Forever Together - 1. Forever Together

Forever Together

I entered the coffee shop and ordered a tall Vienna. After taking the first sip, I called Mom.

“Darling! How did it go?”

“I aced it, Mom! I’m pretty sure I got the job. Can you imagine? Personal assistant for Malachi Murray!”

“Now, now, baby, don’t jinx it. When will you know for sure?”

“The guy from the recruitment agency said they’ll call me, probably today. I’m so excited!”

“You don’t say.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

Ever since Mom gave me Malachi’s first book, The Stone Ax Incident, I was a fan. He is a real-life history professor who writes historic murder mystery stories based on his research.

“I’m at the coffee shop across from the recruitment agency. How about I grab a honey pecan muffin for you before I come home? Or do you need me to buy something else while I’m here?”

“No, th—”

“Wait, Mom, I just got a text!” I quickly swiped the screen aside. “It’s from Malachi Murray’s office. “YAY!” After reading the short message, I pumped my fist in the air. The two women at the table beside me looked disapprovingly at me. As if I’d care. I was just offered my dream job. To quote Dad, I got a useless degree in history, which is why I can’t afford to live on my own and—slash— or pursue a master's degree yet. That, however, was about to change.

Monday morning: 7.15. I tried to appear cool and collected, albeit I could feel my heart beating in my throat, and my hand trembled when I pressed the button for the bell. It chimed deep in Malachi’s townhouse, and I waited.

A few moments later, a man opened the door, impeccably clad in a grey suit. “Dwight Sharp?” I nodded jerkily, not trusting my voice to be confident and professional.

“You’re on time, very good. A promising start. Come in please.”

I stepped forward and secretly looked around the square foyer. On my right, I spotted a sitting room with a bright red leather couch and a marble fireplace.

The man who had invited me in turned around and held his hand out. I’m Adrigal, Malachi’s PA.”

I slowly took his hand. “Um...I thought I would be his—”

“Mr. Murray’s PA, yes. I can see how this could be confusing. We had to name the position somehow with the recruitment agency. The assistant of the personal assistant would have been a mouthful.”

The euphoric mood I had been in all weekend was instantly gone. “Oh.” I tried to hide my disappointment.

Adrigal smiled empathetically, “Let’s talk more over a coffee, shall we?”

Hesitating, I followed him to the kitchen, where he stopped in front of a complicated coffee machine, pressing settings. “How do you drink your coffee?”

“Black.” My choice totally reflected the mood I was in.

He briefly frowned at my curt answer, then opened the door of the refrigerator, which was empty except for a lonely yogurt and a jug of milk and some assorted creamers.

When he caught me staring, he explained, “Malachi doesn’t use this kitchen anymore. He wrote his first book in the study upstairs. When the house more and more turned into his public office, he moved into the garden bungalow.” Adrigal waved his hand at the window. At the end of the beautiful garden, I could detect a white bungalow and side buildings. “Malachi values his privacy. We go there only if he asks us to.”

“Um, okay?” I narrowed my eyes at the distant building. My new employer was a very private person. Got it.

I don’t know if the man sensed my inner eye-rolling, but he suddenly pointed at my mug. “Grab your coffee, and I’ll show you the office.” He practically ran out of the room, and I had to hurry to follow him to the staircase.

Upstairs, we came to a spacious room. “The desk on the left is yours as well as the laptop and the phone.” Then he pointed to the end of the hallway. “The bathroom is through the last door on the right.”

“Cool.”

Ten minutes later, while the computer booted up, I learned my predecessor, Marie, had quit the job without having finished the organization of Malachi’s fall lecture trip.

This meant, for the next couple of weeks, I was busy with calling hotels, finding adequate restaurants, and evening entertainment, as Malachi apparently hated staying at his hotel room after he was done for the day. It was not what I had hoped for, but at least the pay was good, which shut up my dad.

Malachi Murray seemed to be very private indeed. It took about two weeks until I finally met him in person. One afternoon, he suddenly stood by my desk and held out a sheet of paper. “Dwight, I have a task for you while we’re on the road. On here you’ll find the name of a castle in Germany. It’s rumored it’s lord was murdered when he vanished without a trace.”

“Could this be a murder case for a new book?” I asked eagerly.

Malachi shrugged.“We will see. For now, I just want to get a feel for the place; its vibes. Use your expertise and collect any information you think could help me to become curious.” Adrigal scowled when I grinned happily at him.

I was so glad and thrilled with this new task. I started right away. The next two weeks I spent scouring the internet to get my hands on as much information as possible. For example, I found several videos people took while exploring the castle and its surroundings. I thought it would be a perfect method for Malachi to get a feel for the project, without actually being on site.

It turned out Malachi was very pleased with my little research. Two days after he was back from his lecture trip, he came into our office and asked me expectantly, “What would you answer if I said La Serenissima?”

“Venice!”

He grinned. “And do you know something about any cursed houses in Venice?”

“Ca’ Dario!” I called out.

“Wonderful.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “What can you tell me about it?”

“It’s a 500-year-old Venetian Gothic palace. It’s been said that the people who owned the building or stayed there for more than 20 days died, committed murder, or became bankrupt.”

“Very good”, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It seems you didn’t exaggerate when you said in your resume that one of your hobbies is reading about cursed houses. Do you know more about this particular palazzo?”

“It was built in 1479 for aristocrat Giovanni Dario. His daughter Marietta and her husband Vincenzo later inherited the house. Vincenzo was stabbed to death, and Marietta died by suicide in the Grand Canal not long after. Shortly after these tragedies, their son Vincenzo Jr. was killed in Crete by assassins.”

“I am intrigued. What if I said Radon Brown....”

I felt as if I were his student and knew all the answers. “He was a British scientist, who later owned the house. After having it for only four years, he suffered financial difficulties, and his romantic relationship with another man was discovered. The scandal affected him so much that in 1842 he died by suicide in the palace with his partner. Some speculate the deaths were a murder-suicide. Then there was Charles Briggs, an American millionaire, who met a similar end. After purchasing the palazzo, he was accused of being gay and fled to Mexico, where his lover died by suicide....”

Smiling, Malachi lifted both his hands.“Stop, stop! I can see you’re an expert.” He leaned back against Adrigal’s desk and winked at me. “What would you say if I asked you to travel to Venice and do some research for me for my next book? The German castle has been only a test that you passed with flying colors, by the way.”

A few weeks later, I stood at a boat stop in Venice, Italy and admired Palazzo Dario from across the Grand Canal.

I had asked the porter of my hotel about the best spot to see the cursed palace in the morning. He also told me to ask the Gondolieri; they would know interesting facts about the palace. After I talked to them, and even booked a ride, I didn’t know any more than I already had before. All they did was drop a few more famous names like John Entwistle, Mario del Monaco, or Filippo Giordano, Count of Turin. In the end I came to the conclusion the porter’s tip had only been his way to support the local businesses.

Malachi’s name, however, indeed opened some closed doors and gave me access to archives usually unavailable to the public. I found out some locals believe the cause of the curse might be the fact the building was constructed over an old Templar cemetery.

In one of the archives, I found a lot of photographs of the interiors of the palazzo. One was a close-up of a coin depicting a knight riding a horse in full armor and a Templar banner on the opposite side. When the archivist wasn’t looking, I took as many pics as I could with my phone to show them to Malachi later, so he could describe the furniture, the stairways, floors, and the opulent bathrooms in his book.

One day, I tried to get closer to the building, but no one wanted to drive me over there with their boats. Even local fishermen didn’t dare cast their nets by the cursed palazzo. I couldn’t even rent a boat and drive there on my own. As soon as the owner of the boat learned what I had planned, he canceled on me, telling me he had already lost a boat engine.

Then Malachi emailed me the telephone number of the current owner. I called them, and we arranged a meeting. That phone call was the last I heard of the man.

In the end, all I could do was observe the palazzo from afar and take as many pics as I could from the outside, using the professional camera Malachi had given me.

I was watching the house through a telephoto lens, when for a moment, I thought something was moving behind one of the windows. I scanned the building. A shudder ran down my spine in broad daylight... One of the side doors had opened a little and the air shimmered over the water... When I looked again, the door was firmly closed. I decided it must have been a figment of my imagination. I suddenly understood Woody Allen, who had considered buying Palazzo Dario but changed his mind, allegedly after reading about all the strange and tragic deaths connected to the house. I decided the man had been extremely smart.

For my last evening in Venice, I wanted to take some photos by night to heighten the thrill and to prove to myself I wasn’t afraid of the curse.

I viewed the back of the building from the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. The stank of stagnant water and something rotten was much more putrid than normal for Venice. I gagged, mouth salivating, and felt the urge to vomit, my heart slamming into my ribs. Staring at the windows under the covered balcony, I felt watched and the air became strangely cold. Was that a shadow? My vision blurred.

On the way back to the hotel, I felt as if I was being followed. I walked faster and faster until I ran. Back in my room, I didn’t dare to sleep. I sat on the bed in my pajamas all night and listened to every noise.

I only felt better after the cab had dropped me off at the airport the next morning. I could breathe freely again after I was on the plane.

I was first at work after the trip to Venice. Adrigal had given me a key to Malachi’s house. Like every morning, I went into the kitchen to make coffee for me and Adrigal. I stopped mid-stride when I found Malachi sitting at the breakfast bar drinking coffee. “Boss!”

“Dwight! I looked at some of the material you sent. It’s perfect. I absolutely like the videos and the pictures of those ominous, empty, dark windows. Very inspiring. Too bad the viewing appointment didn’t happen. Did you ever learn why the man didn’t meet you?”

“No, unfortunately not. Maybe later after you actually started with the book?”

“Maybe... Look, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve been promoted to PA.”

“What? Adrigal—”

Malachi averted his eyes and inhaled deeply. “We had a huge fight. He was jealous I sent you to Venice instead of him. I explained to him I chose you for the job because of your background and experience. He was furious. In the end, he simply walked out on me, and the next day he submitted his resignation.”

“That’s horrible. Don’t you think he might reconsider after he cooled off?”

“I don’t think so.”

“How long did he work for you?”

“Five years.”

“Maybe —“

Malachi pressed his lips together. “Let’s talk about something else. What do you have in that bag you’ve been fumbling with this whole time?”.

I opened my bag and pulled out two Venetian masks.”I found these at a manufacturer I read about on a travel site. They made the masks for the movie ‘Eyes Wide Shut.’” I gave one to Malachi. “I bought this for you.”

He took the mask and turned it around in his hands. “It’s beautiful! Much nicer than the cheap China junk usually sold all over Venice.” Then he put it on. He looked at himself on his phone. “Perfect! You know what? You just gave me the idea for my Halloween party. ‘Venice masked’! What do you think?”

Malachi invited almost one hundred guests. I had never organized such a large event. Normally this would have been Adrigal’s job. The night before the party, I couldn’t sleep. I was super nervous.

Two hours into the party, I could finally admit everything was going fine. I had to put out some minor fires, but the guests were enjoying themselves, and Malachi was proudly wearing his mask. The food was tasty, and the barman behind the bar in the living room was yummy.

I was so exhausted, I went into the kitchen to get a coffee. On the way, I met Malachi holding an empty ice bucket. “The barman ran out of ice. Could you get some for him?”

“Sure, where is the freezer?”

“Right, you probably never had a need for it. It’s in the side building right beside the back entrance of the kitchen.”

After grabbing the ice bucket from him, I went into the garden. Luckily, I immediately found the right building. Thankfully, the key was in the lock. When I tried to turn it, it didn’t budge. I had to set the bucket down on the ground and pull the handle. Only then could I turn the damn key. I threw myself against the door to open it. Immediately I was assaulted with a biting chemical smell. It had to be the cans with paint standing near the door. The room was dark, and I got out my phone and switched on its light. I found it wasn’t a mere shed, but an office. I lifted the phone and saw two desks facing each other. Actually, the office looked almost the same as my office in the main house. Then I detected a woman sitting at one of the desks. “Hello?” She didn’t acknowledge me. I stepped closer. Then I turned. At the desk behind me were two men. One sat behind it, one was leaning against, his feet crossed at the ankles.

“Good evening.” Why didn’t they talk to me? Then the door slammed shut. I quickly turned around. There stood Malachi.

“They can’t hear you.” Suddenly he was beside me and grabbed my bicep. “Let me introduce you. He pulled me over to the woman. “This is Marie, your predecessor. Marie was bored with her job here and decided she wanted to work somewhere else.”

The light from my phone shone directly into Marie’s face. She didn’t move. Her cheeks were sunken, and she looked at me with empty eyes.

Malachi’s grip around my arm tightened as he pushed me to the other desk. “Say hello to Stephen. He worked here before Adrigal. He decided he wanted to follow his girlfriend, who had to move to another city.”

“Malachi, what is this?” I tried to pull my arm away, but he was strangely strong. He manipulated my hand holding the phone so its light illuminated the man sitting behind the desk.

I gasped. “Adrigal....”

“He was angry with me and wanted to leave after all our time together. I couldn’t allow this. I love him too much.”

I sputtered. “They are—dead. They still left.”

He instantly backhanded me, my lip split. ”Can’t you see? I captured their souls. Now they can never leave me.” He laughed maniacally. And guess what happened yesterday? I got a phone call from your old professor telling me he secured a scholarship for you so you can get your master's degree. I won’t allow this. You are my student! You have so much to learn from me still.” Suddenly Malachi held a taser gun in his hand and aimed it at me. Then I felt a sharp pain and was thrown to the floor, my muscles twitching.

Next, I was tied to a stretcher, everything hurt. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t shout as I was gagged.

Malachi petted my head. “First, I will replace your blood with formaldehyde—”

At that moment the door slammed open with a loud bang, and a drunken guest came stumbling in. For a short moment the man stopped, squinted at the scene playing out in front of him, then he grinned, turned around and called out, “Over here, people! Here happens some kind of scary haunted house shit. Come on, guys! Over here!”

Moments later people swarmed the room.

BREAKING NEWS!!!!!!!

Famous murder mystery author and history professor Malachi Murray found out to be a murdering psychopath. Apparently, he killed everyone who wanted to leave him and conserved their bodies with epoxy resin and formaldehyde!

Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a reaction and/or a comment.
As always @Valkyrie has been so kind to edit and beta the story.
Any remaining errors are mine.