The Prisoner

April, 1993

Overlook, Utah

Chapter 1: The House

Gwendolyn Mae Alred had been savagely bitten so many times about the face and neck that she died.

Logan Eastwood walked through the small country home on the very outskirts of Overlook, Utah with trepidation. There was an restrictive, heavy feeling inside the home, not because someone had been killed but because other bad things, predating the murder, had occurred there.

He couldn't readily identify what crimes had been committed, what perversions, immoralities or cruelties had transpired but it was obvious as a a huge rock in the middle of a grassy field, that something negative had happened.

Logan had already walked around the entire home twice, each time looking for the slightest sign of wrong doing, anything out of the ordinary, the smallest hint that Gwen had been involved in any sort of transgression but he could not find anything.

There was a taped outline where the body had been found in the kitchen. The dark stains where she had bled were still visible. Something about the blood splatter pattern had bothered Logan, but at first he hadn't been able to solve what had initially vexed him.

In the corner of the kitchen, near the archway of the large walk-in pantry, was where Gwen Alred had been savaged. Logan retrieved the glossy forensic photos from his photographic memory. Most of the blood had stayed on her body instead of the floor as if the wounds had slowly seeped blood instead of gushing it. Her neck and both arms were at strange angles because of the broken bones in her chest, shoulders and both limbs.

Finally the blood pattern made sense to him. Gwen hadn't just been bitten to death, she had been killed by blunt force trauma. The biting had been unyielding, Gwen had received numerous defensive wounds on her arms and hands but what had also killed her was brute strength. Her killer had crushed her arms, broken both her clavicles, snapped both collar bones and broken her neck. Bruising and blood spray was not consistent with bludgeoning. She had been pulverized by bare hands.

Her killer had been super humanly powerful enough to break bones with nothing more than gripping strength.

Gwen Alred had been forty-four years old, divorced. No children. Lived alone. Worked at a local supermarket chain as a Key Carrier in the produce department. She didn't smoke, had no prior convictions and her small black cat was well fed and well pampered.

Pictures throughout the house showed Gwen with her nephews, her nieces, men she had dated since her divorce, her parents. In each of the photos, Gwen revealed an addictive warm toothy smile, the sort that made you want to smile right back at her.

The home was cozy, grandmotherly and inviting. Gwen had decorated her house with warm colors, not bright but soothing, relaxing. Her seating was all well-cushioned, her tables covered with antique tablecloths. The wall paper was old but vibrant, the crown molding was white, white chair rails along the walls and white baseboards in every room.

The floors were mostly hardwood except for the bedrooms and the kitchen had modern tiles. The bedrooms were all carpeted with newer lush carpets and rugs.

The home was a three bedroom but all of the rooms were small. She used one of the bedrooms as a study, one of them as a guest room and the master bedroom is where she slept.

The kitchen is where Logan wound up after his third round throughout the home. Every time he had walked through, he always ended up in the kitchen, as if something were pulling him there, calling to him. The light granite counter tops, walnut cabinetry and cozy breakfast table were all spotless. Indeed, Gwen had been an immaculate housekeeper.

Logan caught a glimpse of himself reflected in one of the picture frames. His clothes were still damp from the drizzle outside, his dark gray felt fedora was slightly limp on his head. His chiseled face looked tired, his silver eyes weary. He had shaved that morning but he could already detect a shadow of growth on his chin and jawline.

He was not a vain person, he wasn't admiring himself in the reflection. Logan only noticed his looks as an afterthought. Something had caught his eye, unnoticed outside the reflection.

Logan stepped closer to the picture, directly in front of his reflection. The frame was located on the dining room wall facing the open kitchen. In the reflection, he could see that the kitchen ceiling was uneven, a flaw that was barely perceivable at the reflective angle.

Logan went into the kitchen, staring at the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, he could see the slight outline of a removable panel. There was no obvious way to open it, no pull string, no fold out pull ring, and no visible handle.

Logan reviewed the outside of the house with his photographic memory. This part of the roof was low, the ridge was further towards the center of the home. If there was an attic located here, it would be little more than a crawlspace.

He reached up and rapped on the panel with his knuckle, surprised to find that it was a thick metal plate. There was no hollow sound, in fact, it sounded solid.

Logan looked down at the kitchen floor beneath the panel. There was a grayish blue comfort rug there so he moved it towards the sink with his foot. An stainless steel plate about the same size as the overhead panel was there.

He knelt down, seeing that over a dozen large sturdy screws had once held the plate in place. There were only smooth empty holes now. The plate appeared unsecured but there was no way to pry it out of its snug spot. Like the overhead panel, the floor plate was missing any way to easily open it.

Logan spoke into his headset microphone, "Jewel, you copy?"

"Go ahead, Lo."

"Do you have access to the floor plans of this house yet?"

Jewel sounded happy, "Yep. I'm looking at them right now. What do you need?"

"Anything on the plans for a basement?"

After a few seconds, "No. No basement. Why?"

"I found something," Logan told her. He spoke to Sephon who was on the same channel, "Sephon, could you meet me in the kitchen? Bring the tool box, just in case, but I think we're going to need a pry bar."

Sephon answered immediately, "On my way."

Looking closer at the floor panel, Logan noticed that the edges, where the plate was settled into the tile, were thick with black grime. Since the rest of the house was so clean, it was odd that so much filth was left here, not scrubbed by Gwen the fastidious housekeeper.

The front door opened. Sephon should be arriving in the kitchen within a matter of seconds.

The neglected grime reminded Logan of something that was purposefully ignored. Gwen had gone out of her way to leave the floor panel sticky with crud as if not only the basement below, but the very passageway to get there, was something meant to be forgotten.

Sephon hadn't yet arrived.

Logan stood up and walked thru the dining room, into the short hall and looked out into the living room. Sephon was there in the center of the room, tool box in one hand and a crowbar in the other. His eyes were closed.

Sephon Sharpe was a member of the Hopi Indian tribe and was very proud of the fact. To be a Hopi, Sephon believed that one had to respect all things and learn to live in peace with all. He was six feet tall, only an inch shorter than Logan, had shoulder length black hair and dark brown eyes. He was ruggedly handsome, at least according to most women that met him, fiercely strong despite his slender build and was a master at several different martial arts.

"There is a lot of negative energy swirling throughout this home, Logan." Sephon said. His eyes were still closed.

"I know. That's why I wanted you to wait outside until now."

"I feel oppressed."

Logan agreed, "Yeah. The décor is welcoming but the air is stifling as though we're uninvited."

Sephon nodded, "We're trespassers in this home."

"I know you want to perform a spiritual cleansing or some other mystical shit but we don't have time. I need you in the kitchen."

Sephon chuckled, "The spirits are saddened about this place, Shithead. A cleansing is exactly what's needed."

Logan sighed impatiently, "Kitchen first. Cleansing later."

Sephon smirked at him, "Whatever you say."

The countersunk metal panel gave way but it took both men considerable effort to lift it. The plate was three quarters of an inch thick and weighed over one hundred pounds. The yawning dark hole in the center of pretty kitchen was like a cancerous lesion on beautiful flawless skin.

Logan shined his small but very bright flashlight down and saw a rusty ladder leading into a cobweb littered passageway. All of the webs were old, dusty and thin. This passage was not used on a regular basis but recently, someone had passed through, breaking and crushing most of the delicate webs.

Sephon said, "I'll go first."

Logan shrugged, "Fine by me."

Sephon nimbly went down the corroded ladder and vanished from sight as he moved deeper into the subterranean tunnel below. Logan followed after him.

It was freezing down here, the dirt floor and walls were damp. Overhead, they could see that more metal plates had been fitted over the tunnel, as if keeping someone or something from tunnel upward. The passage was tight and low, both men had to stoop.

"What the hell is this place?" Sephon asked.

"Can you see the end of this tunnel?" Logan asked.

"No, its deeper than the range of my flashlight."

Logan regarded his photographic memory again. The direction they were headed kept them directly under the house for at least another thirty feet. Beyond that would be the concrete and brick driveway.

Sephon shuffled forward ten more feet and stopped, "There's a door here."

Jewel interjected, "Both of you hold position. Let me come over and back you up."

"We'll be fine, Jewel," Logan told her, "We need you making sure the coast is clear. Stay in the van and watch our asses. I don't anyone surprising us."

Sephon moved forward another ten feet. Logan could hear him struggling with a metal door handle,

"I think its locked."

"Can we can pry it open?"

"Maybe. There's not enough room for both of us, Shithead. I'll have to try it alone."

"Knock yourself out."

Using the crowbar, Sephon leaned and pulled finally breaking the door open. He knelt down, "Logan, take a look at this."

Looking over Sephon's crouched form, Logan saw that the frame of the door was mangled. The door had been seated firmly within the frame but had been destroyed as something came through. The door had not been locked, it was stuck in the warped frame. Beyond it, there seemed to be a room.

A foul odor crept into the tight passageway. Logan plugged his nostrils against the awful smell of body odor, feces, urine and rotted food.

Sephon gagged, "What a horrible stench."

"Let's take a look around in there."

Sephon stepped into the room with Logan close behind.

The room was about twenty by twenty feet with concrete block walls, a concrete ceiling and a hard concrete floor. It could only be described as a bedroom.

Sephon closed his eyes, "The spirits yearn for this place to be cleansed, Logan. Something evil once lurked here. Something foul and unholy."

"Tell the spirits to keep their shirts on." Logan used the flashlight to slowly pan the entire room.

In one corner, was a grimy mattress piled high with filthy blankets and pillows. There was a flat soccer ball in the middle of the room, a rubber toy car and a few large green plastic army men. In another corner was a small hole, probably the makeshift toilet. In the nearest corner, was a child-sized plastic picnic bench with crayon drawings all over it. The last corner was a pile of filthy clothing. Every wall and parts of the ceiling were covered in child-like drawings in black crayon. Stick figures portrayed gruesome scenes of stabbings, beheading, burning at the stake, torture and dismemberment.

"Whoever or whatever was living beneath Gwen Alred's home is definitely the one that killed her." Logan said.

Sephon nodded in agreement, "Its obvious they broke out of this room, but how did they get up the ladder through that secured floor panel?"

"Maybe Gwen was coming to feed it," Jewel said, "She undid all of the screws and was attacked before she could close the door again."

"Feed it?" Sephon asked.

"Let's get back to the house," Logan said, "Things aren't adding up."

They went back through the narrow tunnel and into the kitchen.

Logan studied the kitchen, "How could she move that heavy metal floor panel by herself? It took both of us and a crowbar, to move it."

They began to search the kitchen cabinets for any clues. At the very back of the pantry, Sephon found a crank with two affixed sheet metal clamps on it. The main support of the crank mechanism was a rubber ended brace pin that allowed leverage from the metal plate in the kitchen ceiling. Gwen Alred set up temporary scaffolding daily to allow her access to the underground tunnel in order to feed whatever the hell was down there.

Logan knew that the escaped prisoner needed to tracked down and killed before it could harm anyone else. The heavy dreariness, the pent up anger, the listless sorrow and innumerable days of imprisonment were loose upon the small community of Overlook. Utah would not be safe with such a violent, unpredictable killer roaming free.

Until now, Logan had purposefully kept his gloves on, not wanting to touch anything within the house. He was a psychometrist, able to sense facts about past events by handling objects. He removed his gloves.

Logan climbed back down into the stinking hole. At the greasy bed, he laid both hands on the dirty mattress feeling for any energy residue. He couldn't see anything, the room was always kept dark. He could hear a deep rumbling, grunting sound that may have been singing. At the child-like picnic table, he ignored the horrible crayon drawings scattered about and laid both palms on the seat. Again, pitch darkness but he could hear the slick sliding sounds of someone using crayons and heavy breathing. The pile of filthy clothing didn't help much at all and Logan avoided the toilet all together.

Upon touching the ruined door, he saw dim visions of climbing up the ladder and waiting for Gwen Alred to unscrew the floor panel. Then with all his strength, Logan saw through the captive's eyes as he fell upon Gwen, biting her and thrashing her brutally, until she was dead.

"Jewel's right," Logan said, voice thick with nausea, "The captive waited on the ladder to ambush Gwen. As soon as she removed the last screw from the floor panel, it pounced on her, murdered her without mercy."

Sephon sighed, "So you have no idea what we're up against?"

Logan shook his head, "No but its angry, brutally strong and without remorse. It will kill anyone who it comes across. The bodies are going to start piling up unless we find it."

Rub-a-dub-dub, three maids in a tub, and who do you think were there? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and all of them had a good stare.

Yes! Yes! Three naked girls in a tub. Would be good to see. Wish could be a baker or candlestick maker. Instead, just a butcher. Want to see three naked girls. Never seen naked girl before. Want to see, want to touch, want to smell. Smell good I bet. Taste good no doubt. Really, really good.

Finally out of darkness. Killed the feeder. Had to. Kept in darkness. Locked up in darkness. Long time nothing but darkness. But now free. Free to find naked girls. Free to see naked girls. Free to smell naked girls. Free to touch naked girls.

Air is much cleaner, warmer. Grass feels good under toes. Trees smell sweet, bushes smell sweet and grass smells sweet. Not as sweet as naked girl. No. No. Naked girl smells sweetest.

Got to find naked girls. Run far. Run fast. Hide from light. Light is bad. See better in darkness. Don't like darkness. Too much darkness for too long. But darkness now helps. Darkness now hides. Must find, must run, must hide.

Rub-a-dub-dub, three maids in a tub, and who do you think were there? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and all of them had a good stare.

There is a fence. Wooden fence. Big animals behind fence. Smelly animals. Run around fence. Don't climb. Might be seen. Must hide. Can't be seen. Fence leads to road. Road has gravel on it. Gravel hurts feet. Road leads to house. Small house. Maybe naked girl inside house.

Must check house. Go to back door. Door locked. Go around to side of house. Check windows. Have to be quiet. Must be quiet. Small dog barking. Barking from inside. Bad dog. Making noise. Too much noise. Lights coming on. Light is bad. Hide from light. Must run, must hide.

Someone opens door. Dog is running after. Dog getting close. Hurt dog. Kill dog. Bones break in hands. Bite dog. Feels good. Tastes good. Very good. Wonder if naked girls feel this good. Want to find naked girls. Must see naked girls. Must smell naked girls. Must touch naked girls. Break bones in hands. Bite naked girls.

Rub-a-dub-dub, three maids in a tub, and who do you think were there? The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and all of them had a good stare.

Jewel used the World Wide Web to search for anything on Gwen Alred. The information was very limited but she managed to find out the Gwen had been born in Provo, Utah and had moved to Overlook in 1969 at the age of twenty. Hospital records showed that she had only a few doctor visits in 1971 and a few more in 1973. In 1971, Gwen Alred had been seen by a Dr. Marvin Shaw for a miscarriage. In 1973, there had been a second visit for a second miscarriage.

Poor Gwen.

Losing two pregnancies in two years was tough. Jewel couldn't even imagine the heartache. She hacked deeper into the hospital records to find Marvin Shaw's home address.

Over the headset Jewel said, "I've got the address of her doctor. He's the only doctor she's ever seen."

"Good work," Logan said, "Is he local?"

"Yeah. Lives in town. Ten minutes away."

"Go see him. Sephon and I will stay here."

Jewel asked, "What am I trying to find out?"

Sephon answered, "We're not sure who Gwen was keeping captive here. She may have kidnapped someone, given birth to a kid that she wanted to keep secret, who knows. Her doctor may have a lot of insight on Gwen's personal matters, maybe even things she kept from her family."

"Got it." Jewel went from the back of the van's workstation to the driver seat and buckled herself in, "Be careful, both of you."

Logan's tone was patronizing, "We will, mom."

"How long do you need to be down here?" Sephon asked Logan. They were still in the subterranean bedroom, swirling in stench, freezing their asses off, looking for clues.

Logan lit a cigarette took a deep drag and blew a large cloud of smoke overhead, "Still a lot of questions that need answering. I'm staying here until I find out a few things."

"You know, methane gas from the sewage could be highly flammable."

"This place is vented through a chimney system," Logan said. He indicated the far wall. There were several perfectly round three inch holes in the concrete. From his memory, Logan figured the pipes came up somewhere in the backyard, supplying oxygen for the captive.

Sephon scoffed, "From the stench, I doubt it ventilates very well. I'm going up top to perform a cleansing."

"I'll be here."

Beneath the pile of soiled clothing, Logan had found some bones. Large bones like beef, chewed down so that only tiny bits of black rotting meat clung. Most of the thick bones had been cracked open, the marrow sucked out. From what Logan could see, the meat was consumed raw.

Holding his breath, Logan picked up a few of the bones, trying to sense anything from them. There had been a small sliding panel on the ruined door through which Gwen had slid the large pieces of meat to feed the captive. As he suspected, the meat had been consumed raw.

Logan could hear Gwen's voice as she fed the prisoner, her tone was high pitched and syrupy as though talking to a small child or a pet, "Is mommy's favorite boy hungry? Here's some nice food for mommy's little man."

Logan shuddered, "Jesus Mary."

He turned to the horrible crayon drawings and studied them, every one of them. Most were of young girls, naked girls. Most of the drawings were done in monotone black crayon but every time girls were drawn, they were drawn in bright red. The girls' hair were different colors: yellow, brown, black, orange but every one of the girls' skin tone, without fail, was red.

Logan didn't think the skin color was racial, he believed the captive saw women as food. Red like the raw meat it had been fed for God only knew how long.

Strangely, as he handled the sad but frightening drawings, Logan got a children's nursery rhyme stuck in his head: Rub-a-dub-dub three maids in a tub.

Dr. Marvin Shaw lived in the upper side of Overlook. The neighborhood practically screamed affluence with large yards, huge homes, expensive cars, electric gates, winding driveways and delicately landscaped foliage.

Jewel drove up the red brick driveway and parked the van in front of the large colonial style home. It was white with dark blue trim. A custom made mail box shaped like a house atop a white caduceus stand, dangled a name sign that read Shaw Residence.

The door was answered by a housekeeper in a blue uniform who instructed Jewel to wait in the study. Jewel was impressed with the light marble floors, white molded shelving, Persian rug and the vast amounts of books.

Dr. Marvin Shaw was nothing that Jewel expected him to be. He was short, thin, sweaty and pale with beady eyes that darted to and fro. Twitchy like a drug dealer, Dr. Shaw sported a huge comb-over hairdo with obvious black dyed hair. His long sleeved lavender sports shirt had the top few buttons undone, showing off a peppered gray hairy chest. White trousers and sock less white davenports completed his attempt at appearing leisurely dressed.

He seemed delighted to see Jewel, not bothering to hide his lecherous eyeing her up and down. He walked over, grasped one of her hands in his but instead of shaking, he planted a soft kiss on her knuckles.

Jewel wanted to break his nose. She restrained herself and forced a smile, "Dr. Marvin Shaw?"

"At your service. What may I help you with?" His voice was deep and gritty.

"I'm here to ask you some questions about a past patient of yours."

Dr. Shaw reached behind the desk and produced a crystal tumbler and poured her a brandy. Then poured one for himself. He handed her the glass, clinked his against hers and said, "To your beauty."

Jewel took a polite sip.

"Please." Dr. Shaw said, placing a hand too low on the small of her back, "Have a seat."

Jewel could feel his greasy hands through the thin material of her blouse. She cringed at his touch, once again resisting the urge to defend herself by breaking his arm.

As she was making herself comfortable, Dr. Shaw said, "You are a radiant beauty. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Thank you," Jewel said as nicely as she could, "But I really need to ask you a few questions."

Dr. Shaw seated himself too close on the edge of the desk. He held up his index finger then raised another as he counted off, "One, I can't discuss my patients with anyone. Two, I must know your name and three, I would like to ask you to dinner. I know the finest Italian place in all of Overlook." He winked at her, "Its almost always booked up in advance, but I have preferential treatment there."

Jewel pictured herself punching him in the nuts, then side kicking him on the side of his head to break his jaw. She took a deep calming breath, "I'm here to ask you about Gwen Alred."

Dr. Marvin Shaw's aggressive attempts at seducing her vanished. His expression went from lecherous grin to a nervous frown. His eyes darted back and forth so quickly, Jewel thought maybe his irises would be thrown right off his eyeballs leaving nothing but the white orbs behind.

Jewel continued, "She was killed a few days ago. Doctor-patient confidentiality is null and void."

"Gwen Alred is finally dead?" He said nervously, "Who are you? Why are you asking about Gwen?"

"My name is Jewel Montana. I'm a private investigator."

Dr. Shaw laughed nervously, "No one told me I was being arrested."

"You're not being arrested. I only have a few questions."

He sank into his chair, like a slowly deflating balloon, "Gwen Alred," He said shivering, "Jesus."

"According to our research, she came to see you after having two miscarriages. Do you know whether there was a third pregnancy?"

Dr. Shaw downed his brandy and poured himself a second, "There should have never been a first."

Jewel frowned at him, "What do you mean?"

"Gwen Alred was a psychopath," Dr. Shaw said, "She was a megalomaniac with compulsive disorder and with schizophrenic tendencies but don't quote me on that since I'm not a shrink."

The case of Gwen Alred's murder was growing increasingly strange.

"Can you tell me anything about the father?" Jewel asked.

"Nothing. Gwen claimed she was never with a man."

Jewel felt like she had swallowed an entire wheelbarrow worth of coal, "What do you mean?"

Dr. Shaw downed the second brandy, "She claimed she had impregnated by the devil."