Deadly Night (38 page)

The embers from their earlier passion were still warm upon returning to their secluded chalet nestled on a heavily wooded hillside above the town. David thought it especially nice not having to worry about what the kids and neighbors might hear or even see, and Miriam soon let her desires run wild with his. They retired to the master suite just before midnight, holding each other close. The only interruption in their intimacy was when she set the bedside alarm for 7 a.m., as they planned to find a nice place for breakfast in Gatlinburg before flying home.

***

Ping!

David awoke, for a moment disoriented.

Pi-i-i-n-n-ng!

There it was again. The sound came from the kitchen, down the hall from the bedroom and across from the living room.

Ping!...
Pi-i-i-n-n-ng!

Two distinct rings...like someone’s fingernails being flicked against a drinking glass in the kitchen.
An intruder?
He checked on Miriam, who slept soundly next to him.

Ping!
...
Pi-i-i-n-n-ng!
...
PI-I-I-N-N-NG!!

The rings ominously spaced apart, the loudness of the last one quickened his pulse. He slipped out of bed, quietly putting on his jeans and grabbing one of his hiking boots to serve as a weapon. He then ventured out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the kitchen. Miriam had left a small nightlight on in the living room.

Ping!

Softer this time… whoever made the sound had to hear him coming. The small hairs along the back of his neck sprang to life. Danger near, he checked inside the game room and bathroom, fearing a second intruder. Both were empty.

Once he reached the living room, he tiptoed to the front door and then over to the sliding porch door. The extra bar restraints were still in place and the locks set. As far as he could tell, nothing had been tampered with. That left only the back door in the kitchen.

Pi-i-ng—!

The last ring was abruptly muted once he stepped through the dining room and peered into the kitchen. He flicked on the overhead light and stepped under its bright glare. There was nobody there.

“
What in the hell?” he whispered, his tone bewildered.

He moved toward the far end where the chalet’s washer and dryer were hooked up, next to the back door. Still no sign of anyone and the door was locked tight. Mystified, he turned around to leave the kitchen and investigate elsewhere. That’s when he noticed the two wineglasses from the previous afternoon sitting on the counter next to the sink. He’d assumed Miriam already washed them and placed both inside the cupboard with the fancier glassware.

He picked up one of the glasses. Maybe it wasn’t the very same one since six more like it sat in the cupboard next to the stove. He flicked his finger against the glass, and a ring similar to the one he heard filled the air around him. He set the glass next to its mate and walked out of the kitchen, turning off the overhead light on his way out. Perplexed, he returned to the living room.

He’d just reached the hallway, when one of the two wineglasses slid noisily across the Formica countertop in the kitchen. A loud crash resounded as the glass exploded on the kitchen floor. This time Miriam awoke.

“
David? Are you all right?”

He didn’t immediately answer, creeping back toward the kitchen with his boot raised in readiness to defend himself. Had the intruder been hiding beneath the dining room table? He glanced under the table. Only a small child could successfully hide here, as chairs pushed in tight made it impossible for an adult to slide in and out unnoticed.

“
David?”

Miriam ran down the hall.

“
I’m all right!” he called to her. “Stay back there!”

Knowing she’d ignore his warning he moved quickly to secure the area, hoping to get the upper hand on whoever was in the chalet with them. The intruder had to be in the kitchen, and he wielded the boot near his head in readiness. He turned on the kitchen’s overhead light again just as Miriam reached his side. The only thing different from his last visit was the shattered wineglass on the floor.

“
What in the hell happened here?” she asked.

“
I don’t know.”

He stared in disbelief at the floor. Definitely the same glass he handled earlier, he first thought that he’d set it down precariously close to the edge of the counter and it slipped off. That would make logical sense, and a hell of a lot easier to go back to sleep after he cleaned up the mess. But the stem and larger pieces of the glass lay closer to the doorway where he and Miriam stood, nearly four feet from its mate on the counter.

“
I thought I put those away,” she said, bending down to pick up the stem.

Her hair disheveled, and nightgown loosened to reveal her shapely form and lovely nakedness underneath made him worry more about some depraved sexual predator cleverly hiding. Despite the likelihood of an attack while they slept, it didn’t mean one wasn’t forthcoming. Someone had to be here in the chalet.

He stepped carefully around the glass fragments and moved over to the washer and dryer, checking the back door again and this time he opened the pantry. Looking inside the dryer and washer drew a curious look from her.

“
What are you looking for, hon’?”

“
Just checking for something,” he said, and then opened the larger cabinets beneath both counter tops in the narrow kitchen.

“
So, I take it you weren’t in here when this happened?”

She looked more uneasy, and he now realized she’d thought he made this mess, that his nighttime clumsiness sent the glass tumbling to the floor.

“
Actually, the glass is my fault,” he told her, determined to ease her concern before it grew worse. If that happened, there’d be no more sleep for her tonight.

He glanced at the clock on the stove. 12:46 a.m. She’d be all right if he got her back into bed with at least some piece of mind.

“
I’m just trying to find something to help me clean up this mess.”

The last cabinet revealed two rows of pots and pans.

“
The broom and dust pan are behind you,” she said. “So, what’s really going on here?”

“
I just told you.” He forced a lighthearted smile while moving back to the broom and dustpan, next to the trash container. “I got up to get a drink, and I guess I set the glass too close to the edge before it fell onto the floor.”

The look on her faced told him she didn’t believe this, at least not entirely.

“
And you needed
two
glasses for that?” She placed her hands on her hips.

Why does a woman notice everything?

“
You must’ve forgotten to put them back up in the cupboard.” To him this sounded plausible. “Since they looked clean, I decided to go ahead and use one.”

From her expression this time, it appeared she believed him. To further sell it, he got busy cleaning up the mess on the floor. By the time he finished, she’d already placed the other glass back inside the cupboard and left the kitchen.

“
We’re going to have to pay for the glass, you know,” she said. From the sound of her voice she was on her way back to the bedroom.

“
Yeah, I know,” he called after her.

The floor clear of glass chips, he surveyed the kitchen one last time. Definitely empty. He turned off the overhead light and stared into the darkness, waiting for whatever had caused the disturbance to creep out from its hiding place. Maybe it’s just a chipmunk rummaging for breadcrumbs.

He backtracked through the chalet, making sure all rooms were empty and every entrance secure. When satisfied, he crawled back in bed with his wife. Miriam snored lightly, and he took that as a good sign. He stared into the bedroom’s darkness for nearly half an hour, every shadow suddenly a suspect, until his eyelids finally grew heavy enough to drift off to sleep again.

All remained quiet, with only the steady breathing and occasional snores of David and Miriam Hobbs as they slept. Neither one heard the glider rocker in one corner of the bedroom as it moved back and forth silent in the darkness. Nor were they aware of the shadowy figure sitting in the chair, keeping watch until the dawn’s light peered in through the bedroom windows that Sunday morning.

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THE FORGOTTEN EDEN

by

Aiden James

(read on for an excerpt)

The Murder of Dr. Mensch

“
So...you’re sure that’s all, then?

The agent poured himself another round of coffee, carefully stirring in a measure of cream as if this simple act required complete concentration. Jack Kenney studied him from where he sat, absently drumming his fingers on top of a steel table in the middle of the interrogation room. Well-defined muscles tensed beneath the tight confines of his faded black T-shirt, he seemed poised and ready to launch himself out of his chair like a hungry lion. Even his strong brow and chiseled facial features made him look predatory, with hazel eyes aglow from acute agitation.

Yet, the exhaustion and weariness brought on by the endless stream of questions that began last night made him yearn painfully for sweet silence and the unlikely chance he might recoup some of the sleep he’d lost since his abduction from Tuscaloosa, Alabama.

“
Like I’ve been telling ya’ll,” said Jack, tersely. “There’s nothing more to add to my statement.”

Agent Frank Reynolds grimaced in irritation. Jack figured the man didn’t take kindly to a smart mouth, definitely not one belonging to a twenty-year old college kid. The agent’s earlier speech about being in this line of work for nearly thirty years repeated tiredly in Jack’s head, along with the threat of what would become of him if he didn’t start cooperating soon. He could also tell the man’s patience and self-described ‘even-tempered nature’ had worn dangerously thin.

“
I guess we’re all just supposed to believe that Dr. Mensch’s beating and subsequent death in the hospital were mere coincidences which, unfortunately, you’ve been linked to,” said Reynolds. “Is that what you expect us to believe, Mr. Kenney?”

He moved deliberately toward Jack, the cup of coffee in one hand while he motioned to his two companions, Agents Ben Casey and Steve Iverson with the other.

“
You must think the three of us have shit for brains, son, and your arrogant attitude is really starting to piss me off!”

He stepped up to the table and leaned down into Jack’s face, who remained unfazed by the advancing giant of a man glaring at him. Instead, amused and fascinated by the elder agent’s behavior, Reynolds’ thick southern accent intrigued him, degenerating now into a slur. Even more, his flushed face burned with anger, in such contrast to his pale gray eyes and wavy white hair.
Like a clean-cut Santa hittin’ the sauce.
The man’s large stature of nearly six and a half feet would’ve intimidated most anyone. But Jack remained unaffected by the man’s invasion into his personal space.

He grinned wryly, studying the agent’s face to determine the true depth of malice. He then let his eyes wander to the I.D. badge dangling from the right lapel of his dark blue suit coat. A stoic picture from a few years earlier, the identifier ‘AS419’ etched in gold glistened brightly under the glare from the long fluorescent light above the table.

“
What the hell do you find so amusing?” Reynolds hissed.

“
Forgive me…
sir,”
Jack replied, unapologetic. “I’m just tired...tired enough to find everything a little amusing at this point.”

“
Maybe I can convince you to take Frank’s words a bit more serious.”

Steve Iverson spoke. Svelte in build, and not near as tall as Reynolds, he grasped Jack’s shoulder and squeezed the tender area just below the collarbone, steadily increasing the pressure until the bone throbbed.

Jack’s reflexes forced him to look down onto the steel table, where the distorted reflection of his painful grimace greeted him. The tangled mess of his thick auburn hair further obscured his rugged handsomeness, except for his hazel eyes. Narrow slits of anger growing brighter by the second.

Iverson increased the pressure on Jack’s collarbone, forcing him to clinch his teeth to keep from screaming. The torture continued until Jack fell out of his chair. It landed loudly on its side, and he squirmed on the cement floor with Iverson’s hand still attached to his shoulder’s sensitive pressure point.

“
Had enough, asshole?”

The agent brought his face down low enough to peer into his victim’s eyes, snickering in contempt. A nervous tic quivered excitedly along his lower lip, and he seemed to draw immense pleasure from Jack’s expression, whose immediate fantasy was to turn over and shove his knee hard into Iverson’s groin. But he couldn’t free himself.

“
You know, right now may be as good a time as any to rearrange this pretty boy’s face. How about it, Frank?”

The agent suddenly jerked Jack’s head back by the hair. Peering into his face, Iverson’s smirk remained, though slightly broadened by his apparent amusement. But the coldness of his steel-blue eyes glowed even more malleable, revealing the cold-hearted killer within. Jack could tell the man might ‘eliminate’ someone with no more remorse than he’d have for smashing a stink beetle.