Chapter 6

With a loud shout, his eyes opened again and he sat up on the floor. His breathing labored and frantic, he looked all around the room where he was sitting. He was no longer in the hallway, but he found himself sitting up inside an old corner drug store. It was a dream!

A man with glasses and wavy light brown hair stood over him with a needle, and Stiles stood on the opposite side trying to restrain him.

"It's alright, it's alright, just take it easy, Mister," Stiles spoke as calmly as he could, but there was definitely a nervous tone in his voice. "I showed Mr. Longworth here that bottle you was holdin' and he gave ya somethin' that oughta help you out. Do you remember what happened to ya?"

"Stiles! I remember! I know who I am now. My name is Jerry Trask. I'm a private eye and I was working a case. I was following someone. I've gotta get outta here and back to Collinsport immediately!" Trask demanded. "I need you to take me there now!"

"Just hold on a moment, you need to lie still, Mr. Trask," the man with wavy hair spoke. "My name is Chris Longworth, and I'm the druggist here. You were given a near lethal dose of benzodiazepine and you had amnesia along with the effects of the overdose. Thank goodness your friend Mr. Stiles grabbed the bottle when he came to the door. I gave you a shot of Anexate, an antidote for benzodiazepine overdose. You're still going to be a little groggy for a while, probably. What I gave you should help but you really need to be checked by a doctor, Detective."

Shaking his head and rising slowly to his feet, Trask shook his head. "I appreciate your help, Mr. Longworth, but I have to get back to Collinsport quickly. Someone is already..." he paused, and thought better of telling them about the body of the woman he believed to be Betty Hanscombe. "Someone is in great danger if I don't head back. That's all I can tell you."

Chris Longworth sighed in frustration. "Well, I wish I could change your mind. Did you see who attacked you?"

Trask shook his head. "I don't know." He reached inside his coat to see if the diary was still inside. His fingers slid across the top of it, and he looked out the window behind him as the dawn of the morning sun began rising behind him. "I believe I have a good idea of who it was."

Pulling $100 from his wallet, he handed it to Mr. Longworth. "Here, Chris. If you need more, just send me the bill. Are you coming, Stiles?"

Stiles looked at the druggist and then back towards Trask. "Let's go, Detective."

The two men hurried to the cab and sped away toward Collinsport. While riding back into town, Trask opened the diary of Betty Hanscombe and looked at the last pages of her journal. His eyes were fixed on the passage he read earlier:

...during our struggle, a notepad fell out of his pocket and he left before he knew it was gone. Everything I need is on it...

Trask thought to himself. A notepad? Where could this have been? I didn't see it on her. I need to go back and search before too many people start stirring around.

As the cab passed the city limits and into town, Trask suddenly broke the silence. "Stop here!"

With a screeching halt, Stiles slammed the brakes in the middle of the street. "What?! What is it?!" Stiles exclaimed.

"Let me out here. This is where I need to be." Trask answered. Reaching into his wallet, he grabbed the rest of the money in his wallet and handed it to Stiles. "I have no way to thank you enough, my friend. You saved my life tonight in more ways than you can know."

"Wait, you...? This is all your money! I can't take it, Detective." Stiles objected.

Trask returned a slight smile. "Well, you told me yourself that your sleep time ain't cheap, right? Enjoy the day off, my friend. Maybe when this is all over, we'll laugh about this over a drink at the Blue Whale, huh?"

Trask extended his hand, and Stiles followed suit with a firm handshake. "You've got a deal, Detective. If you need a cabbie on your next case, look me up, huh?"

Trask nodded. "You got it."

With that, the cab backfired and drove out of sight from where Trask stood. He ran down the alley where the sedan was parked outside the Blue Whale. When he came to the corner sidewalk, he noticed something on the ground that he couldn't have seen at night—two sets of skid marks. They led from the street corner all the way on the sidewalk, and were about twenty feet in length.

Judging by the direction of the markings, Trask deduced that one car was heading up the street, and another cut hit the sedan off, running the driver on to the sidewalk. There were trace pieces of metal lying on the ground from the impact of the hit. Trask ran to the sedan, which was still parked in place where he left it.

When he made his way to the front of the vehicle, he saw that there was a large scrape of paint missing from the front driver's side and a large dent. A swipe of white paint was smeared on the driver's side corner of the front bumper as well. The door was still unlocked, and Trask quickly hopped inside. The purse was lying in the floor of the passenger side where he had left it, and he looked around to see if anyone was around in the alley. With a quick look inside the bag, he saw a notepad inside. However, the pages inside were empty. Turning the pages furiously for some hint, he came up with nothing.

Trask angrily pounded his fist into the dash several times and slung the notepad into the floor. His mind raced with what his next move should be. He leaned back into the seat and took a deep breath, exhaled, and closed his eyes. The words of Father O'Brien rang through his mind: What would Dick Tracy do?

He looked down at the notebook again and flipped to the beginning. On the front page, there were indents from someone writing on pages that were torn out. Although he couldn't make them out, he had an idea. He searched through the purse and found what he needed—a pencil.

Turning the pencil tip at a slant, Trask scribbled sideways furiously all over the page. Laughing out loud as the outlines of the indents began forming words, everything that was written on the missing page in Paul Stoddard's notebook was now visible. Now, the entire plot was right in front of him. His hands shook as he read through Paul Stoddard's note.

(DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Dark Shadows. This story is a creation of my own within the universe of Dark Shadows with the sole intention of entertaining the reader. I do not profit or receive any royalties from the owners of the property, Dan Curtis Productions)