A Psychological Thriller

Prologue – A Penny for your Thoughts

Final ramblings of retired Philadelphia Police Detective Frank Bruno – Christmas Eve, 2016.

“It still stands, you know? FalconClaw. Some still call it Heavenly Gates or the Haunted Mansion. I guess it just depends on who you’re talking to. For me, well, I just call it Hell. It just stands there on the side of that hill overlooking Bedford Street, like it always has. Almost seems like it’s looking down over all of us in judgment. Judging everything around it for getting younger, newer, more modern. It just stands there in judgment, as if bitter. Bitter that time forgot about it. Forgot about the memories there. I suppose some good, some bad.”

“For me, however, the memories are all bad. The evil that lives there, well, it’s just evil, that’s all. That place is responsible for taking at least three lives: Samuel Crenshaw back in 1920, Victor Rogers in ‘69, and my friend, Penny Bryce, in 1974. If you ask me, that woman was a saint.”

“I remember those three souls like it was yesterday. The others, however, at least seven that I’m aware of, probably more, I’ve forgotten their names. Heck, I forget lots of things these days. But I won’t ever forget the evil that once lived at FalconClaw, though; it’s probably still there. That evil set out on a path of darkness, and it didn’t stop until it took my friend.”

“You know, it’s said that every cop who stays on the force long enough will go to their grave with an unsolved case that haunts them until the end. Well, here I am, in Nazareth Catholic Hospital, lying in my death bed thinking about them. I should be thinking of my Jeanie, my children, grandchildren, and the wonderful memories of my life, all of it. But instead, I lay here thinking about him and her: the devil and the saint. And those damn numbers, 8-8-8, they’re all I think about, all I dream about. I can’t get them out of my head.“

“FalconClaw’s been around since before the Civil War. Over the years, it’s served as a private home, a retirement community, twice, hospice care for the old and dying, a military academy, and a psychiatric hospital. During our investigation, Penny, and me, even discovered that the CIA used FalconClaw for mind-control experimentation back in the 50s. The last time I was there, though, it was a retirement home called Heavenly Gates. Nothing heavenly about that place. I never admitted it to anyone, but that place always gave me the willies, you know, the creeps. Didn’t like going there, didn’t like it at all. They changed the name back to FalconClaw in the late 70s after it re-opened. That name made it even creepier, scarier. I never understood it, though. A falcon is a ravenous bird, and birds don’t have claws; they have talons. Guess it doesn’t matter much; claws and talons, they both leave scars.”

“It finally closed down for good in ‘98. The city tried to save it a couple of times, but it was just too old, too evil. No matter what they call it, it’ll never erase the memory of what happened there.”

“The locals pass by it every day; they don’t even give it a thought, I guess. It’s just a big old eyesore, a black splotch on the map of Old Germantown; people try hard to ignore it. They just pretend it isn’t there. For me, though, I can’t seem to look away. I try, though. I just can’t get it out of my mind. It’s been forty-two years since that night. I used to drive by it twice a day, to and from work. Sometimes I’d go the long way around just so I wouldn’t have to see it, so I wouldn’t have to remember. I just want to burn it all down; the place, and the memories.”

“I think back to that night in ‘74 and the mystery that unfolded on Christmas Eve. To this day, it’s never been solved. My friend and fellow Philadelphia Police Detective, Penelope Bryce, went missing that night, and with her went missing the devil himself: Garrison Winter, Garrison O’ Donnell, Gordan Daniels, Gerald O‘ Day, whatever his real name was. That son of a bitch took my friend!”

“The Fall and Winter of 1974 were the best of times and the worst of times. Penny finally got promoted to Detective after her four-year legal battle with the city, and then Satan had to walk into both of our lives and bring it all down.”

“I’m not as upset with the cancer as I am with the knowledge that I’ll die, never knowing what happened to Penny. Her poor kids, her husband Joe, they deserved to have that woman in their lives far longer than they did. Trust me, I know what they had to live through. A loss like that changes you.”

“As for me, I always thought a bullet would take me down; in this case, the silent enemy got me, prostate cancer. I don’t think it’s the old age or the cancer that’ll finally take me, though. I think Old Man Winter will come calling again. Just who was the mystery man that appeared in all of our lives back in ’74 and then, just as quickly, disappeared again, taking Penny with him?”

“It’s the damndest thing, not knowing, worse than death itself. I lay here in my hospital bed, actually welcoming death. If there’s a Heaven, I’ve probably done just enough to get in. If I do, maybe somebody up there will be nice enough to tell me what actually happened back then. What really happened to my friend, Penelope Bryce?”

About the Author

Michael Cook is a published poet, author, accomplished business professional, and entrepreneur. Michael is also the owner of the #7 Escape Room experience in the World, Odyssey Escape Game, located in Atlanta, GA and Chicago, IL.

Originally from Ohio, by way of New York City, Michael is a resident of Suwanee, GA. Michael Cook is a father to four children, a husband, a brother, and a friend.

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