for prayers in his name. Julien backed out and chose the second listing, an article from a small Cooperstown newspaper where the priest held parish. He had gone missing shortly after a Sunday service. There was no explanation or leads, though there was a quote from Arlette Vandermark stating that the priest had confided in her that he had been
questioning his faith
. A rebuttal from Father Boyle’s sister, Maureen Boyle, argued that her brother was never in question of his faith and if he had been, he would not have up and gone without making arrangements for the parish.
Julien wanted to contact Maureen Boyle. He typed her name into the search engine only to find that she too had died suddenly. She had driven her car off the mountain at the end of his driveway after one of several trips up to the Victorian,
to settle her brother’s estate
and gathering his belongings.
What estate?
He never owned the house, Ms. Boyle.
But I guess you figured that out.
Julien bit down on his lips deep in concentration. He typed in Robert Sutter and found more information on his wife, Adele, and their child, than on Robert himself. Adele Sutter had committed filicide, taking her three-year-old son’s life in the middle of the night, in a Vermont motel room; she suffocating him with a pillow then took her own life, consuming several bottles of over-the-counter sleeping pills, and the contents of a bottle of wine. All of this taking place just five months after the sudden death of her husband who had
“a massive coronary while repairing a chicken coop on the Kings Hollow property”.