Thomas Amo - An Apple for Zoë - Book One ~ The Forsaken

"Jake, are you getting the same readings I'm getting?"

"Same thing, Steve."

"What is it? What do you guys have?" asked James.

Steve turned to James and pulled his respirator off. "Nothing Tom. The air is clean."

"You're sure?"

"You think I would take this thing off if I wasn't sure? Here look for yourself," said Steve as he showed James the clear reading from his portable RAE unit. James looked over at Jake and watched him pull off his mask as he nodded his agreement with Steve. James slowly removed his own gas mask, as did Kirkland and Grantham.

"I don't know what's scarier. The fact I'm standing in the middle of a room full of dead people. Or the fact for the first time in my life, I'm afraid to breath," said James.

"Either way Tom, it doesn't change the fact, something in this building killed these people," said Steve.

So it has to be something else," said Kirkland.

"You're right, Mike. So Steve, any chance we're gonna need to put these things back on again?"

"No, if there was any type of danger. Our instruments would have picked up even the smallest particle. But we'll stay with you guys just the same."

James sighed and turned to Grantham. "Okay Dick, you're on, take us to room 1219." Grantham gave a look of hopelessness. "I was afraid you were going to say that. And I do wish you would stop calling me Dick," Grantham said as he slowly made his way to the main desk. Behind the counter, two of his staff were lying dead on the floor. Their eyes wide open and their hands clutched to their throats.

"Oh my God. What the hell happened here?" asked Grantham as he moved to his office door. "Hey one of you guys want to cover me before I go in here alone?"

James joined Grantham and watched him open up his office. Stepping inside it was quiet. Grantham quickly moved over to and opened an old world safe, retrieving a set of skeleton keys. Lying on the floor next to the safe door was a dead rat.

"Hey Mike, contact Lee and tell him so far everything is clear and then meet us at the elevators," said James.

"This day isn't going to get any better. I can tell," lamented Grantham.

James and Grantham stepped from the office and joined Jake and Steve. "We checked the hallways and gift shops this floor," reported Jake.

"You find anything?" asked James.

"Just more dead bodies," said Steve.

"Jesus, okay, let's get over to the elevator."

The four men made their way to the main elevators where Kirkland met them.

"Lee's in communication with the fire chief, and I told him to watch for our evidence crew. He's going to radio us as soon as Bobby and Jessalee get here. So what are we doing? We going up?" asked Kirkland. James turned to Grantham.

"What about it, Richard?"

Grantham held the keys up as if to offer them to James, "I don't mind waiting with Lee," he said as he pushed the button to call the elevator. "I mean you guys see this kind of shit everyday. I don't like dead bodies," said the manager.

"Yeah, it's just another day on the job for Mike and I here," said James as the elevator arrived filled with several dead bodies inside piled on top of each other.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted Grantham as he backed away. Jake and Steve moved in quickly. Steve ran his RAE unit over the elevator car. "It's clear."

"I guess this means we're taking the stairs," lamented James as he gestured to Grantham to lead them on.

The five men made their way to the twelfth floor. Stepping around a sea of dead bodies along the way. Bellhops, old women in their jewels clutching the walls or door handles of their rooms in an attempt to get away from whatever it was that took their lives from them. All of their eyes were wide open and their mouths were twisted into a shocked final gasp. "God, they're everywhere," said Grantham.

"What the hell do you think happened, Tom?" asked Kirkland.

"I haven't a clue Mike, but it reminds me of that case in the seventies remember? The American Legion meeting at the Bellevue Hotel where practically everyone there was killed? It was blamed on the air conditioning system."

"Whatever this is, it isn't air conditioning," said Steve firmly.

Finally arriving on the twelfth floor, James could hear a piano being played. The men looked at one another.

"Is that someone singing?" asked Kirkland.

James nodded and looked at Grantham who seemed to be as bewildered as everyone else. As they made their way around the corner, large black double doors with gold numbers came into view. Looming ominously at the end of the hallway, James felt as if any moment the doors would fly open and a decomposed carcass of Virgina Rappe would stumble into the hallway. Her eyes gone, cockroaches falling from her knotted twisted remaining hair, the famous Coke bottle still where Fatty left it. The thoughts left him nervous and feeling like he was a pawn in some surreal game of chess. The music seemed to grow louder. Arriving at room 1219, James placed his ear next to the door.

"What is it, Tom?" asked Kirkland.

"I can't be sure, but I think it's The Beatles."

Grantham placed one of the skeleton keys inside the lock. The old tumblers clicked and unlocked.

"Step back Mr. Grantham, in fact everyone get back," whispered James, as he removed his gun from the holster and gently pushed the door open. The music filtered out into the hallway. James and Kirkland, guns drawn stepped inside room 1219. The music flowed from around the corner of the next room of the suite. James felt a ring of confidence, as it was indeed Beatles music. He recognized the song immediately from The White Album. It was Sexy Sadie .

James stepped around the corner and let his eyes adjust to the low light. From where he stood a king sized bed appeared in front of him as Kirkland raised his flashlight to guide their steps. "Mr. Grantham, wait at the door please," said James.

Grantham nervously stepped back into the hallway, standing between Jake and Steve. Eerily the music continued to flow out into the hall.

Kirkland aimed the beam of his light towards the bed. The flash of his light reflected on the wall mirror and blinded him for a moment.

James found the light switch to the room and clicked it. The room came to life as both Kirkland and James slowly approached the bed. Both slowly lowered their guns. The two seasoned detectives tried to comprehend what they saw.

Lying center of the bed was the naked body of a young female. With, as James had feared, a Coke bottle placed just where Fatty would have wanted it.

The music caught their attention as the record began to skip. "Sexy Sadie, you'll get yours yet."

"Oh my god, Tom, she's got a swastika carved into her forehead," said Kirkland.

James leaned in close to examine the freshly cut Nazi symbol. "This is recent, Mike. Less than 24 hours recent," commented James.

"What do you think? Done with a straight razor?" inquired Kirkland.

"That would be my guess," said James as he found the source of the music. The small portable record player lay under the bed. Taking out his handkerchief, he pulled the player out into the open. James could see the worn and scratched record.

"Who the hell still listens to actual records anymore?" questioned James.

Pulling the plug from the wall there was a sudden pop and spark burst from the outlet, causing the overhead light to burn out. The sudden darkness added to the silence, increasing the uncomfortable feeling in the room.

"Great, first mood music now we got mood lighting."

"Or lack thereof," stated Kirkland as he clicked his flashlight back on and pointed it back at the victim.

"So are we to assume then, our killer wants us to think our victim here is Sexy Sadie or Virginia Rappe?" asked Kirkland.