The Man In Number 7 Read online

  His brother’s bloody, dead corpse.

  The whole room was a tale of desperation, splattered across the walls, the floor, and the furniture. Splattered with his brother’s blood.

  Unable to control it, Julien lurched forward and puked all over the floor. He wiped his mouth and quickly opened the windows. He slowly circled Jules’ body noticing the stab wounds, the dried blood, and the knife.

  But where was the wife and her child? Did someone kill them too? Take them? He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned down to pick up the knife. His boney fingers shook as they hovered over the weapon. Could he still do it? Ever since he was a young boy, Julien could see visions when he held an object just right. His granny said it was the Cajun sight. To him, it was more of a curse. But booze deadened his senses and obscured his visions. He remembered what she told him.

  Sit in silence holding an object in your hands. Close your eyes and let the darkness swallow you. Then a door will open, and through the door you will see who held the object last and what they did with it. Open your mind and not your eyes, and you will see so much more. That’s what his granny said.

  Sober now, maybe he could see again. He cautiously wrapped his dirty fingers around the knife handle. He staggered backwards and slumped onto the small couch with the knife in his hand. Julien closed his eyes, welcomed the dark silence in search of the door with answers, and gazed into the past. He watched her stab Jules over and over. His brother covered in blood, gushing apologies, begging for forgiveness.

  Julien threw the knife onto the floor. “Goddamn, brudda, ya’ll always was da weak one,” he looked away and tightened his jaw. “Ya’ll was always da weak one. But dis ain’t right, ain’t right at all.” His sister-in-law, whoever she was, had murdered his brother.

  He turned a small table fan on and grabbed a blanket off the bed throwing it over Jules. He lit a cigarette and found a bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. He licked his lips, unscrewed the cap and tipped it up. He glanced over at the covered body and squinted his eyes. No matter what had happened between he and his brother, no one gets away with murder, well, other than himself. This was different. It wasn’t some whore off the street corner. This was family.

  Retribution must be paid. And Julien was just the man to do it. He would track down that murderous bitch and make her suffer for her crimes. He wiped the smile off his face as he glanced back down at the floor. He could use this to his advantage. The restaurant worker thought he was his brother.

  Assumed identity. That caused Julien to smile again and swallow another large drink of whiskey. This could work out very well indeed.

  Walking around the small apartment, Julien carried the bottle of whiskey in one hand and puffed on a cigarette with the other. He stepped into the narrow bedroom, sat on the end of the bed and finished off the last of the whiskey. He surveyed the room, the closet with clothes for both Julien and Apolline. Dresser drawers held clothes for a little girl too. He picked up a pair of the woman’s panties out of the dirty clothes and held them to his nose. He inhaled and snickered. “Ya smell mighty fine, sista-in-law. Mighty fine indeed.”

  Julien dropped the empty bottle on the floor, stomped the butt of his cigarette out on the carpet, and collapsed on the bed. Naptime. He slept off the whisky and woke later, after dark. He rubbed his eyes and looked at a small clock on the night stand. Nearly midnight. Time for him to go to work. Not in the kitchen, not yet. First he had to dispose of his brother. The smell was better with the windows open and the fan blowing, but it was still rank in there. And the flies wouldn’t quit buzzing. Goddamn things.

  Slipping out the front door, Julien checked the pickup. There was a shovel in the bed of it, along with some rope. He grabbed the rope and took it back inside. He scrounged all over trying to find keys. There must be keys to the pickup somewhere, and to the apartment.

  Nothing. Not in any room. He searched every drawer, counter space, even the small couch cushions. He glanced over at the body in the middle of the room.

  Pockets. He winced. Held his breath and pulled back the blanket, dove his hands into his brother’s pockets and emptied them.

  Wallet with his driver’s license. Twelve dollars and change. And bingo, keys. Julien covered the body back up and shoved the wallet and keys into his own pockets. “Tanks brudda.” He grabbed the rope and strung it around Jules’ corpse several times stretching from head to toe. That would keep the blanket from flying off. He opened the door to the apartment and leaned against the opening, lit a new cigarette and watched people walk up and down the sidewalk. There weren’t too many this time of night. But it was a casino town.

  Patiently he waited. An hour, then two.

  The coast was clear, no one in sight either direction. Julien dragged his brother’s body out of the apartment, heaved it up onto the tailgate and shoved it into the bed of the pickup. He slammed the tailgate shut and wiped his hands on his pant legs. He closed the apartment and locked the door, now that he had the keys. Julien drove out into the desert, which didn’t take long, just far enough to get away from the city lights. A vast ocean of sand and sagebrush for as far as the eye could see.

  The quarter moon gave little light as the night air cooled and the darkness thickened. Julien grabbed the shovel and started digging. The falling temperatures made the digging a little easier. He dug for over an hour. Felt like ten hours. He wasn’t used to such hard labor. He stopped and looked at the hole. It was big enough. He pulled his brother’s tightly wrapped body out of the back of the pickup, dragged it over to the hole and rolled it in. Filling the hole back up was a lot easier, and faster.

  Once the hole was completely covered, Julien sat on the tailgate panting from the exertion. A heavy flapping sound echoed past Julien’s head.

  An owl? The darkness wrapped tightly around him. He wiped the sweat off of his brow, pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, taking a large drag. “Don’t worry brudda, I find yo’ wife. I take care of her,” he cackled. He would have is way with her, then he would take care of her. After all, she killed his brother. She deserved the worst.

  Closing the tailgate, Julien hopped back in the cab of the old pickup and drove over the bumpy desert to the old highway and back into town. The streets were quiet and silent now. Even the gamblers had all gone to bed. Julien parked the pickup and went into the apartment. He stared for a moment at the huge blood stain on the carpet. He took a whiff. It smelled a whole lot better and even the buzz of the flies was almost gone. Things were looking up. He showered off the sweat and the dirt, then crawled into bed after setting the alarm. It was time now for Julien to become Jules.

  Chapter 7

  Boise, Idaho

  Sitting on Petra’s front porch, Apolline watched a pair of butterflies dance around the lilac bush. She inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers as she sipped her morning coffee. It was Monday, she had a week’s worth of wages in her pocket, the day off, and she was going to get her apartment. A home for her and Elizabeth. Her five year old daughter climbed up on her lap with a stuffed toy sheep in her arms, which had lost half of its stuffing over time.

  “Mama, Petra said I could have her. Her name is Ruby. Give her a kiss, Mama,” Elizabeth shoved the worn toy into her mother’s face. Apolline kissed the stuffed animal, then rubbed her nose and sneezed.

  “Perhaps Ruby needs a bath?”

  Elizabeth held the sheep tight in her arms and rocked side to side with it. “Ruby, I love you,” she whispered in the toy’s ear.

  “Come on, cher, we have to get you ready,” Apolline lifted the girl off her lap and stood her up on the wood planked porch.

  “Ready for what, Mama?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Ready to go with me and get our new home,” she tweaked the end of her daughter’s nose and they both giggled.

  “Is Papa going to be there?” Elizabeth’s large brown eyes twinkled at her mother.

  “No cher, I told you, Papa is sick. He is not coming here.”

&nbs
p; “Papa is never coming home?” her little face showed such worry.

  “No cher, he is never coming home,” Apolline shook her head sadly, biting her lip. She prayed every night for the soul of her dead husband. Every night she prayed for her own soul as well. Jules had been a sick man, poisoned by alcohol. Taking his life was a sin she could not escape. Not in Apolline’s eyes. She knew some day she would meet him again. She knew there was a place in hell waiting for both of them.

  “Come on, Mama. I want to see our new home,” Elizabeth tugged at her mother’s hand to pull her up out of the chair.

  “Okay, okay. I will race you and Ruby upstairs,” Apolline stood for a moment giving the little girl a head start, put her cigarette out in a glass ashtray that sat on the railing, and scooted up the stairs giving Elizabeth plenty of time to beat her. The little girl jumped up and down at the top of the stairs. “I win, I win.”

  Reaching the upstairs landing, Apolline scooped her daughter up into her arms, tickled her and carried her into the small bedroom. They both fell on the bed giggling. Apolline sat up and looked at the few clothes in the closet. She stood up and pulled out a little pink and lavender sundress and held it up. “Would you like to wear this today?”

  Her daughter sat up and clutched the worn, limp Ruby to her chest. “Can Ruby go with us? I don’t want to go anywhere if Ruby can’t come too,” her little lips protruded in a full pout.

  “Of course Ruby can go with us. I would not dream of leaving her behind,” Apolline sat down on the bed and yanked off her daughter’s night shirt. “Now, you must get dressed so we can go look at our new home.”

  In less than ten minutes they were both dressed and bouncing down the stairs. Apolline poked her head in the kitchen doorway. “Petra, we are going now to look at the apartment. Do you want to come?”

  “No, you go ahead. I have laundry and cleaning to do. Then I have to rush to the grocery store this afternoon,” Petra finished washing the last of the dishes from breakfast and placed the rinsed bowls in a dish rack next to the small kitchen sink. She wiped her hands on her apron and kneeled down to face Elizabeth. “You will take good care of Ruby, yes?”

  The little girl hugged the toy and nodded her head profusely. Petra rubbed her wavy bangs out of her face and kissed Elizabeth on the forehead. “Rosa may even have some extra linens or dishes if you need.”

  “Do not worry, Petra, we will be back shortly. We are not leaving yet,” Apolline recognized the sadness in Petra’s eyes. “And even when we do move out, we will be at the end of the alley.”

  Petra stood up and hugged Apolline. “Now I know how my mother felt when I left home,” she sniffled and wiped her nose. “Go on, do not be late for dinner though!” Apolline grasped her daughter’s free hand and they stepped out the back door of the kitchen into the alley.

  At the far end of the alley was the back of the large mansion-turned-apartment house. The yard was enclosed with a chain link fence. She opened the gate from the alley and they walked around to the front of the house. A full-size swing set occupied half of the back yard. Elizabeth’s eyes lit up and she tugged on her mother’s hand.

  “Mama look, we have our own swing!” she held the stuffed animal up and whispered in its ragged ear. “Our own swing.” They skipped around to the front of the large old home, across the porch and in the front door. Apolline pulled in a deep breath as she knocked on the door marked number 1. She’d never had her own place before. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

  The door opened with Mrs. McLaughlin standing inside inviting Apolline and her daughter in. “I just finished a batch of chocolate chip cookies,” Mrs. McLaughlin smiled down at Elizabeth. “Would you like one with a glass of milk?”

  Elizabeth’s little eyes grew big as she rocked forward onto her toes in anticipation. “Yes, please!”

  “Wonderful, you sit right over here and I’ll go fetch them,” the older woman strolled into the kitchen. Apolline and her daughter sat down on a floral print loveseat that faced the large bay window. The smell of fresh baked cookies filled the entire room, causing Elizabeth to close her eyes, smile, and breathe in all that she could.

  “Here we go,” Mrs. McLaughlin set a plate of still-warm cookies onto the coffee table in front of them. She retreated to the kitchen once more and returned with two small glasses of milk. She wiped her hands on the apron that covered her calico dress and sat down in the winged-back chair facing them. “I’ll bet you’re here to look at the apartment?”

  “Yes, if that is okay?” Apolline said between bites of cookie.

  “Of course. Warren, my husband, got it all clean for you yesterday. As soon as you’re done eating, we’ll go up and take a look.”

  “Can I have another one?” Elizabeth’s eyes darted back and forth between the plate of cookies and her mother.

  “Oh my, yes, you have all you want,” Mrs. McLaughlin chuckled.

  “What is that sound?” Elizabeth asked with a mouthful of cookie.

  “What? Oh, that’s Warren listening to the radio in the kitchen.”

  Elizabeth held the little stuffed lamb up and whispered in its ear, “They have a swing, cookies, and a radio.” She giggled and took another bite of cookie.

  “Warren,” Mildred yelled into the direction of the kitchen. “Turn that noise off. I have new renters in here.”

  The static-filled news report clicked off and the tall man with slumped shoulders stepped into the room. “Welcome,” his smile widened at Apolline and her daughter. “They’re saying that President Kennedy is advising families to build bomb shelters. Maybe I can make use of the basement after all.”

  “Warren Erlyn McLaughlin, you are not touching that basement. Now go and find something constructive to do,” Mildred huffed at her husband. She looked back at Apolline. “Now, where were we?”

  “The apartment,” Apolline reminded her.

  Elizabeth scooted to the front edge of the loveseat and looked up at her mother. “I am ready now, Mama. We can go see our home.” She slipped off the edge and stood up.

  “Very well then, it looks like we are ready,” Apolline stood up and followed her daughter to the door. Mrs. McLaughlin was right behind them with keys in hand.

  “Follow me, it’s right upstairs.” They walked up the old wooden staircase. “I think I told you this home was originally built in 1893 for a Supreme Court judge. It was after his death in 1914 that the family turned it into seven apartments.”

  When they got to the top of the stairs, they turned right. The first door on the right side of the hall had a number 7 nailed to it. “Number 7 was the judge’s den when he was alive. You know they called him the hanging judge.” They continued to the end of the hall and to the door with a number 6. Mrs. McLaughlin pointed to a door in the corner between the two apartments. It had no number. “The apartments upstairs share this bathroom. And here’s the one that’s vacant,” she unlocked the door to number 6 and opened it.

  Stepping through the doorway, the living room was to the left with a long radiator painted white under the window on the far wall. It had hardwood floors with an old faded wool rug in the middle, a dull blue couch and matching chair, one coffee table and one end table. Dust motes hung in the anemic shaft of soft light that slanted inward through the sheer curtains.

  “There’s a laundry room in the basement, which you can enter through the back of the building, providing my fool husband doesn’t turn it into some crazy bomb shelter.”

  They peered into the bedroom with a double bed in it, then off the living room to the right was a tiny walk-through dining room with a short refrigerator stuck into an alcove on the left, and a built-in wood dining booth on the right. The booth’s white paint was flaking, revealing previous coats of tan and yellow. Beyond that was a narrow kitchen accessible only by the skinny. Mildred looked at the small space with a raised eyebrow. Clearly she was wider than the space between the two counters.

  “Warren cleaned this all up yesterday. If you run into
any troubles, you just let me know.” The pugnacious short woman grunted as she twisted around in the small space to head back into the living room. “I know it’s small, but living was a little different in 1914.”

  “Oh no, it is just right,” Apolline chirped. “This is a perfect home for us, right cher?” she looked down at her daughter.

  “And Ruby too? Is there room for Ruby here?” she clutched the toy sheep in her arms.

  “And who’s Ruby?” Mrs. McLaughlin asked.

  “This is Ruby,” Elizabeth held the toy up and smiled.

  “Oh, I see. Well, yes, there’s plenty of room for Ruby,” she turned to Apolline. “What do you think? Rent is forty dollars a month.”

  Digging in her small wallet that she pulled out of her pocket, Apolline held out two fives, one ten dollar bill and the rest in ones. Tips came in handy. “Yes, I have just enough. When can we move in?”

  “Today, if you want,” Mrs. McLaughlin handed her two keys to the door and gestured for them to leave. “Let’s go back down and fill out a little paperwork. I like to have that for my files.”

  They stepped back out into the hall and Apolline glanced at the shared bathroom door. “Who do we share the bathroom with?”

  “The other upstairs apartments. Carlos, you know him from work, lives in number 5. I believe he’s from Mexico, or maybe Texas. Apartment 4 is Pierre. He came here all the way from France.”

  “Who lives in number 7?” Apolline looked at the apartment door that sent a cold trickle down her spine.

  “What? Oh, no one right now. We’re…doing some…work. It’s not habitable as is.” Mrs. McLaughlin spoke in a low voice as if afraid she would disturb some ancient memory.

  “What’s habable?” Elizabeth asked as they headed for the stairs.

  “The…um…no water. No one can live in there right now,” Mrs. McLaughlin waved them quickly past the door with an uncomfortable frown on her face.

  Apolline shivered from a cold chill as she passed the door of number 7. It reminded her of the same cold she felt as a child when she and her friends would walk through the old graveyards. Passing the stone mausoleums had felt the same way.