The Murder of Lewis Fulton: Short Story

“Alright Eckart, my first guys haven’t turned up anything on their initial sweep here. I’ve told them to keep everyone in the house for the time being until you can get in there. You’re the best I’ve got, so try to wrap this up quick, ya’ hear?” The lieutenant’s voice cracked over the walkie-talkie resting on the passenger seat of Detective Eckart’s vehicle. He reached over to answer just as he pulled up to a large gate sealing off Fulton Manor. He held down a button on the side of the walkie and spoke:

“Yeah, yeah. Sure thing, boss. I’ll see what I can do.” The walkie made a soft click as he released the button. Eckart turned his focus back to the gate, rolling down his window to greet the man stationed there. He flashed him his badge, “Detective Eckart. I’m here about an alleged murder case?”

“Of course,” The man nodded and moved to open the towering metal gate, “We welcome any help we can get after such a tragedy.”

“Sure. Condolences to the family.” Eckart grunted and stuffed his badge back into the breast pocket of his gray tweed jacket and rolled his window back up. The gates slowly swung open, scraping against the cobblestone path. The man signaled to Eckart that he was clear to drive up to the manor, and Eckart thanked him with a tip of his hat. The driveway was winding and, in Eckart's opinion, a bit overkill. His car slowly sputtered up the path until it finally reached the grand entrance to the manor. He turned the keys and ducked out of his car. Awaiting at the top of the steps just in front of the entrance was a slender woman smoking a cigarette, dressed fully in black and her eyes slightly puffy—as if she were recently crying. The wife, most likely, Eckart’s eyes bounced around her and her surroundings. There were a couple police officers on the front lawn watching as Eckart made his way to the front door, discussing the case amongst themselves. The sun was creeping below the horizon, the lights of the manor flicking on to stave off the dark night to come. Eckart removed his hat and clutched it to his chest as he approached the widow.

“Good evening, miss. Are you the owner of this fine manor?” Eckart’s deep brown hair was set firmly in place despite not having his hat to hold it back.

The woman took a long drag of her cigarette before puffing a cloud of smoke into his face, “I suppose I am now. Funny.” Her expression looked as though her mind was elsewhere.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” He instinctively pulled out his badge again. “Detective Eckart with the California City Police Department, I’m here to help.”

She barely acknowledged the badge, instead addressing Eckart directly. “My name is Jacqueline. It’s my understanding that some of your men were already here.” She nodded towards the men in the grass, “What else could you possibly do, Detective?” She let the last word hang heavy in the summer air.

“I would just like to take a look around, maybe talk to some of the people that were in the manor at the time. If that’s alright with you ma’am.”

“Fine.” She took another drag of her cigarette before snuffing it out on a clay pot to her left. She tossed the butt of the cigarette into the poor plant before disappearing back into the house, the detective following behind her. She vanished behind one of the many doors on the main floor. Eckart sighed and placed his hat back on his head.

The hall was adorned with plush violet curtains that covered the massive floor to ceiling windows. In the center was a grand chandelier with sparkling crystals that danced through the lights, the marble tile floor shielded by an ornate rug that ran from the front door to the staircase. It reminded Eckart more of a palace than a manor, but then again this was the Fulton’s. They had more money than they knew what to do with. A pale, older gentleman in a black silk suit approached him from the staircase.

“Hello, Detective Eckart was it? My name is Alfons, I’ve served the Fulton family for many years. I can show you to the scene of the crime, if you’d like. May I take your coat?”

“Ah, Alfons, nice to meet you. My condolences about the loss,” Eckart removed his jacket and hat, revealing a leather shoulder holster carrying a glistening silver revolver. “Thank you, and that would be perfect. I’d prefer to be in and out as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” Alfons dipped his head down before turning back to the stairs. “Right this way please.”

The two men journeyed up the massive marble staircase and veered left to another set of grand doors. Alfons, coat still in hand, gestured to a set of wide-open doors sectioned off by bright yellow police tape. There was another officer stationed outside, who simply responded with a curt nod.

“If you need anything else, do not hesitate to ask. I’ll be back on the main floor.” Alfons bowed out of the way and left, leaving Eckart alone in the master bedroom.

Fresh evidence markers still dotted the floors, the first being beside the body itself, found lying on the bed. The sheets were a pristine white, not a drop of blood to be seen. Eckart stepped towards the body, taking a closer look at Mr. Lewis Fulton’s indescribable expression. He seemed at peace, yes, but the corners of his mouth were turned down to suggest something more. Eckart couldn’t put his finger on it. He moved his gaze down to the neck, where the killing blow supposedly occurred. A couple of puncture wounds, one right above the other. Too wide to be a syringe, so what? An ice pick? A pen? Eckart rubbed his brow in frustration. There’s no way someone could stab someone in their neck, while they’re sleeping, and not leave a single drop of blood. No sign of a struggle either, if anything the guy seemed to have died peacefully. Eckart sighed and took a step back. The next marker indicated a partial footprint facing the window of the room. At a quick glance, he guessed it was likely some kind of dress shoe. Most likely male. He rose back to his feet. The final piece of evidence was the aforementioned window, shards of glass cascading down onto the soft carpet. No wonder the other guys had trouble with this. There’s nothing here—no murder weapon, no nothin’. Eckart huffed and walked closer to the broken window, pulling out a small notepad from his back pocket. He noted the few pieces of evidence, adding that the window was smashed from the outside since most of the remaining glass was inside of the room. He frowned as he leaned to peer out the window. Easily a sheer twenty-foot drop. How the hell could anyone get up here? Eckart scribbled another note before flicking it closed and returning it to his back pocket.

He left the master bedroom and waved to Alfons, who was dusting a few pieces of furniture downstairs. Eckart noted that he moved rather quickly for an older fellow.

“Alfons! Could I ask you a few questions?” Eckart called as he trotted down the stairs.

The old man looked up from an expensive looking green vase and cracked a small smile, “But of course. Anything I can do to help.”

“Right,” Eckart settled next to Alfons and flipped the small notepad back open. “Just a few questions. I won't take much of your time.”

Alfons simply nodded.

“The other officers reported here about three hours ago, around four o’ clock. Can you account for your whereabouts then?”

“Of course. I was in my room in the servants' quarters. There is a house in the backyard that all the manor workers reside, although I’m afraid it is just me and the gate worker at the moment. The family has been looking for new employees for quite some time.” Alfons shook his head.

“Mhm. And what were you doing there?” Eckart scribbled more notes on a separate page.

“I was tidying up my room. I get so caught up on the chores here, sometimes I let my own room get a little messier than I should.” Alfons chuckled.

“Was there anyone else in the house here?” Eckart clicked his pen absentmindedly.

“Yes. His wife, Miss Jacqueline, his mother, Miss Eula, and his son Flint. Though I couldn’t tell you exactly where they were.”

“His wife didn’t witness the murder?” Eckart paused and met the butler's eyes. They were piercing, unmoving, like a panther tracking its prey. He seemed to have struck a chord with him—it unnerved Eckart, but only for a moment.

“No... She has her own room now. I don’t believe they were on good terms when it happened.”

Eckart furrowed his eyebrows, “Any particular reason?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Feel free to ask Miss Jacqueline yourself.”

Eckart let out a long sigh and closed his note pad. I’m sure that will go well. “Any idea where I can find Miss Eula? Or Flint?”

“Certainly. Miss Eula is in the library right behind the staircase, and Flint is still in his room upstairs. His is the first room on the right side.” He hesitated a moment, glancing to where Jacqueline previously vanished, “I’m sure you know where to find her. I do apologize for her behavior—she did just lose her husband.”

“Right. Thank you, Alfons.” Eckart nodded and headed towards the library.

Eckart turned the knob of a tall glass door and walked through. He was confronted by the smell of dust and old paper, rows of shelves lined with hundreds, maybe thousands of books. He tugged at his collar a bit, the stuffy air feeling almost claustrophobic. In the center of the room was a collection of desks, one of which was seating a frail old woman, much older looking than Alfons. She had a small desk lamp turned on overhead, her mop of gray hair bent over a crochet hook and a spool of yarn. She was intensely focused, her glasses perched on the edge of her small nose. She barely heard Eckart when he tried to introduce himself.

“Miss Eula? Could I ask you some questions?”

“Great heavens!” The old woman practically jumped out of her skin at the sudden noise. “Don’t sneak up on an old woman like that! Who are you?”

“Apologies ma’am, I’m with the police department. Detective Eckart. I would just like to ask you some questions.”

Eula relaxed a bit back into her chair and let out a raspy sigh. “Goodness, I thought the questions would be done by now. Fine, by all means, Mister Detective.” She set down her project and turned to give him her full attention.

“I promise it’ll be quick. I was just curious about what you were doing earlier today? Around the time of the murder?” Eckart didn’t bother to open his notepad this time. He found it extremely unlikely that a woman with seemingly one foot in the grave had the strength to kill an adult male—especially without leaving hardly any evidence.

“Oh dear, am I a suspect? How exciting!” She smiled warmly, clearly joking. “Well let’s see, I worked a bit more on this scarf before going to bed for a quick nap at three o’clock.” She rested a hand on the intricate work she had completed so far. “I must have slept through the whole ordeal. Or perhaps I killed my son with my trusty hook!” She laughed as she held up the blunt tool and twirled it a bit in the air.

“You don’t seem too upset by his death. Any reason for that?”

Miss Eula sighs, a faint smile still tracing the edges of her face. “Of course, I’m a bit upset, as any grieving mother would be. But you must understand, my son was rather... intolerable. I warned him many times that if he didn’t pull himself together, he would end up headlining the obituaries in the paper.” She shook her head in disapproval. “I warned him, I did...”

“Intolerable? Was he involved with a shady crowd? Maybe drugs?” Eckart’s eyes widened as he reached for his notepad once more. Perhaps this woman would have something after all.

“Goodness, none of that! He was just a scum bag! Loved to pick fights, cheat. I feel for poor Jacqueline, she deserved much better than my son.” Her blue eyes became glassy, and she pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I remember my father, such a kind gentleman. Used his good standing to give back to the community. I just can’t believe my son would be so different, so... despicable.”

“How would you describe your relationship with him, then?”

“Honestly, Mister Detective, I mostly have kept to myself these past few months.” Her hands rested gently on her lap. They twitched as she spoke. “As you can probably tell, I’m not long for this world. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with my son.” She stared deep into the Detective’s eyes. He could tell she regrets that choice.

Eckart sat back and nodded slowly, “Alright, thank you for your time, Miss Eula. I think I have all I need.” He began to move to leave when the old woman called out to him.

“Just one more thing, if you would Mister Detective.” She was standing now, her frail legs shaking slightly, her gentle hands clasped in front of her. “Just leave my grandson alone. Poor Flint had nothing to do with this, and the boy is shaken up by his father’s sudden death. He’s a good boy.”

Eckart led the woman back to her chair, “Of course. I’ll try not to bother him any more than we already have.” She let out a breath of relief before turning back towards her desk.

“You’re a good man, Detective. I do hope you can find out what monster did this. My son was not the greatest by any means, but he still deserves justice.”

“Of course. Thank you, Miss Eula.” With a curt nod, Eckart spun around and went to confront Jacqueline.

The tall glass door swung closed behind him as Eckart proceeded up the polished marble staircase once more. He walked past the taped-off master bedroom but stopped before reaching Jacqueline’s room. An old family portrait caught his eye, separating the two rooms. It depicted one Lewis Fulton, albeit slightly younger and certainly livelier than he was now. To his right was his wife, Jacqueline, and between them was a young boy—the spitting image of his father. The son, Flint. To the left of them was Eula, whose old age was not as apparent here as it was now. Finally, Eckart could make out the unmistakable figure of Alfons standing quietly behind the family. He hasn’t aged much. Still looks similar, even now. Eckart took a step back from the painting and resumed his journey to Jacqueline’s room. He still had work to do.

He made his way to the room Jacqueline had shut herself in when he had first arrived. Inside, he could hear the faint crackle of a vinyl spinning, a smooth brass quartet echoing out from under the door. He brought his fist up to the door and rapped on the wooden paneling lightly.

“Come in, Detective.”

The same thick voice that greeted him at the front door bled through the quiet jazz. It made him nervous. Slowly, he turned the knob and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit with a handful of musical instruments decorating the space. The piano and various guitars looked as though they hadn’t been touched in years. The source of the music was a large gramophone in the center of the room, and next to it, sprawled on a couch, was Jacquline Fulton. Her head was dipped back, and her eyes were closed, completely entranced by the music. Eckart found a seat next to her in a large brown leather chair. He cleared his throat.

“I take it you’ve already spoken with everyone else?” She did not raise her head to speak, nor did she open her eyes.

“No. I haven’t spoken with your son yet.” Eckart shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn’t get a good read on this woman, and that made him uneasy.

She crooked her head to the side, “Good. Better to just leave him alone.”

“Miss Jacqueline, I—”

“Just Jacqueline is fine, Detective.”

“Okay, Jacqueline,” He took a breath. “Miss Eula, your mother-in-law, told me that Lewis liked to pick fights and that he was a cheater. Now, I’m gonna assume that might have something to do with you.”

Jacqueline paused, before fully sitting up to face Eckart. Her eyes flicked open, “Yes. He was a cheating son of a bitch. He slept around and didn’t bother hiding it.” Her eyes were cold and uncaring. “You know, I caught him in our bed with another woman. He thought I was out of town. Who knows how many women he brought into our bed? I suppose it doesn’t matter much anymore.” She slouched back down. “All that, and I’m still sad he’s gone. Funny.”

Eckart said nothing. He pulled out his notepad and flipped to a new page. He began to write something down, which caused Jacqueline to laugh.

“You’re a curious thing, Detective. Tell me, do you feel anything? Any emotion?”

“I try not to.” Eckart didn’t look up from his notepad.

“Funny.”

“So, at the time of the murder, you were staying in a separate room? Which room were you in?”

“Downstairs. We have a spare bedroom next to the library.” Her head rolled back against the suede couch.

He attempted to hide his desperation. “And you didn’t hear anything? No commotion, yelling, breaking glass?”

“Nothing.”

Eckart let out a defeated sigh. Finally, he looked up from his notepad to this mysterious woman clad in a black slip-dress. She let her dark red hair hang lazily to one side as she hypnotically tapped her fingers to the tune of the song. He cleared his throat again.

“Jacqueline, did you dislike your husband?” Eckart had a feeling he knew the answer to that question.

She burst into laughter, “Of course I did, Detective. I hated him. How could I not? But I couldn’t leave. My boy was young, and I was a fool. My family wanted me to marry a wealthy man, but I did truly believe that I loved him—at least at one point in my life. Alfons was always sweet though; he was my rock for a while. He might have hated my husband more than I did. But I thought if I held on a while longer, maybe things would get better.” She sighed, “They never did. And now Lewis is dead.”

Eckart stood suddenly and hurriedly put away his notepad, “Thank you Jacqueline. This has been very helpful.”

“Sure, Detective.” She seemed unphased by his sudden movement, “Just let me know if you plan to arrest me.”

By the time she finished her sentence Detective Eckart was already out the door. He turned back to the room that housed the scene of the crime. He swung the door open and stood in the center of the room. A shattered window, a partial footprint, and a body with no blood. He still couldn’t make sense of it. It was infuriating—not a single detail of what he had heard from the officers had been any help, they simply stated the obvious: a crime like this was impossible, and yet here Eckart was staring at the evidence.

The sun was well below the horizon now, the waning moon shining through the broken window and onto the bed, where poor Lewis Fulton lay. Something was still missing, a thought Eckart desperately didn’t want to entertain. He was suddenly shocked out of his ruminations by a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Eckart called, bending back upright.

Alfons opened the door and stepped through, “Hello, Detective. I have just come to let you know that I will be turning in for the night. If you need me, I will be in the servant’s quarters out in the back.”

“Sure. I’ll come find you if I need you.” Eckart nodded, and Alfons ducked back through the door he came through.

Eckart sighed and turned back to face the room. Something like this isn’t possible, not without outside help, or some supernatural power. Eckart chuckled at the thought and shook his head. At this rate, it’ll take a miracle to solve this case. He walked to the back of the room and peered out the window. The yard looked much different at night, but in the distance, he could make out the servant’s quarters Alfons had been referring to. He waited a moment to see if Alfons had made it there already. In the meantime, he fished out a cigarette from the pocket of his trousers and perched it between his lips. He took a lighter from the same pocket, lit the butt-end, and took a deep breath in. He held it for a moment before exhaling a warm cloud of smoke, the heat tingling behind his eyes.

His attention was stolen by a strange black cloud of mist streaking across the length of the yard and to the other building. He blinked and it was gone.

What the hell was that? Eckart didn’t believe it for a moment, he thought that maybe he was just seeing things. He staggered back away from the window, a piece of glass crunching under his shoe, the cigarette still hanging loosely from his lips. He wheeled around and made a break for the door.

“Don’t let anyone leave! And watch the crime scene!” Eckart called out to the officer still stationed outside of the master bedroom. It looked as though he might have been dozing off.

He rushed down the grand staircase, not bothering to grab his coat or hat. He turned to his left, where he guessed Alfons might have left through—hell, he wasn’t even sure if what he saw was Alfons. He tried the door on the far-left side and threw it open. The familiar scent of damp earth rushed through him. The otherwise peaceful summer night was shattered by a blood-curdling scream from the servant’s quarters that was abruptly cut short. Eckart drew his revolver and began to run towards the small shack, flicking open the gun’s cylinder to check if it was loaded. Satisfied, he spun it back into place and carried it to his side. He cursed under his breath before he took the cigarette from his mouth and haphazardly threw it into the grass. Finally, he reached the shabby wooden door and pressed his ear up to listen. Nothing. He pulled back the hammer of his gun and hovered his finger over the trigger. In one swift movement, he pulled away from the door and kicked it down.

He quickly brought up the revolver and whirled around the room. The main room was pristine, adorned with a small rug and table. None of the lights were on—it seemed the darkness had followed Eckart here. The door across the room was creaked slightly ajar. He stepped lightly forward and used his free hand to slowly push it open, his other hand still trained straight ahead. The room was pitch black. Regardless, Eckart swallowed his growing fear and stepped through.

His foot connected with something heavy on the floor. He looked down to see a thin, pale young man, whose eyes were stretched wide in horror. His mouth was hanging slightly open. Even in the darkness, Eckart could make out the spitting image of Lewis Fulton. Flint, although much older now than what he saw depicted in the painting, had the same two puncture wounds as his father, deep in the side of his neck. He was dead.

Eckart directed his gaze back up and around the room. He whipped around frantically to find anyone else—to find Alfons.

“Alfons?! Are you here? It’s Detective Eckart, I’ve come to help!” He was met with heavy silence.

Eckart stepped over the body and deeper into the room. He heard a low hiss reverberate from the back right corner. He whipped around to the source of the sound.

In the darkness, he could make out a pair of eyes. He got the feeling he was trapped in the room with a great predator, and he was its next prey.

“Alfons...?” Eckart took another step closer.

The figure didn’t respond. Instead, it lunged forward with incredible speed and closed its hands around Eckart’s neck. The two crashed into the ground, with Eckart landing flat on his back, and the figure still pressed on top of him. To Eckart’s dismay, it was indeed Alfons—except his eyes were like the slits of a snake, and his teeth were much too long for that of a typical person. It suddenly seemed like Eckart’s worst thoughts were indeed going to be entertained.

Eckart choked underneath him, “Wha—what are you?!” He brought his hands down on Alfons’ arms, but they were solid like stone. Unnaturally strong.

Alfons smiled, “I am eternal.” He tightened his grip.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Eckart swung his revolver at Alfon’s face, striking against his jaw. The hit sizzled against Alfons’ porcelain skin, and he was launched off him. Alfons staggered up from the floor, rubbing the side of his face Eckart had struck. It looked more like a burn than a bruise. But that doesn’t make any sense, unless... Eckart found his footing and trained the revolver on Alfons.

“Don’t make me shoot!” Eckart steadied his aim on Alfons’ head.

“I doubt it would do much.” Alfons spat.

Eckart drew in a shaky breath, “One way to find out.” He squeezed the trigger, the bitter scent of gunpowder filling the air.

Alfons didn’t move an inch. The bullet was lodged perfectly between his eyes, but no blood trickled down his face. He just stood there and smiled. Eckart drew in a quick breath before cocking the gun’s hammer once more.

“You can’t kill me, Eckart.” Alfons took a step closer. Eckart could still see the mark from where the gun hit him.

“I can damn well try. You killed Lewis, didn’t you? And his boy?!”

Alfons flashed his vicious teeth, “They were stains on a great family name. I watched as their name was born and established, and I’d be damned if I had to watch it crumble,” He took another step. “I did what had to be done. Better to start fresh anyways—it can be done; I’ve seen it be done. After you’ve been around for as long as I have, anything can be done, Detective.”

Eckart furrowed his brow, “Really, I should take you in. But something tells me you’re not gonna let me.”

Alfons cackled, “No, I’m afraid not.” He had closed the distance between the two now, the gun mere inches from his chest. “Not before you kill me, or before I eat you alive. We’ll see which happens first.”

Eckart attempted to kick Alfons away, but he effortlessly dodged to the side. Alfons leapt for Eckart’s neck, closing his jaw around it. Eckart felt the two long teeth penetrate deep into his neck and couldn’t help but let out a pained cry. His mind began to race. Vampires aren’t real, they’re just tall tales spun by people with too much time on their hands. He felt his blood being sucked from him; it was a strange feeling, like his life was slowly being drained away. Eckart reared his gun once more and brought the muzzle of it down square on Alfons’ forehead, where the bullet was still lodged. Alfons reared backwards and screeched, clutching his now scorched head. Eckart gasped for air and clutched the side of his neck. He was bleeding heavily, and a good amount of his blood was still dripping from Alfons’ mouth. Eckart staggered forward, not bothering to aim his revolver this time.

“You can’t kill me!” Alfons growled, still dazed on the floor from the blow.

Eckart pinned Alfons’ arms against the floor with his knees, still clutching his fresh wound. “I told you already—I can damn well try.”

Alfons bared his teeth and let out a final hiss before Eckart brought down the muzzle of his gun repeatedly against Alfons’ head. He screamed in agony, each hit searing his ghastly skin, until Eckart brought down one more blow that ceased his frantic movements. A deep tar-like substance oozed from his wounds. By the end of it, Alfons’ head was completely caved in and charred to the bone. Fragments of skull were mixed into the dark ooze that seeped onto the hardwood floor. Eckart stumbled to his feet, his shoulders heaving as he sucked in all the air he could. He returned his beaten revolver to its holster. The blood from his neck had soaked a good part of his white button-up shirt, and Eckart could feel himself getting lightheaded. Vampire or not, he seems pretty dead to me. He moved for the door, swaying slightly as he walked. He pushed open the door to the entrance and stepped back outside. His feet dragged through the grass, sweat rolling down his forehead. It felt like an eternity to reach the door of the manor.

Detective Eckart stretched his hand out to reach the knob, but his knees buckled under his exhausting weight. He rolled to his back, letting his hands fall to his sides. He could see the sun break over the horizon, and hear the birds begin to chirp. He let out a shallow breath and stared up towards the sky. The dark night was over.

Eckart chuckled. “Lieutenant Kegan’s gonna get a kick out of this story.”