"The Caligari Center For Sleep Disorder"
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dochermes"The Caligari Center For Sleep Disorders"
A Trom Girl Mystery
7/23-7/26/2009
I.
Megan Salenger said, "My name is Margaret Feldman," and held out her hand politely.
Dr Fontana accepted her hand and shook it as if he absolutely hated skin on skin contact. "Pleased to meet you, Dr Feldman."
"We spoke on the phone earlier. I'm representing the board that is considering increased funding for your work. First, though, they insist I get a close look at a remarkable patient of yours. A young man named Cesare Fraticelli?"
Rodolfo Fontana regarded her with a lack of enthusiasm, if not quite outright hostility. He was a short squat man in an old-fashioned dark tweed suit with a string tie, and his toadlike face was sullen. Round-rimmed glasses with thick lenses had slipped far down on his bulbous nose and he pushed them back up with a finger. "That would be a bit... irregular," he mumbled.
"The board insists," Megan replied with what she hoped was a disarming smile. "They have been hoping to receive some detailed reports from you about the patient." Just thirty, she was naturally pretty with huge dark eyes and a pointed inquisitive nose, but she felt self-conscious wearing even the minimal make-up of lipstick and subdued eyeliner she had on now. She had gone to a salon the previous day to have her tousled short black hair styled into something professional-looking. It went against all her instincts to pay much attention to her appearance. Under the white lab coat, she was wearing a tailored lilac-blue pantsuit with a white silk blouse.
Combined with the sharp intelligence that was clear in her eyes and her usual calm confident manner, she was actually imposing in an understated way. Fontana watched her and seemed intimidated.
"Yes, quite so," he said finally. When she had entered his cramped and cluttered office with its sole window darkened by thick curtains, Dr Fontana had risen to greet her. Now he stepped around from behind his desk, piled high with stacks of binders and folders and loose papers. "I must agree I am behind in my paperwork. So many new cases... Still, I believe a visit to Mr Fraticelli could do no harm."
The Trom Girl said, "That would be appreciated, doctor. Your staff has checked my credentials." To herself, she reflected on how much care had gone into creating those credentials and ensuring that phone calls or computer checks would confirm her cover story.
"Yes, yes. Quite substantial. Perhaps if you come with me to the third floor?" Fontana took his own lab coat down from a hook next to the door and pulled it own. He automatically brushed back his untidy white hair with his hands before opening the door and escorting her out into the hallway. For such a prestigious institute, the Fontana Center For Sleep Disorders was not modern-looking. It was housed in an old building on the edge of Hawthorne that had been a county nursing home at the beginning of the 20th Century and then a veteran's rehabilition center.
The walls were panelled with walnut and the lights were not fluorescent ceiling strips but incandescent bulbs in wrought iron lamps set at intervals along the hall. Hanging on the walls were paintings of landscapes and small prints of distinguished gentlemen evidently all from the 19th Century. It should have given a feeling of reassuring solidity but somehow the facility felt vaguely wrong in a way Megan could not identify. The walls appeared tilted somehow at angles that did not match each other. She accompanied Dr Fontana to an elevator that creaked and groaned as it lifted them.
In startling contrast, the third floor had been rebuilt in a modern manner. The smooth walls were soothing pastel greens and blues, with subdued overhead lighting. Near the elevator as they exited was a circular nurses' station with a bank of phones, a wall of pigeonholes holding reports, and several monitors showing the interiors of patients' rooms. Two nurses were on duty, both wearing scrubs and with their hair pulled back in severe buns. Both looked experienced and competent, frowning as they studied clipboards and made notes. They both glanced up as the elevator door opened with a ding.
"Hello, doctor," said the older nurse. She had dark blonde hair and a wide, weary face. Her name tag read SOPHIA FONTANA RN. "We weren't expecting you so early in the night."
"I know, Sophia, I usually check in around midnight," Dr Fontana told his wife. "But this young lady had arranged to look in on Cesare."
"That's up to your discretion, of course. He was bathed and shaved earlier today by Rena and myself."
"My paperwork is caught up now and I'm twenty minutes past the end of my shift," said the other nurse. She was not much younger than Mrs Fontana but shorter and slimmer. "I'll be back at seven tomorrow morning as usual."
"Thank you," said the doctor. "Good night, Rena."
"Doctor. Mrs Fontana," the nurse said, picking up a light jacket and heading for the elevator. As she left, the doctor's wife asked, "Will you need me, Rodolfo?"
"I shouldn't think so," Fontana answered, placing a hand briefly at Megan's elbow to start her moving along with him. They went past four rooms with the solid wooden doors left half-open and came to a special arrangement at the end of the hall near the stairwell. The final room had its door closed but it also had a plate glass window set in the wall so that people in the hall could view the room's occupant constantly.
Megan Salenger stepped up close to the window and got her first sight of the most remarkable Somnabulist of modern times.
II.
Lying in a standard hospital bed, with a single sheet pulled up to his waist, was a slim young man with tangled black hair. Attached to his chest were adhesive pads which led up to the monitor displaying vital signs such as heartbeat and respiration. A catheter in his left arm led up to three IV bags on a stand. On a table next to the bed, but not in use at the moment, was a blood pressure cuff and oxygen level finger clip. Pushed back against the wall was a chest high apparatus holding a dozen cables neatly bundled together with a clip.
The young man was sleeping so peacefully, chest rising and falling as regularly as a machine, face completely relaxed, that Megan felt uneasy. "Doctor, I understand that this patient was found abandoned as an infant at a church in Albany. He has been asleep all his life."
"That is true," said Fontana. "What makes it remarkable is that he is not in a true coma by clinical definition. EKG shows strong brain activity and he has normal REM phases. He is dreaming but no one can imagine what his dreams might be about." The doctor was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his face pressed almost against the window. "With no imput, what can his mind be dwelling on? It's almost a metaphysical mystery."
"I need to examine him briefly," Megan said. When Fontana scowled, she went on, "The board has instructed me to see for myself his condition."
"Very well," the doctor said. He strode stiffly over to a wheeled cabinet and came back with surgical masks and latex gloves. "His immune system seems normal but we don't want to take chances."
Donning the protective gear, they entered the room. There were no decorations, no signs of personal items, no phone on the nightstand and no TV on the wall. The Trom Girl studied the readings on the monitor thoughtfully. She took Cesare's free hand and elbow and bent his arm back and forth, then probed his chest and abdomen lightly with her fingertips.
"He has good muscle tone," she observed.
"Oh, yes. We want to prevent atrophy. That device there uses low-level electric charges to make his muscles contract and relax. He is hooked up to it several times a day," Fontana said.
"That is his exercise program? Very good." She lifted an eyelid to see a dilated eye with hazel iris. "Except for the undeniable fact that he has been asleep all his life, this patient appears to be in fine condition." She noticed the pale skin that contrasted with the longish curly black hair, the delicate features and thin bony fingers. Her impression was that this man fit the stereotype of a poet or classical musician.
Fontana seemed eager to get her away from Cesare and she took the hint. As they were back out in the hall, removing the masks and gloves, she asked, "Has he never shown signs of waking?"
"Not that we have observed," Fontana grumbled. "So many tests have been done. So many MRIs and so much blood work and so many neurologists trying their various ideas. It remains a complete mystery why he sleeps."
"This patient could possibly lead to major breakthroughs on the nature of sleep itself," the Trom Girl said. "I expect the board will decide to increase your funding so you can bring in international experts to examine Cesare. Incidentally, where did that name come from? I thought he was an anonymous foundling."
"He was named by the staff at the children's hospital where he was first taken," Fontana said. "They started calling him Cesare after a staff worker he resembled and the last name was that of the wing where he resided. He might not be Italian, we haven't done a DNA ID process on him."
Back at the nurse's station, Mrs Fontana was holding a bundle of papers. "The floor is quiet today, Rodolfo. We have three empty beds, with a new patient expected at noon tomorrow. Room 511, Mr Newman, has been uncomfortable and wants to see if he can increase his dosage."
"I'll speak to him when I come back to make rounds," Fontana said. "What do you think, Dr Feldman?"
Megan was of course alert enough to react to the Feldman alias. "I will be letting you go about your duties, doctor. Thank you for your cooperation. My report will be very positive. You are taking excellent care of Cesare and I am sure the board will agree. Most likely, I will be back with good news in a day or so." As Fontana started to see her to the elevator, she said, "Oh, please don't bother. I'll see myself out. Goodnight, doctor.. Mrs Fontana."
Riding the elevator down to the lobby, the Trom Girl felt tension from the confrontation drop away from her. She was certain that Dr Fontana was suspicious of her intentions. The question was, did he realize that she was investigating the possibilty that the doctor was using his sleepwalkers as burglars and assassins? And that she knew he was doing this under the name Caligari?
III.
Out in the paved parking lot, her cherry-red Jeep Cherokee sat with Archie behind the wheel. There were only three other cars there, presumably one for Dr Fontana, his wife and the security guard. The Center For Sleep Disorders seemed to be a minimal operation with limited staff. From what her research had uncovered, Dr Fontana had taken over from the previous regime with its emphasis on drug rehabilitation and gradually shifted it toward more pure research into rare sleep problems. His work with somnabulism was highly regarded and his treatment of sleep paralysis, commonly known as 'night terrors' had won him a prestigious award.
But then, in the past year, there had been these strange burglaries in the nearby towns and the two inexplicable murders....
Archie had the window down with one brawny arm hanging out. He grinned as he saw her approach. "Well, hello, Dr Feldman," he teased.
"It went as well as could be expected," Megan told him. She crossed over and climbed up into the passenger seat. As she strapped herself in, the Trom Girl started giving him a report on her meeting with Dr Fontana. Lately, she had been working on paring down her summary of events to leave out the extraneous details she usually included.
"Sounds like an exclusive set-up." Archie McAllister started up the Jeep, backed in a semi-circle and headed out of the parking lot. "That place doesn't look like a hospital," he observed, "more like a bed and breakfast, if you ask me."
"He normally has only four to five patients in the facility at any time," Megan said. "Many of the people he treats only come in for periodic treatments. Are we heading back to the hotel? I'm a little tired."
"Yeah, we left Manhattan early today and spent most of the time on the road. And you had just finished that Moody River case the day before." He gave a little snort. "Maybe a night at Fontana's sleep clinic would help."
Megan leaned over and nuzzled his unshaven cheek, then settled back in her seat. "You are the best comfort I could ask, Archie. Your boss is still all right with you taking off a day or two to accompany me?"
"He loves it, hon. You always go through the shop first and diagnose problems that our boys haven't spotted. Every time you show up, you save him enough time and money that giving me a few days off is a bargain in exchange. Also, I think he has an old-man-crush on you."
Heading down from the side of the mountain toward the town itself, Archie continued after a brief silence between them. "What made you suspect Fontana anyway, Meg?"
The Trom Girl was staring straight ahead, proceeding with her usual juggling of several trains of conjecture at once. "He wrote a startling paper ten years ago. It's not available online, and he has tried to limit access to it as much as possible. Fontana had a theory that somnabulists who spend more than seventy per cent of their time asleep develop psychic abilities. He claimed he had cases where a sleepwalker could fortell the immediate future and learn hidden secrets from the recent past."
"Really? That's wild. I'd say it sounds like he was going off the deep end but..."
"I know, Archie. After dealing with the Midnight War, we become less inclined to dismiss what seems fantastic. There's our hotel." They pulled around behind the four story modern structure of the Hanson Inn. It was a definite step upward from the usual roadside motels where they stayed on these 'Trom Girl Mysteries.'
Going to their suite on the second floor, Archie went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. A decade as a mechanic and customizer had given him a habit of scrubbing every time he got near a sink. He emerged to find Megan stripping down completely and carefully hanging her pantsuit up in the closet. Under her clothes, she wearing the flexible suit of Trom armor that looked like wet dark silk but which shielded her against anything up to high-powered rifle bullets. Megan had a slim, athletic figure from years of Kumundu training and a childhood being raised on a scientific program of nutrition and exercise. She ruffled her hair with her fingers to break up its styling. Whether she was aware of it or not, Megan preferred her hair untidy.
Pulling down to the covers on the single king-sized bed, Archie yawned and got down to T-shirt and boxers. His own clothes he simply tossed on a nearby chair for the moment. "It's eleven, hon. You gonna watch the local news?" he asked as he crawled into bed.
"No." The Trom Girl opened her armor on its hidden paramagnetic seams and folded it into a remarkably small packet. Naked, her trim body with modest breasts and narrow hips looked like that of a swimmer, not showing hints of the great strength and speed it concealed. She got on top of Archie and stretched out with her arms up around his neck. Megan loved the comforting solidity of that massive hairy body. "I'm glad you're with me on these cases, my love. I suspect your emotional support is more important to me than I myself realize."
He kissed her and gave her a hard squeeze. "Glad to help, honey. I had no idea what a miracle I was getting into when I met you at the skating rink a few years ago!"
Megan leaned way over to reach the bedside lamp and turn it off, starting to slide off Archie onto the floor. He caught her and they both laughed in the darkness.
IV.
They both awoke just before dawn, started kissing and had slow gentle sex that only got urgent toward the end. After cuddling for an extended whispering period, they took a shower together and got ready for the day. Archie wore the same jeans as he had the day before, with a red flannel shirt over a plain white T-shirt. As he rolled up the cuffs to his elbows, he looked like the good-natured working man he was. Archie was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the petite Megan, but they seemed completely natural together.
The Trom Girl gave the matter some thought and dressed more formally than usual. She might be going to visit the sleep clinic again that day. She chose dress shoes with a minimal heel, dark grey slacks and a white silk blouse with long sleeves and a folded collar. The jacket that matched the outfit and the lab smock she would hang in the rear of the Jeep in case they were needed.
Under the civilian clothes, the Trom armor was unnoticeable. Carrying her usual assortment of gadgets and weapons was another problem. Women's clothing generally did not have enough pockets for her needs. Megan had reluctantly borrowed one of Unicorn's many handbags, a small black leather number with a gold chain holder. In it was stowed her beam projector with its assorted cartridges, the lock opener, her Link and a dozen other advanced devices. She was unhappy with this arrangement but had to accept it for the moment.
Room service would not be available for more than half an hour. "That knocks a few points off this joint's rating," Archie said. "How about hitting a diner and getting a look at the town?"
"I agree with that," she answered, gazing at herself in the wide mirror over the dresser. "Oh, Archie, I dislike wearing make-up but there is no logical reason not to apply some now to obtain a professional appearance."
"You're adorable without it, Megan. Skip the war paint."
She turned her dark eyes toward him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"
"Believe me, you leave a trail of broken hearts everywhere you go."
That made her smile. "Good." She draped the jacket and lab smock over one arm and followed Archie out into the hall. A warm late July day was breaking as they went to her Jeep. Over the years that she had owned it, she had made many modifications that improved efficiency and handling, as well as installing bullet-resistant windows and Kevlar side panels. In the rear were two travel bags, one of which contained her full field suit complete with helmet. Now, she hung the jacket and smock on the hook by the rear passenger seat so they would not be wrinkled.
They found a diner two miles down the road and settled down to consume pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Archie also ordered a double serving of hash browns, which Megan quietly sampled. He enjoyed black coffee while she was content with cranberry juice. Once they had a hot breakfast packed away after a solid night's sleep, they both felt more focused toward their goals.
"We have a meeting with the sheriff's department at nine. As soon as his office opens, he said," Megan told her partner as she cornered the last scrap of pancake on her plate and nibbled it carefully to avoid get any trace of syrup on her. "I have never met the man but he knows about the KDF."
"Hm. Huh," Archie responded. "You guys are more famous than you realize, Megan. Mostly because of your leader, Jeremy. He seems to have been in every part of the country over the years, catching serial killers and getting rid of abominable monsters."
"Our captain has had an active career," the Trom Girl replied. "I wonder how many cases he has handled that no one else knows about? He avoids public attention and does not talk about past missions unless prompted."
"Well, I'm ready to hit the road, what do you say?"
"Yes." She took the check and handed it to the hovering waitress with her Platinum Visa card to put the meal on her KDF expense account. When the receipt came, she tucked it away and stood up. The two of them stepped out into the morning sunlight and headed for the Jeep. "I should drive," she said. "You accepted most of the task yesterday."
"Never been out here by Binghamtom," Archie said, "I'm sure you memorized maps of this town Hawthorne."
"I have done the usual research," Trom Girl said, which Archie knew meant she probably knew as much about the area as local historians did. She drove to the outskirts of town and to a small plaza which stood by itself at the bottom of a hill. A post bearing a vertical series of signs announced all the departments to be found at the Town Hall, from the Water Department to the Town Supervisor to Traffic Court. The County Police were also headquartered here. Megan pulled into the parking lot, already filling up only a few minutes after nine, and studied the three main buildings which formed a letter H shape.
"This entire facility is less than two years old," she told Archie. "It replaced a few scattered buildings in the town itself, including one which was demolished as soon as this plaza was open."
"Imagine that," Archie said, getting out of the Jeep. He followed her through the lobby and into the wing which held the county police force. It was all very open and accessible in atmosphere, with offices on either side of the hall all having wide windows extending down to waist level. Escorted by an officer who seemed past retirement age but who had stayed on for light duty, they saw the police chief in his office, making neater stacks of the pyramid of loose papers.
The officer rapped with his knuckles on the door, and a sour voice called, "Send 'em in, Stu. They've got an appointment."
Megan introduced herself and showed her credentials. Between her KDF membership, her PI license for the State of New York, her consultant cards for the Mandate and the FBI's Department 21 Black, she actually impressed the police chief more than she realized. Chief Wilson Gilpatrick was a stocky man of medium height, with a bristling black mustache to compensate for a hairline that had retreated almost to the top of his head. He motioned for them to seat themselves and dropped back down in his own chair.
"I've heard a lot of wild stories about your Kenneth Dred Foundation," Gilpatrick began without small talk. "Two of my men used to be on the NYPD before they both moved out here. They're guys I trust, but still, some of the stuff they say about the KDF is hard to swallow. And cops all over recognize the name Dire Wolf. Is he still running around the Big Apple?"
"Yes. He mentions retiring soon but never seems to get around to it." Trom Girl glanced around the office, her mind taking in every minute detail with photographic accuracy.
Gilpatrick ran through the details of fourteen burglaries and robbery of stores after hours in the past year. There were also two murders, one by drowning in a creek and one strangulation, which seemed to have no connection with each other. Megan listened closely, saw that Archie was also paying close attention, and asked for a few clarifying details. Two of the local informers in the underworld had mentioned the name 'Caligari.' They couldn't offer any details because all they had heard was that you obtain rare valuables by contacting someone who used that name. Who 'Caligari' really was or how to reach him was beyond their level.
One peculiar thing about the crimes was how close the person or persons resonsible seemed to come to being caught. Often they were within less than a minute of being still on the scene when a homeowner or police officer would have caught them flat-footed. Yet they always escaped barely in time. The three times a perp had been sighting, only a glimpse of a thin man dressed all in black, with tangled black hair, had been seen.
The Trom Girl had of course studied every available detail of these crimes before leaving Manhattan. She regarded Chief Gilpatrick somberly before asking, "Isn't it also an interesting aspect that the burglars seemed to know exactly where cash and valuables were concealed in the homes? There was no sign of searching. Within a few seconds, the criminal went straight to the hiding places, which were often ingenious, seized what they had come for and left."
"Yeah, that's been eatin' at me," Gilpatrick. "If it happened once, you'd suspect a family member or friend. But six or seven times is hard to explain."
"I don't know how you feel about people with psychic perception," Megan offered cautiously. "You may well dismiss the idea as nonsense. But the legend of Caligari says that his hypnotized servants developed a sixth sense for danger or for locating what was hidden. That is why I think it is so suggestive this criminal has taken the Caligari name."
The chief scoffed but then went on, "Personally, I've always been a skeptic. I don't hold with any mind-reading or fortune-telling because I've seen so many frauds. But in this case, I don't know. Maybe there's something to it."
They went over the crimes again in excrutiating detail for another forty minutes before an officer knocked on the door and reminded tne chief he had to speak with the suspect in a hit-and-run case that would be going to trial. Gilpatrick rose and showed his visitors to the hall.
"Please call me at any time of the day or night if another such crime occurs," Megan told him. "My partner and I will be in the area investigating for at least the next few days. It's possible a witness will remember something significant that they had not mentioned to you."
"I'll do that," said Gilpatrick. He had visibly warmed up to the Trom Girl as he saw how serious and perceptive she was, and his obvious dismissal of her at the start of their meeting had eased off. "Good luck."
"Thank you for your co-operation," she said. "We will inform you immediately of any new information we discover." With Archie beside her, she headed down the bright corridors and back out to the parking lot where her Jeep waited.
V.
As they drove around Hawthorne, getting a feel for the area, they found a bad part of town where streets were littered heavily, and many doorways had healthy young men loitering on a weekday morning. There was a succession of liquor store, pawn shops with guns prominent in the window, dollar stores, a bar called SMOKEY'S and a hair salon with 'permanents' misspelled on a hand-lettered sign. Megan pulled over on a side street where a grown man rode by on a child's bike and where a pair of laced-together sneakers hung from the power lines overhead.
"Looks like Hawthorne is not all neatly trimmed lawns and painted picket fences," Archie snorted. "The only thing I haven't spotted is a pool hall."
Peering out at the neigborhood, the Trom Girl said, "Archie, I have not given you full background on the Caligari phenomenon. Are you curious?"
"Well, sure. Actually, I didn't know it was a 'phenomenon' as such."
"Very well. The first recorded incident was in 1783. A mounteback calling himself Dr Caligari toured the street fairs of northern Italy with his Somnabulist subject. This was a young man named Cesare, described as thin, pale and unresponsive to the outside world. Reportedly, Cesare had been sleeping since birth and only woke up for short periods under the hypnotic influence of Caligari. When he was briefly conscious, Cesare would tell fortunes and answer questions but his answers always seemed to involve death and disaster."
"Nice," Archie interjected. "Hey. Look at that guy walking his pit bull. The dog is as big as he is."
Ignoring the digression, Megan continued, "It was later realized that homes had been robbed whenever Caligari was in the area. In one instance, a young woman was kidnapped and found strangled deep in the woods. The first Caligari was never apprehended and wasn't seen again after his summer of terror."
Sitting next to Megan, the big mechanic gave a slight shudder. "I don't know why, but that strikes me as extremely creepy. What do you mean, 'the first Caligari?'"
"In 1827, the south of France experienced the same events. A traveling show called 'Dr Caligari's Cabinet of Horror' toured the countryside. In a horse-drawn van, this Caligari exhibited another Somnabulist, also called Cesare. The descriptions are similar but not identifical. This second Caligari was tall and aristocratic, and his Cesare was a redhead. The few experts on crime in that era heard about the traveling show and assumed this was just a charlatan using the name and reputation of the first Caligari. Again, there were robberies and murders wherever Caligari appeared but again he had always moved on before the crimes were discovered."
Megan paused after this to observe his reaction. Archie raised both hands and said, "Then what? Don't stop now!"
"The most recent manifestation was in Germany in 1918, at a village called Holstenwall. The same sequence of events as the first two appearances happened but this time Cesare died, apparently from a heart attack or exhaustion. Apparently, the man calling himself Caligari was arrested and placed in an asylum, but that's not clear. Newspaper accounts from that time contradict each other and most of the police documents seem to have been lost or destroyed. One article claims that this Caligari was actually a respected psychiatrist who was not suspected of any crime and it was all a misunderstanding."
"Well. You know the first thing that jumps out at me?" Archie asked. "This Caligari stuff turns up every century, more or less. And here it is, a hundred years later and here's crooks talking about some thief calling himself Caligari."
Megan allowed herself the faintest smile, placing her hand on his arm. "But this time we are on the scene. You see why I found the mention of Caligari intriguing enough to lure me out here. Let's see if we can get some information from the victims."
VI.
It was one-thirty in the morning when Megan's Link beeped. She unclipped the device and took the call.
"Chief Gilpatrick here," came the gruff voice. "You said to call you day or night, so I'm taking you at your word!"
"That's fine, sir. What is happening?"
"The residents of a house on 112 Sawkill Road reported a burglary just a few minutes ago. They were coming home from a party and heard the back door close as they got out of the car. The husband ran around the house and caught a glimpse of a tall skinny guy all in black scrambling over their fence and running away. Two of my men are on the way now. Thought you might like to know, Miss Salenger."
Megan calculated distance. "We are forty minutes away from that address," she said, "By the time we could arrive, your officers will likely have already taken statements and looked around. In the morning, with your permission, I would like to speak with the homeowners but there is no need to alarm them further tonight."
"That's your call, miss," said the chief. "I'm just keeping you updated."
"It is appreciated, Chief Gilpatrick. I believe we will have some information for you soon, as well. Thank you for calling."
The chief made a noise that sounded like "Humph" and broke the connection. Megan had learned over against Archie and held the Link so he heard the conversation. She clipped the Link back to her belt and pointed a thumb at the Center For Sleep Disorder building across the road. "This is a perfect opportunity to determine if Dr Fontana is in fact using his patients for criminal activity."
"Obviously, visiting hours are over," Archie muttered. "I'll go with you to break a few windows if we have to."
"Thank you, my love, but I would prefer to have you here for a quick departure. If you see me running across the parking lot, start the engine and open my door." With that, the Trom Girl hopped down out of the Jeep and trotted across the road. She held her Link in one hand and the beam projector in her other. As she neared the building, she activated the code she had earlier punched in and waved the Link to cover the building.
While in this facility the previous day, she had taken readings on the security systems used. Now, at the override signal from her Link, images froze on the building's cameras and the alarms shut down as every door unlocked. She went in through a side door and raced lightly up the stairwell to the third floor. At the top landing, the Trom Girl adjusted the settings on her beam projector and sprayed the invisible neural shock frequency through the small square window in the door. Megan peered through that window at the nurse's station and saw Mrs Fontana leaning back in her chair, head lolling to one side and mouth open.
The Trom Girl sneaked past the unconscious woman. There were three other people on that floor, but since they were patients with sleep disorders and on various medications, she had not wanted to risk adding the effects of the neural shock beam to their conditions. This would only take a few minutes in any case. Megan hurried to the end of the hallway and looked in through the wide picture window into Cesare's room. The lighting within that room was dim, but she clearly saw the man lying in bed, hands down at his sides, still hooked up to the monitors. His chest rose and fell smoothly.
She wanted to go in and make her own detailed examination of the man, but she was anxious to make this intrusion brief. One of the patients might awaken and buzz for Mrs Fontana. Megan did not want to be responsible for preventing an innocent receiving medical care if needed. There would only be a few more minutes before the woman revived, since a minimal neural shock had been administered. Before leaving, Megan pressed her Link to the viewing window and took superficial sensor readings she could study later. Then she ran down to the stairwell and rushed down to get back outside before the doctor's wife would wake up. As she walked briskly across the silent parking lot, Megan adjusted her Link one more time to reactivate both the alarms and security cameras in that building.
Seeing her approach at a walk, Archie turned the engine on and reached over to swing open her door. Megan climbed up into the passenger seat. "Well, dear, all the patients were present and accounted for. That's a blow against the theory that Fontana is this century's Caligari. The burglar that Chief Gilpatrick told us about could not have returned here so quickly."
Backing up and making a U-turn, Archie started driving back toward town. "Not... necessarily, hon. Isn't it possible he's using a patient who still lives at their own home? You said he treats more people than the ones who are staying in his clinic."
"That's true," she admitted. "It's just that Cesare fits the image of the classic Somnabulist slave of the earlier Caligaris. I seem to be making a logical error of becoming attached to a theory and feeling resistance to dropping it. My Trom teachers would chastise me."
"Where to now, my little Trom-Human liaison?" asked Archie with a stifled yawn.
"Back to the hotel," she sighed unhappily. "It is almost two in the morning. Caligari or his servant has already struck for tonight. Tomorrow we will see what Chief Gilpatrick has learned and we will speak with the victims. While we sleep, I am sure my subconscious will be evaluating these events."
"Yeah, that works with me, too. Everything seems clearer in the morning."
As they rode along a few minutes later, Megan took out her Link and studied the screen which took up most of one of its sides. Almost instantly, she reached over and grabbed Archie's arm so sharply that he jumped. "What?" he yelled, hitting the brakes and thinking she had seen something beside the road.
"Back to the clinic. Hurry!" she snapped as she returned the Link to its clip on her belt. Picking up the beam projector from where it sat next to her on the seat, the Trom Girl cranked up the intensity of the neural shock to just below where it might cause permanent damage and held onto the device.
Years of going on these 'Trom Girl Mysteries' with Megan had conditioned Archie to respond to that urgent tone of voice she had used. He swung into someone's driveway, backed out and sped back the way they had just come. In less than a minute, they were approaching the Fontana Center For Sleep Disorders.
"Pull in next to the building. There. We won't be seen right away," she said. "Thank you, my love. I see we are in time."
"If you happen to feel like explaining...." he mumbled almost to himself.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Megan said. "I took quick readings on Cesare when I was in the clinic. Examining them now, I see he has no vital signs despite what the monitors displayed. Looking more closely at the recording, I see there is an apparatus hooked up to make his chest rise and fall as if he is breathing. With the darkened room and distance, it was enough to fool me."
"Wait, what? Are you telling me Cesare is dead?! They've got his corpse hooked up to a respirator or something?"
"Oh, no," she replied. "That is a mannequin in the bed. It is well-made certainly, although I think it would be obvious in better light or at closer range. That dummy is there to provide an alibi if needed when the real Cesare is out on his crime sprees."
"Wow," Archie said. "Just when you think things can't get weirder, they double down."
A gleaming black Nissan Elantra slowly pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop in the slot marked with white paint DOCTORS ONLY. Rodolfo Fontana emerged from behind the steering wheel and walked around to open the passenger door. As the wiry form of Cesare, wearing a skintight black leotard stood up, Megan tapped Archie on the shoulder.
"Phone Chief Gilpatrick now. Tell him we are watching the burglars here and to send the nearest squad car," she ordered as she herself hopped down out of the Jeep.
The instant Megan's door opened, even though he could not have seen it in the shadows of the building, Cesare gave a start and swung to run away. Fontana caught him by the arm and whispered, "What is WRONG with you? Stand still. I command you."
The Somnabulist shook Fontana off with a casual shrug that flung the older man off his feet to the asphalt. By that time, the Trom Girl had raced up to them, holding out her beam projector like a weapon. She pressed the firing button and the invisible neural shock hit Cesare with an effect that should have damped his nervous system enough to put him asleep. He barely twitched at the beam, coming around to stalk menacingly at her.
There was something abnormal in the way the Somnabulist moved, some stiffness in his joints and some lurching from side to side in his stride, that was incredibly unnerving. Megan stuck the beam projector to its holding plate on the back of her belt. She did not want to try a stronger neural shock because she was afraid that Cesare's peculiar condition might leave him open to permanent damage. At the same time, the way he had tossed Fontana aside showed physical strength well above average.
"Cesare!" she called out clearly. "Can you hear me? Can you understand what I am saying?"
Getting up painfully, Fontana leaned against the side of his car for support. "Dr Feldman? You fool, he's only been awake a few minutes in his lifetime. How do you expect him to speak English?"
"I'll deal with you in a moment... Caligari!" the Trom Girl said, circling around to give herself more open space in which to move. Cesare's blank, emotionless face sagged as if only half-alive. Black circles under his eyes gave him a weird stare that didn't seem to blink. Suddenly, he was within reach, spidery fingers clutching out at the Trom Girl.
In an instant, she had stepped to one side and kicked at his nearer ankle, knocking his foot out from under him. As Cesare fell off-balance, she seized his arm and yanked him hard into an elbow to the forehead. That dazed even the Somnabulist. He sagged and tried to straighten up, but the Trom Girl set her stance with feet well apart and threw a perfect right hook that cracked against the side of his jaw, followed an instant later by a backfist from the same hand to the opposite side of his face. The blows made sharp whiplash sounds. Internal jarring as his brain slid back and forth inside his skull produced a clean knock-out. Cesare fell face down and let out a deep sigh as if very tired.
Megan Salenger did not often draw on her decade of Kumundu traing, but when she did she made full use of it. Precision and timing more than compensated for her lesser size against most opponents. Even as Cesare slumped stunned to the parking lot surface, she lunged over and slammed the driver's door shut just before Dr Fontana would have gotten in.
"You are not going anywhere, Dr Caligari!" she snapped in a sterner voice than she normally had occasion to use. "I believe you are going to be spending the next few hours answering questions from unsympathetic policemen."
"Dr Feldman! Are you drunk? What are you even doing here? I managed to get my patient ambulatory and thought some new stimuli outside would do him good..." Fontana was sputtering in his outrage.
"As a licensed Private Investigator, I am holding you until the proper authorities arrive to place you under arrest," she said. Seeing Archie McAllister loom up beside her, she gave him a questioning look.
"A patrol car is on its way," he said. Standing over the still form of the Somnabulist, Archie asked of Fontana, "What I don't understand is how could you hypnotize that poor soul if he doesn't understand language? What is going on inside the brain of someone who has been asleep for twenty years?"
"I have no comment to make," Fontana said. "My lawyers will be in contact with you when I press charges for harassment, assault and battery and menacing. Not to mention trespassing on private property."
"What, the Caligari Center For Sleep Disorders?" laughed Archie.
A black and white rolled into the parking lot with its lightbar flashing but its siren off. The uniformed officer behind the wheel and Chief Gilpatrick both leaped out and came over to take charge. Everyone started to speak at once, but Gilpatrick waved for silence and pointed at the Trom Girl. "You first."
"Here is the man calling himself 'Caligari,'" Megan told the chief. "Since his accomplice on the ground matches the description of the burglar, I believe you have probable cause to search Dr Fontana."
Agreeing with this and disregarding the doctor's protests, Gilpartrick patted Fontana down, went through his pockets and came out with a wad of money held together with a rubber band, an expensive new smartphone and two credit cards.
He held the cards up to the light from the lampost behind them. "Funny, doctor. The name on these cards isn't yours but it is the name is the man who reported a burglary a few hours ago. Same goes for the description of this phone and the bankroll."
"I-- You planted them on me!"
"I have two witnesses right here that say otherwise. Stan, how's the guy on the ground doing?"
The officer had been examining Cesare carefully. "He's coming around. Man, he's gonna have a beautiful bruise on his chin. Hey, big fella, are you the one who punched this guy?"
"Who, me?" said Archie innocently. "It was my sweet little girlfriend here."
Chief Gilpatrick recited, "Rodolfo Fontana, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
As he was speaking, everyone heard Cesare groan and turn over. Slowly, tentatively, the Somnabulist managed to sit up, gingerly touching his battered face. He stared up in confusion at the people looking down at him. The wild mesmeric gaze had left his eyes. His expression had the innocence of a child. As Cesare got awkwardly to his feet, almost losing his balance, he drew back and watched everyone watching him.
"I don't believe it," Archie said. "Looks like he woke up."
Megan slowly reached out and touched his arm. Cesare flinched but did not draw away. His eyes darted from one person to another as he tried to comprehend the world he had never really seen before. He was like an infant in nearly every way.
Putting one arm around Megan's shoulders, Archie gave her a hard squeeze. "I'll be damned. I didn't know you did miracle cures, too."
11/4/2016
A Trom Girl Mystery
7/23-7/26/2009
I.
Megan Salenger said, "My name is Margaret Feldman," and held out her hand politely.
Dr Fontana accepted her hand and shook it as if he absolutely hated skin on skin contact. "Pleased to meet you, Dr Feldman."
"We spoke on the phone earlier. I'm representing the board that is considering increased funding for your work. First, though, they insist I get a close look at a remarkable patient of yours. A young man named Cesare Fraticelli?"
Rodolfo Fontana regarded her with a lack of enthusiasm, if not quite outright hostility. He was a short squat man in an old-fashioned dark tweed suit with a string tie, and his toadlike face was sullen. Round-rimmed glasses with thick lenses had slipped far down on his bulbous nose and he pushed them back up with a finger. "That would be a bit... irregular," he mumbled.
"The board insists," Megan replied with what she hoped was a disarming smile. "They have been hoping to receive some detailed reports from you about the patient." Just thirty, she was naturally pretty with huge dark eyes and a pointed inquisitive nose, but she felt self-conscious wearing even the minimal make-up of lipstick and subdued eyeliner she had on now. She had gone to a salon the previous day to have her tousled short black hair styled into something professional-looking. It went against all her instincts to pay much attention to her appearance. Under the white lab coat, she was wearing a tailored lilac-blue pantsuit with a white silk blouse.
Combined with the sharp intelligence that was clear in her eyes and her usual calm confident manner, she was actually imposing in an understated way. Fontana watched her and seemed intimidated.
"Yes, quite so," he said finally. When she had entered his cramped and cluttered office with its sole window darkened by thick curtains, Dr Fontana had risen to greet her. Now he stepped around from behind his desk, piled high with stacks of binders and folders and loose papers. "I must agree I am behind in my paperwork. So many new cases... Still, I believe a visit to Mr Fraticelli could do no harm."
The Trom Girl said, "That would be appreciated, doctor. Your staff has checked my credentials." To herself, she reflected on how much care had gone into creating those credentials and ensuring that phone calls or computer checks would confirm her cover story.
"Yes, yes. Quite substantial. Perhaps if you come with me to the third floor?" Fontana took his own lab coat down from a hook next to the door and pulled it own. He automatically brushed back his untidy white hair with his hands before opening the door and escorting her out into the hallway. For such a prestigious institute, the Fontana Center For Sleep Disorders was not modern-looking. It was housed in an old building on the edge of Hawthorne that had been a county nursing home at the beginning of the 20th Century and then a veteran's rehabilition center.
The walls were panelled with walnut and the lights were not fluorescent ceiling strips but incandescent bulbs in wrought iron lamps set at intervals along the hall. Hanging on the walls were paintings of landscapes and small prints of distinguished gentlemen evidently all from the 19th Century. It should have given a feeling of reassuring solidity but somehow the facility felt vaguely wrong in a way Megan could not identify. The walls appeared tilted somehow at angles that did not match each other. She accompanied Dr Fontana to an elevator that creaked and groaned as it lifted them.
In startling contrast, the third floor had been rebuilt in a modern manner. The smooth walls were soothing pastel greens and blues, with subdued overhead lighting. Near the elevator as they exited was a circular nurses' station with a bank of phones, a wall of pigeonholes holding reports, and several monitors showing the interiors of patients' rooms. Two nurses were on duty, both wearing scrubs and with their hair pulled back in severe buns. Both looked experienced and competent, frowning as they studied clipboards and made notes. They both glanced up as the elevator door opened with a ding.
"Hello, doctor," said the older nurse. She had dark blonde hair and a wide, weary face. Her name tag read SOPHIA FONTANA RN. "We weren't expecting you so early in the night."
"I know, Sophia, I usually check in around midnight," Dr Fontana told his wife. "But this young lady had arranged to look in on Cesare."
"That's up to your discretion, of course. He was bathed and shaved earlier today by Rena and myself."
"My paperwork is caught up now and I'm twenty minutes past the end of my shift," said the other nurse. She was not much younger than Mrs Fontana but shorter and slimmer. "I'll be back at seven tomorrow morning as usual."
"Thank you," said the doctor. "Good night, Rena."
"Doctor. Mrs Fontana," the nurse said, picking up a light jacket and heading for the elevator. As she left, the doctor's wife asked, "Will you need me, Rodolfo?"
"I shouldn't think so," Fontana answered, placing a hand briefly at Megan's elbow to start her moving along with him. They went past four rooms with the solid wooden doors left half-open and came to a special arrangement at the end of the hall near the stairwell. The final room had its door closed but it also had a plate glass window set in the wall so that people in the hall could view the room's occupant constantly.
Megan Salenger stepped up close to the window and got her first sight of the most remarkable Somnabulist of modern times.
II.
Lying in a standard hospital bed, with a single sheet pulled up to his waist, was a slim young man with tangled black hair. Attached to his chest were adhesive pads which led up to the monitor displaying vital signs such as heartbeat and respiration. A catheter in his left arm led up to three IV bags on a stand. On a table next to the bed, but not in use at the moment, was a blood pressure cuff and oxygen level finger clip. Pushed back against the wall was a chest high apparatus holding a dozen cables neatly bundled together with a clip.
The young man was sleeping so peacefully, chest rising and falling as regularly as a machine, face completely relaxed, that Megan felt uneasy. "Doctor, I understand that this patient was found abandoned as an infant at a church in Albany. He has been asleep all his life."
"That is true," said Fontana. "What makes it remarkable is that he is not in a true coma by clinical definition. EKG shows strong brain activity and he has normal REM phases. He is dreaming but no one can imagine what his dreams might be about." The doctor was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his face pressed almost against the window. "With no imput, what can his mind be dwelling on? It's almost a metaphysical mystery."
"I need to examine him briefly," Megan said. When Fontana scowled, she went on, "The board has instructed me to see for myself his condition."
"Very well," the doctor said. He strode stiffly over to a wheeled cabinet and came back with surgical masks and latex gloves. "His immune system seems normal but we don't want to take chances."
Donning the protective gear, they entered the room. There were no decorations, no signs of personal items, no phone on the nightstand and no TV on the wall. The Trom Girl studied the readings on the monitor thoughtfully. She took Cesare's free hand and elbow and bent his arm back and forth, then probed his chest and abdomen lightly with her fingertips.
"He has good muscle tone," she observed.
"Oh, yes. We want to prevent atrophy. That device there uses low-level electric charges to make his muscles contract and relax. He is hooked up to it several times a day," Fontana said.
"That is his exercise program? Very good." She lifted an eyelid to see a dilated eye with hazel iris. "Except for the undeniable fact that he has been asleep all his life, this patient appears to be in fine condition." She noticed the pale skin that contrasted with the longish curly black hair, the delicate features and thin bony fingers. Her impression was that this man fit the stereotype of a poet or classical musician.
Fontana seemed eager to get her away from Cesare and she took the hint. As they were back out in the hall, removing the masks and gloves, she asked, "Has he never shown signs of waking?"
"Not that we have observed," Fontana grumbled. "So many tests have been done. So many MRIs and so much blood work and so many neurologists trying their various ideas. It remains a complete mystery why he sleeps."
"This patient could possibly lead to major breakthroughs on the nature of sleep itself," the Trom Girl said. "I expect the board will decide to increase your funding so you can bring in international experts to examine Cesare. Incidentally, where did that name come from? I thought he was an anonymous foundling."
"He was named by the staff at the children's hospital where he was first taken," Fontana said. "They started calling him Cesare after a staff worker he resembled and the last name was that of the wing where he resided. He might not be Italian, we haven't done a DNA ID process on him."
Back at the nurse's station, Mrs Fontana was holding a bundle of papers. "The floor is quiet today, Rodolfo. We have three empty beds, with a new patient expected at noon tomorrow. Room 511, Mr Newman, has been uncomfortable and wants to see if he can increase his dosage."
"I'll speak to him when I come back to make rounds," Fontana said. "What do you think, Dr Feldman?"
Megan was of course alert enough to react to the Feldman alias. "I will be letting you go about your duties, doctor. Thank you for your cooperation. My report will be very positive. You are taking excellent care of Cesare and I am sure the board will agree. Most likely, I will be back with good news in a day or so." As Fontana started to see her to the elevator, she said, "Oh, please don't bother. I'll see myself out. Goodnight, doctor.. Mrs Fontana."
Riding the elevator down to the lobby, the Trom Girl felt tension from the confrontation drop away from her. She was certain that Dr Fontana was suspicious of her intentions. The question was, did he realize that she was investigating the possibilty that the doctor was using his sleepwalkers as burglars and assassins? And that she knew he was doing this under the name Caligari?
III.
Out in the paved parking lot, her cherry-red Jeep Cherokee sat with Archie behind the wheel. There were only three other cars there, presumably one for Dr Fontana, his wife and the security guard. The Center For Sleep Disorders seemed to be a minimal operation with limited staff. From what her research had uncovered, Dr Fontana had taken over from the previous regime with its emphasis on drug rehabilitation and gradually shifted it toward more pure research into rare sleep problems. His work with somnabulism was highly regarded and his treatment of sleep paralysis, commonly known as 'night terrors' had won him a prestigious award.
But then, in the past year, there had been these strange burglaries in the nearby towns and the two inexplicable murders....
Archie had the window down with one brawny arm hanging out. He grinned as he saw her approach. "Well, hello, Dr Feldman," he teased.
"It went as well as could be expected," Megan told him. She crossed over and climbed up into the passenger seat. As she strapped herself in, the Trom Girl started giving him a report on her meeting with Dr Fontana. Lately, she had been working on paring down her summary of events to leave out the extraneous details she usually included.
"Sounds like an exclusive set-up." Archie McAllister started up the Jeep, backed in a semi-circle and headed out of the parking lot. "That place doesn't look like a hospital," he observed, "more like a bed and breakfast, if you ask me."
"He normally has only four to five patients in the facility at any time," Megan said. "Many of the people he treats only come in for periodic treatments. Are we heading back to the hotel? I'm a little tired."
"Yeah, we left Manhattan early today and spent most of the time on the road. And you had just finished that Moody River case the day before." He gave a little snort. "Maybe a night at Fontana's sleep clinic would help."
Megan leaned over and nuzzled his unshaven cheek, then settled back in her seat. "You are the best comfort I could ask, Archie. Your boss is still all right with you taking off a day or two to accompany me?"
"He loves it, hon. You always go through the shop first and diagnose problems that our boys haven't spotted. Every time you show up, you save him enough time and money that giving me a few days off is a bargain in exchange. Also, I think he has an old-man-crush on you."
Heading down from the side of the mountain toward the town itself, Archie continued after a brief silence between them. "What made you suspect Fontana anyway, Meg?"
The Trom Girl was staring straight ahead, proceeding with her usual juggling of several trains of conjecture at once. "He wrote a startling paper ten years ago. It's not available online, and he has tried to limit access to it as much as possible. Fontana had a theory that somnabulists who spend more than seventy per cent of their time asleep develop psychic abilities. He claimed he had cases where a sleepwalker could fortell the immediate future and learn hidden secrets from the recent past."
"Really? That's wild. I'd say it sounds like he was going off the deep end but..."
"I know, Archie. After dealing with the Midnight War, we become less inclined to dismiss what seems fantastic. There's our hotel." They pulled around behind the four story modern structure of the Hanson Inn. It was a definite step upward from the usual roadside motels where they stayed on these 'Trom Girl Mysteries.'
Going to their suite on the second floor, Archie went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. A decade as a mechanic and customizer had given him a habit of scrubbing every time he got near a sink. He emerged to find Megan stripping down completely and carefully hanging her pantsuit up in the closet. Under her clothes, she wearing the flexible suit of Trom armor that looked like wet dark silk but which shielded her against anything up to high-powered rifle bullets. Megan had a slim, athletic figure from years of Kumundu training and a childhood being raised on a scientific program of nutrition and exercise. She ruffled her hair with her fingers to break up its styling. Whether she was aware of it or not, Megan preferred her hair untidy.
Pulling down to the covers on the single king-sized bed, Archie yawned and got down to T-shirt and boxers. His own clothes he simply tossed on a nearby chair for the moment. "It's eleven, hon. You gonna watch the local news?" he asked as he crawled into bed.
"No." The Trom Girl opened her armor on its hidden paramagnetic seams and folded it into a remarkably small packet. Naked, her trim body with modest breasts and narrow hips looked like that of a swimmer, not showing hints of the great strength and speed it concealed. She got on top of Archie and stretched out with her arms up around his neck. Megan loved the comforting solidity of that massive hairy body. "I'm glad you're with me on these cases, my love. I suspect your emotional support is more important to me than I myself realize."
He kissed her and gave her a hard squeeze. "Glad to help, honey. I had no idea what a miracle I was getting into when I met you at the skating rink a few years ago!"
Megan leaned way over to reach the bedside lamp and turn it off, starting to slide off Archie onto the floor. He caught her and they both laughed in the darkness.
IV.
They both awoke just before dawn, started kissing and had slow gentle sex that only got urgent toward the end. After cuddling for an extended whispering period, they took a shower together and got ready for the day. Archie wore the same jeans as he had the day before, with a red flannel shirt over a plain white T-shirt. As he rolled up the cuffs to his elbows, he looked like the good-natured working man he was. Archie was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the petite Megan, but they seemed completely natural together.
The Trom Girl gave the matter some thought and dressed more formally than usual. She might be going to visit the sleep clinic again that day. She chose dress shoes with a minimal heel, dark grey slacks and a white silk blouse with long sleeves and a folded collar. The jacket that matched the outfit and the lab smock she would hang in the rear of the Jeep in case they were needed.
Under the civilian clothes, the Trom armor was unnoticeable. Carrying her usual assortment of gadgets and weapons was another problem. Women's clothing generally did not have enough pockets for her needs. Megan had reluctantly borrowed one of Unicorn's many handbags, a small black leather number with a gold chain holder. In it was stowed her beam projector with its assorted cartridges, the lock opener, her Link and a dozen other advanced devices. She was unhappy with this arrangement but had to accept it for the moment.
Room service would not be available for more than half an hour. "That knocks a few points off this joint's rating," Archie said. "How about hitting a diner and getting a look at the town?"
"I agree with that," she answered, gazing at herself in the wide mirror over the dresser. "Oh, Archie, I dislike wearing make-up but there is no logical reason not to apply some now to obtain a professional appearance."
"You're adorable without it, Megan. Skip the war paint."
She turned her dark eyes toward him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"
"Believe me, you leave a trail of broken hearts everywhere you go."
That made her smile. "Good." She draped the jacket and lab smock over one arm and followed Archie out into the hall. A warm late July day was breaking as they went to her Jeep. Over the years that she had owned it, she had made many modifications that improved efficiency and handling, as well as installing bullet-resistant windows and Kevlar side panels. In the rear were two travel bags, one of which contained her full field suit complete with helmet. Now, she hung the jacket and smock on the hook by the rear passenger seat so they would not be wrinkled.
They found a diner two miles down the road and settled down to consume pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Archie also ordered a double serving of hash browns, which Megan quietly sampled. He enjoyed black coffee while she was content with cranberry juice. Once they had a hot breakfast packed away after a solid night's sleep, they both felt more focused toward their goals.
"We have a meeting with the sheriff's department at nine. As soon as his office opens, he said," Megan told her partner as she cornered the last scrap of pancake on her plate and nibbled it carefully to avoid get any trace of syrup on her. "I have never met the man but he knows about the KDF."
"Hm. Huh," Archie responded. "You guys are more famous than you realize, Megan. Mostly because of your leader, Jeremy. He seems to have been in every part of the country over the years, catching serial killers and getting rid of abominable monsters."
"Our captain has had an active career," the Trom Girl replied. "I wonder how many cases he has handled that no one else knows about? He avoids public attention and does not talk about past missions unless prompted."
"Well, I'm ready to hit the road, what do you say?"
"Yes." She took the check and handed it to the hovering waitress with her Platinum Visa card to put the meal on her KDF expense account. When the receipt came, she tucked it away and stood up. The two of them stepped out into the morning sunlight and headed for the Jeep. "I should drive," she said. "You accepted most of the task yesterday."
"Never been out here by Binghamtom," Archie said, "I'm sure you memorized maps of this town Hawthorne."
"I have done the usual research," Trom Girl said, which Archie knew meant she probably knew as much about the area as local historians did. She drove to the outskirts of town and to a small plaza which stood by itself at the bottom of a hill. A post bearing a vertical series of signs announced all the departments to be found at the Town Hall, from the Water Department to the Town Supervisor to Traffic Court. The County Police were also headquartered here. Megan pulled into the parking lot, already filling up only a few minutes after nine, and studied the three main buildings which formed a letter H shape.
"This entire facility is less than two years old," she told Archie. "It replaced a few scattered buildings in the town itself, including one which was demolished as soon as this plaza was open."
"Imagine that," Archie said, getting out of the Jeep. He followed her through the lobby and into the wing which held the county police force. It was all very open and accessible in atmosphere, with offices on either side of the hall all having wide windows extending down to waist level. Escorted by an officer who seemed past retirement age but who had stayed on for light duty, they saw the police chief in his office, making neater stacks of the pyramid of loose papers.
The officer rapped with his knuckles on the door, and a sour voice called, "Send 'em in, Stu. They've got an appointment."
Megan introduced herself and showed her credentials. Between her KDF membership, her PI license for the State of New York, her consultant cards for the Mandate and the FBI's Department 21 Black, she actually impressed the police chief more than she realized. Chief Wilson Gilpatrick was a stocky man of medium height, with a bristling black mustache to compensate for a hairline that had retreated almost to the top of his head. He motioned for them to seat themselves and dropped back down in his own chair.
"I've heard a lot of wild stories about your Kenneth Dred Foundation," Gilpatrick began without small talk. "Two of my men used to be on the NYPD before they both moved out here. They're guys I trust, but still, some of the stuff they say about the KDF is hard to swallow. And cops all over recognize the name Dire Wolf. Is he still running around the Big Apple?"
"Yes. He mentions retiring soon but never seems to get around to it." Trom Girl glanced around the office, her mind taking in every minute detail with photographic accuracy.
Gilpatrick ran through the details of fourteen burglaries and robbery of stores after hours in the past year. There were also two murders, one by drowning in a creek and one strangulation, which seemed to have no connection with each other. Megan listened closely, saw that Archie was also paying close attention, and asked for a few clarifying details. Two of the local informers in the underworld had mentioned the name 'Caligari.' They couldn't offer any details because all they had heard was that you obtain rare valuables by contacting someone who used that name. Who 'Caligari' really was or how to reach him was beyond their level.
One peculiar thing about the crimes was how close the person or persons resonsible seemed to come to being caught. Often they were within less than a minute of being still on the scene when a homeowner or police officer would have caught them flat-footed. Yet they always escaped barely in time. The three times a perp had been sighting, only a glimpse of a thin man dressed all in black, with tangled black hair, had been seen.
The Trom Girl had of course studied every available detail of these crimes before leaving Manhattan. She regarded Chief Gilpatrick somberly before asking, "Isn't it also an interesting aspect that the burglars seemed to know exactly where cash and valuables were concealed in the homes? There was no sign of searching. Within a few seconds, the criminal went straight to the hiding places, which were often ingenious, seized what they had come for and left."
"Yeah, that's been eatin' at me," Gilpatrick. "If it happened once, you'd suspect a family member or friend. But six or seven times is hard to explain."
"I don't know how you feel about people with psychic perception," Megan offered cautiously. "You may well dismiss the idea as nonsense. But the legend of Caligari says that his hypnotized servants developed a sixth sense for danger or for locating what was hidden. That is why I think it is so suggestive this criminal has taken the Caligari name."
The chief scoffed but then went on, "Personally, I've always been a skeptic. I don't hold with any mind-reading or fortune-telling because I've seen so many frauds. But in this case, I don't know. Maybe there's something to it."
They went over the crimes again in excrutiating detail for another forty minutes before an officer knocked on the door and reminded tne chief he had to speak with the suspect in a hit-and-run case that would be going to trial. Gilpatrick rose and showed his visitors to the hall.
"Please call me at any time of the day or night if another such crime occurs," Megan told him. "My partner and I will be in the area investigating for at least the next few days. It's possible a witness will remember something significant that they had not mentioned to you."
"I'll do that," said Gilpatrick. He had visibly warmed up to the Trom Girl as he saw how serious and perceptive she was, and his obvious dismissal of her at the start of their meeting had eased off. "Good luck."
"Thank you for your co-operation," she said. "We will inform you immediately of any new information we discover." With Archie beside her, she headed down the bright corridors and back out to the parking lot where her Jeep waited.
V.
As they drove around Hawthorne, getting a feel for the area, they found a bad part of town where streets were littered heavily, and many doorways had healthy young men loitering on a weekday morning. There was a succession of liquor store, pawn shops with guns prominent in the window, dollar stores, a bar called SMOKEY'S and a hair salon with 'permanents' misspelled on a hand-lettered sign. Megan pulled over on a side street where a grown man rode by on a child's bike and where a pair of laced-together sneakers hung from the power lines overhead.
"Looks like Hawthorne is not all neatly trimmed lawns and painted picket fences," Archie snorted. "The only thing I haven't spotted is a pool hall."
Peering out at the neigborhood, the Trom Girl said, "Archie, I have not given you full background on the Caligari phenomenon. Are you curious?"
"Well, sure. Actually, I didn't know it was a 'phenomenon' as such."
"Very well. The first recorded incident was in 1783. A mounteback calling himself Dr Caligari toured the street fairs of northern Italy with his Somnabulist subject. This was a young man named Cesare, described as thin, pale and unresponsive to the outside world. Reportedly, Cesare had been sleeping since birth and only woke up for short periods under the hypnotic influence of Caligari. When he was briefly conscious, Cesare would tell fortunes and answer questions but his answers always seemed to involve death and disaster."
"Nice," Archie interjected. "Hey. Look at that guy walking his pit bull. The dog is as big as he is."
Ignoring the digression, Megan continued, "It was later realized that homes had been robbed whenever Caligari was in the area. In one instance, a young woman was kidnapped and found strangled deep in the woods. The first Caligari was never apprehended and wasn't seen again after his summer of terror."
Sitting next to Megan, the big mechanic gave a slight shudder. "I don't know why, but that strikes me as extremely creepy. What do you mean, 'the first Caligari?'"
"In 1827, the south of France experienced the same events. A traveling show called 'Dr Caligari's Cabinet of Horror' toured the countryside. In a horse-drawn van, this Caligari exhibited another Somnabulist, also called Cesare. The descriptions are similar but not identifical. This second Caligari was tall and aristocratic, and his Cesare was a redhead. The few experts on crime in that era heard about the traveling show and assumed this was just a charlatan using the name and reputation of the first Caligari. Again, there were robberies and murders wherever Caligari appeared but again he had always moved on before the crimes were discovered."
Megan paused after this to observe his reaction. Archie raised both hands and said, "Then what? Don't stop now!"
"The most recent manifestation was in Germany in 1918, at a village called Holstenwall. The same sequence of events as the first two appearances happened but this time Cesare died, apparently from a heart attack or exhaustion. Apparently, the man calling himself Caligari was arrested and placed in an asylum, but that's not clear. Newspaper accounts from that time contradict each other and most of the police documents seem to have been lost or destroyed. One article claims that this Caligari was actually a respected psychiatrist who was not suspected of any crime and it was all a misunderstanding."
"Well. You know the first thing that jumps out at me?" Archie asked. "This Caligari stuff turns up every century, more or less. And here it is, a hundred years later and here's crooks talking about some thief calling himself Caligari."
Megan allowed herself the faintest smile, placing her hand on his arm. "But this time we are on the scene. You see why I found the mention of Caligari intriguing enough to lure me out here. Let's see if we can get some information from the victims."
VI.
It was one-thirty in the morning when Megan's Link beeped. She unclipped the device and took the call.
"Chief Gilpatrick here," came the gruff voice. "You said to call you day or night, so I'm taking you at your word!"
"That's fine, sir. What is happening?"
"The residents of a house on 112 Sawkill Road reported a burglary just a few minutes ago. They were coming home from a party and heard the back door close as they got out of the car. The husband ran around the house and caught a glimpse of a tall skinny guy all in black scrambling over their fence and running away. Two of my men are on the way now. Thought you might like to know, Miss Salenger."
Megan calculated distance. "We are forty minutes away from that address," she said, "By the time we could arrive, your officers will likely have already taken statements and looked around. In the morning, with your permission, I would like to speak with the homeowners but there is no need to alarm them further tonight."
"That's your call, miss," said the chief. "I'm just keeping you updated."
"It is appreciated, Chief Gilpatrick. I believe we will have some information for you soon, as well. Thank you for calling."
The chief made a noise that sounded like "Humph" and broke the connection. Megan had learned over against Archie and held the Link so he heard the conversation. She clipped the Link back to her belt and pointed a thumb at the Center For Sleep Disorder building across the road. "This is a perfect opportunity to determine if Dr Fontana is in fact using his patients for criminal activity."
"Obviously, visiting hours are over," Archie muttered. "I'll go with you to break a few windows if we have to."
"Thank you, my love, but I would prefer to have you here for a quick departure. If you see me running across the parking lot, start the engine and open my door." With that, the Trom Girl hopped down out of the Jeep and trotted across the road. She held her Link in one hand and the beam projector in her other. As she neared the building, she activated the code she had earlier punched in and waved the Link to cover the building.
While in this facility the previous day, she had taken readings on the security systems used. Now, at the override signal from her Link, images froze on the building's cameras and the alarms shut down as every door unlocked. She went in through a side door and raced lightly up the stairwell to the third floor. At the top landing, the Trom Girl adjusted the settings on her beam projector and sprayed the invisible neural shock frequency through the small square window in the door. Megan peered through that window at the nurse's station and saw Mrs Fontana leaning back in her chair, head lolling to one side and mouth open.
The Trom Girl sneaked past the unconscious woman. There were three other people on that floor, but since they were patients with sleep disorders and on various medications, she had not wanted to risk adding the effects of the neural shock beam to their conditions. This would only take a few minutes in any case. Megan hurried to the end of the hallway and looked in through the wide picture window into Cesare's room. The lighting within that room was dim, but she clearly saw the man lying in bed, hands down at his sides, still hooked up to the monitors. His chest rose and fell smoothly.
She wanted to go in and make her own detailed examination of the man, but she was anxious to make this intrusion brief. One of the patients might awaken and buzz for Mrs Fontana. Megan did not want to be responsible for preventing an innocent receiving medical care if needed. There would only be a few more minutes before the woman revived, since a minimal neural shock had been administered. Before leaving, Megan pressed her Link to the viewing window and took superficial sensor readings she could study later. Then she ran down to the stairwell and rushed down to get back outside before the doctor's wife would wake up. As she walked briskly across the silent parking lot, Megan adjusted her Link one more time to reactivate both the alarms and security cameras in that building.
Seeing her approach at a walk, Archie turned the engine on and reached over to swing open her door. Megan climbed up into the passenger seat. "Well, dear, all the patients were present and accounted for. That's a blow against the theory that Fontana is this century's Caligari. The burglar that Chief Gilpatrick told us about could not have returned here so quickly."
Backing up and making a U-turn, Archie started driving back toward town. "Not... necessarily, hon. Isn't it possible he's using a patient who still lives at their own home? You said he treats more people than the ones who are staying in his clinic."
"That's true," she admitted. "It's just that Cesare fits the image of the classic Somnabulist slave of the earlier Caligaris. I seem to be making a logical error of becoming attached to a theory and feeling resistance to dropping it. My Trom teachers would chastise me."
"Where to now, my little Trom-Human liaison?" asked Archie with a stifled yawn.
"Back to the hotel," she sighed unhappily. "It is almost two in the morning. Caligari or his servant has already struck for tonight. Tomorrow we will see what Chief Gilpatrick has learned and we will speak with the victims. While we sleep, I am sure my subconscious will be evaluating these events."
"Yeah, that works with me, too. Everything seems clearer in the morning."
As they rode along a few minutes later, Megan took out her Link and studied the screen which took up most of one of its sides. Almost instantly, she reached over and grabbed Archie's arm so sharply that he jumped. "What?" he yelled, hitting the brakes and thinking she had seen something beside the road.
"Back to the clinic. Hurry!" she snapped as she returned the Link to its clip on her belt. Picking up the beam projector from where it sat next to her on the seat, the Trom Girl cranked up the intensity of the neural shock to just below where it might cause permanent damage and held onto the device.
Years of going on these 'Trom Girl Mysteries' with Megan had conditioned Archie to respond to that urgent tone of voice she had used. He swung into someone's driveway, backed out and sped back the way they had just come. In less than a minute, they were approaching the Fontana Center For Sleep Disorders.
"Pull in next to the building. There. We won't be seen right away," she said. "Thank you, my love. I see we are in time."
"If you happen to feel like explaining...." he mumbled almost to himself.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Megan said. "I took quick readings on Cesare when I was in the clinic. Examining them now, I see he has no vital signs despite what the monitors displayed. Looking more closely at the recording, I see there is an apparatus hooked up to make his chest rise and fall as if he is breathing. With the darkened room and distance, it was enough to fool me."
"Wait, what? Are you telling me Cesare is dead?! They've got his corpse hooked up to a respirator or something?"
"Oh, no," she replied. "That is a mannequin in the bed. It is well-made certainly, although I think it would be obvious in better light or at closer range. That dummy is there to provide an alibi if needed when the real Cesare is out on his crime sprees."
"Wow," Archie said. "Just when you think things can't get weirder, they double down."
A gleaming black Nissan Elantra slowly pulled into the parking lot and came to a stop in the slot marked with white paint DOCTORS ONLY. Rodolfo Fontana emerged from behind the steering wheel and walked around to open the passenger door. As the wiry form of Cesare, wearing a skintight black leotard stood up, Megan tapped Archie on the shoulder.
"Phone Chief Gilpatrick now. Tell him we are watching the burglars here and to send the nearest squad car," she ordered as she herself hopped down out of the Jeep.
The instant Megan's door opened, even though he could not have seen it in the shadows of the building, Cesare gave a start and swung to run away. Fontana caught him by the arm and whispered, "What is WRONG with you? Stand still. I command you."
The Somnabulist shook Fontana off with a casual shrug that flung the older man off his feet to the asphalt. By that time, the Trom Girl had raced up to them, holding out her beam projector like a weapon. She pressed the firing button and the invisible neural shock hit Cesare with an effect that should have damped his nervous system enough to put him asleep. He barely twitched at the beam, coming around to stalk menacingly at her.
There was something abnormal in the way the Somnabulist moved, some stiffness in his joints and some lurching from side to side in his stride, that was incredibly unnerving. Megan stuck the beam projector to its holding plate on the back of her belt. She did not want to try a stronger neural shock because she was afraid that Cesare's peculiar condition might leave him open to permanent damage. At the same time, the way he had tossed Fontana aside showed physical strength well above average.
"Cesare!" she called out clearly. "Can you hear me? Can you understand what I am saying?"
Getting up painfully, Fontana leaned against the side of his car for support. "Dr Feldman? You fool, he's only been awake a few minutes in his lifetime. How do you expect him to speak English?"
"I'll deal with you in a moment... Caligari!" the Trom Girl said, circling around to give herself more open space in which to move. Cesare's blank, emotionless face sagged as if only half-alive. Black circles under his eyes gave him a weird stare that didn't seem to blink. Suddenly, he was within reach, spidery fingers clutching out at the Trom Girl.
In an instant, she had stepped to one side and kicked at his nearer ankle, knocking his foot out from under him. As Cesare fell off-balance, she seized his arm and yanked him hard into an elbow to the forehead. That dazed even the Somnabulist. He sagged and tried to straighten up, but the Trom Girl set her stance with feet well apart and threw a perfect right hook that cracked against the side of his jaw, followed an instant later by a backfist from the same hand to the opposite side of his face. The blows made sharp whiplash sounds. Internal jarring as his brain slid back and forth inside his skull produced a clean knock-out. Cesare fell face down and let out a deep sigh as if very tired.
Megan Salenger did not often draw on her decade of Kumundu traing, but when she did she made full use of it. Precision and timing more than compensated for her lesser size against most opponents. Even as Cesare slumped stunned to the parking lot surface, she lunged over and slammed the driver's door shut just before Dr Fontana would have gotten in.
"You are not going anywhere, Dr Caligari!" she snapped in a sterner voice than she normally had occasion to use. "I believe you are going to be spending the next few hours answering questions from unsympathetic policemen."
"Dr Feldman! Are you drunk? What are you even doing here? I managed to get my patient ambulatory and thought some new stimuli outside would do him good..." Fontana was sputtering in his outrage.
"As a licensed Private Investigator, I am holding you until the proper authorities arrive to place you under arrest," she said. Seeing Archie McAllister loom up beside her, she gave him a questioning look.
"A patrol car is on its way," he said. Standing over the still form of the Somnabulist, Archie asked of Fontana, "What I don't understand is how could you hypnotize that poor soul if he doesn't understand language? What is going on inside the brain of someone who has been asleep for twenty years?"
"I have no comment to make," Fontana said. "My lawyers will be in contact with you when I press charges for harassment, assault and battery and menacing. Not to mention trespassing on private property."
"What, the Caligari Center For Sleep Disorders?" laughed Archie.
A black and white rolled into the parking lot with its lightbar flashing but its siren off. The uniformed officer behind the wheel and Chief Gilpatrick both leaped out and came over to take charge. Everyone started to speak at once, but Gilpatrick waved for silence and pointed at the Trom Girl. "You first."
"Here is the man calling himself 'Caligari,'" Megan told the chief. "Since his accomplice on the ground matches the description of the burglar, I believe you have probable cause to search Dr Fontana."
Agreeing with this and disregarding the doctor's protests, Gilpartrick patted Fontana down, went through his pockets and came out with a wad of money held together with a rubber band, an expensive new smartphone and two credit cards.
He held the cards up to the light from the lampost behind them. "Funny, doctor. The name on these cards isn't yours but it is the name is the man who reported a burglary a few hours ago. Same goes for the description of this phone and the bankroll."
"I-- You planted them on me!"
"I have two witnesses right here that say otherwise. Stan, how's the guy on the ground doing?"
The officer had been examining Cesare carefully. "He's coming around. Man, he's gonna have a beautiful bruise on his chin. Hey, big fella, are you the one who punched this guy?"
"Who, me?" said Archie innocently. "It was my sweet little girlfriend here."
Chief Gilpatrick recited, "Rodolfo Fontana, you are under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."
As he was speaking, everyone heard Cesare groan and turn over. Slowly, tentatively, the Somnabulist managed to sit up, gingerly touching his battered face. He stared up in confusion at the people looking down at him. The wild mesmeric gaze had left his eyes. His expression had the innocence of a child. As Cesare got awkwardly to his feet, almost losing his balance, he drew back and watched everyone watching him.
"I don't believe it," Archie said. "Looks like he woke up."
Megan slowly reached out and touched his arm. Cesare flinched but did not draw away. His eyes darted from one person to another as he tried to comprehend the world he had never really seen before. He was like an infant in nearly every way.
Putting one arm around Megan's shoulders, Archie gave her a hard squeeze. "I'll be damned. I didn't know you did miracle cures, too."
11/4/2016
