Loose Ends

Leslie woke up in a cold sweat. She hadn’t had a dream like that in quite some time. She was shaken so she went to the kitchen for a glass of water. She sat at the kitchen table and tried to remember that night so long ago. She was about twelve and her friend, Cassie, had invited her and a few other girls over for a slumber party. 

The slumber party was the typical party of young girls, way before cell phones, Facebook, or even MySpace for that matter. They played board games like First Date, Monopoly and Life and then other daring games like Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle, and then fell asleep in the living room floor a little after midnight. Leslie couldn’t remember now what it was that woke her up, she just woke up and was going to go to the bathroom. 

Looking for the bathroom in the dark, Leslie opened the door to a room. She remembered seeing about six adults dressed in hooded black robes and seeing candles, lots of candles. There was also a triangle with an eyeball painted in black in the center of the room. She remembered looking at the whole scene as being weird, but when she heard the unfamiliar language that is when she backed away, banging into a table as she left. 

“oh, hello.” One of the robed figures spoke to her. Leslie watched as the robed figure started walking towards her and at the same time, reaching up and pulling the hood away. Leslie saw it was Cassie’s mother and of course she didn’t remember her name. “Let’s get you back to bed, you really shouldn’t be in here.” She told her softly as she led her back to the living room. Leslie never did get to pee.

The next morning as she was rolling up her sleeping bag, she finally found the bathroom and, on her way, back, she walked past the door she mistakenly opened the night before and saw nothing out of the ordinary…now. There was a bed, dresser and desk and there was carpet on the floor. No sign of candles or a big triangle. She was a bit weirded out but never said anything about the entire ordeal, she did manage to ask Cassie about what she thought she saw days later.

It was in the cafeteria at lunchtime, when she finally asked Cassie about it. “The night at your slumber party, I woke up to go to the bathroom and I saw your mom in a weird black robe,” she started, “is your family like Satan worshippers or something?” 

Cassie looked at her questioningly, “are you serious? Of course not, what makes you ask that?” 

Leslie looked back at her the same way, “yes I saw your mom and others in a room dressed up in black robes and chanting or speaking another language around a triangle with a big eye in it.” 

Cassie drew her eyebrows together and sorta frowned. ‘No, they are not Satan worshippers, they have their own crazy club, I’m really not into it that much, but it isn’t Satan, they are always talking about something they call the Illuminati, I just don’t know…but it isn’t Satan.” She reassured Leslie by pulling her closer, “seriously, it’s not the devil.” 

After that they remained friends, but it was never party invitations or hang outs at Cassie’s house. And they eventually found reasons to spend time with other friends. 

Leslie went back to bed and wondered why now, why is she having this crazy dream, this crazy recollection of forgotten memories?

The next morning scrolling on her Facebook page, Leslie saw an obituary notice, someone from high school had posted.

 Cassandra Dean, 38, passed away. She was a resident of Legacy at the time of her death. Services will be held at Riley Funeral Home on Friday.

This is crazy Leslie thought to herself, I just had that freakin’ dream about her and now she’s dead. A cold chill ran down her spine causing the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was too eerie. She did manage to shower, dress and get to work.

Leslie couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her…on the bus, in the elevator, in the cafeteria, wherever she went, that feeling that someone was watching. After lunch, the receptionist called her and told her she had visitors. This was turning out to be a very bizarre day, because she was not expecting anyone.

As Leslie rounded the corner to the reception area she saw the two men standing there waiting on her. She didn’t know who they were and because she wasn’t expecting them, it made her feel even more nervous. She smiled at the receptionist and was relieved when she blurted, “Here’s Leslie. Leslie these men are from the FBI and needed to speak with you.” The receptionist relayed, with her duty being complete she turned and left them alone.

“I’m Leslie.” She told them, “how can I help you.”

“I’m Detective Paco Miller, this is Detective Hurley and we are from the field office of the Valraven FBI. We do have some questions to ask you concerning Cassandra Dean, we have information that you were a special friend to her.” Detective Miller told her, he wasn’t quite asking so Leslie felt even more confused because she hadn’t seen nor talked to Cassie in over 25 years.

“I went to junior high school with her, I haven’t seen her since. I’m not sure what information you have but.” Detective Miller cut her off.

“You will need to come downtown with us, ma’am.” He told her directly. ‘You cannot go back to your desk; the receptionist will bring your belongings. True to his word the receptionist came around the corner and handed Leslie her purse. 

Detective Miller led her out of the office with Detective Hurley following. They didn’t say much to her in the car. She kept trying to ask but they would just tell her they would answer her questions, once they got to the FBI office.

“I really don’t know what kind of information, I can provide. I told you I haven’t seen her since I was twelve” Leslie said again. “What are you looking for? What happened to Cassie?”

“Ma’am please, we will try to answer all your questions, once we get to the FBI office,” Detective Hurley told her. They rode in silence the rest of the way.

When they arrived at the FBI office Leslie was led into a room, with just a table and chairs. She knew the type. She was going to be interrogated for information she didn’t have or know anything about. The room was just a bland, dull grey with no color anywhere. They sat her down and left. She sat there for a very long time.

“Leslie Jean Monroe, that’s your name?” Detective Miller asked her. 

“Yes, I’ve told you already.” She said impatiently.

“Do you know what happened to Cassandra Dean? Do you know how she died” He asked.

“No, I just found out this morning, when I read her obituary on my Facebook page.” I’ve already told you that too. 

“Is there anything else you might be able to tell us?”

“No, I’ve told you I haven’t seen her since I was twelve years old.”

“Do you know what this is? Detective Miller asked her as he slid a red leather book across the table. It was a lined journal with names and places listed. 

Leslie looked down at the book, she had never saw it before and shook her head NO, and said, “I have never seen that before in my life.” She told him.

“Look closely Ms. Monroe. Isn’t that your name right there with a date next to it?” Detective Miller asked as he pointed to her name written clear as day.

“Yes, it’s my name, but I don’t know anything about it.” 

“What about this?” he asked pushing a picture her way.

The picture was a red triangle with an eye in the middle, painted in red. Red paint was smeared everywhere throughout the picture with a dusty, square unseated wash basin. Leslie felt the chills again when she saw that picture, the same one that was painted on the floor in the bedroom. She took a deep breath, “I’ve seen that before.” She said.

“Where? When? What can you tell us about it?” Detective Miller asked. 

Leslie relayed the same story she had just had a dream about the night before. She told them everything she knew and ended again with the fact that she hadn’t seen Cassie in all those years.

“Detective Hurley and I are working on an Illuminati case, these are a group of people trying to do very bad things. They are conspiracy theorists and are doing their best to start the next world war, plague, bombing, whatever destruction they can muster and before they can truly go to their next step they must terminate all the people who know about their existence, their loose ends. This painting was found on Cassandra Dean’s garage wall, while most of it is red paint, there is blood splatter mixed in and who ever killed her...”

“I didn’t do it!” Leslie cut him off. “I don’t even know where she lived.” 

“We are well aware of that ma’am, we picked you up, because you are the only one listed in this journal who is still alive.”

Image provided by a helpful Blisstopian. Source as yet unknown.