Delta Stevens 2: Storm Shelter

GINA—My best friend, my soulmate, my love. Of all the places I’ve ever been, you are where I want to be. Now and forever, I want to laugh the hours away and spend the rest of my life doing the HND with you! Thank you, Princess, for being who you are and loving me for who I am. We make a great team.

My Grandfather, JOHN HENRY JONES—Who told me I could be anything I wanted to be and made me believe it. If only Papa could see me now.

J.P. and GINNY—Whose Costa Rican dreams are just moments away.

When the four of us laugh together, nothing else really matters.

CHRISSY—For 16 years of the greatest friendship in the world.

Believing in each other is what we’re all about. You’re the best!

My cousins, KEV, KATE, KRIS, and OTIS—What an incredible gene pool we share. If I haven’t told you before, I love you.

BARB—For your wisdom, your guidance, and your understanding of what it takes to get through tough times.

TERESA—For accepting the two of us, and for caring enough to send for Mrs. Prindable!

My “boys”—YERGO, HARRY, ADAM, DEVIN, and COTE—You know the true meaning and value of loyalty and friendship. You guys are, quite simply, the best men in the world! I’ll never forget you.

My “girls”—AMANDA, SHIREEN, SARAH, ZOE, CLAUDIA, WICHTER, DANIELLE, CARLA, TOBIN, and ALLISON—don’t ever stop fighting for what you believe in. You are the future.

JACKIE and RUSH—For your encouragement and support. What great pals you are.

KATHI and GINGER—For running a class act and making us feel welcome. Thank you for your wonderful show of support.

DEANNA and BRENDA—For having a vision and including me in it.

This is quite a ride!

Linda Kay Silva, an ex-cop, lives and teaches in Oregon. She holds a Masters in English with an emphasis in 18th Century British Literature and a passion for anything Medievil. When she isn't inspiring students to contemplate the world in which they live, she's reading and writing and dreaming up more stories than she can write out long hand with her Pentel mechanical pencil (yes, she writes her first draft long hand, even as both a Mac and an IBM are at her disposal). On the rare sunny Oregon day, she can be found puttering in the greenhouse, making bird toys in her "fort" or sitting on her deck over-looking her pond.

Linda Kay has recently completed the sixth novel of the Delta Stevens Series, and is rewriting a new novel set in medieval England and modern day America. The novel deals with past life, as two women search to see if the connection they share isn't much deeper than what this life can meld together. Linda Kay invites your comments, questions and quips, about anything ranging from writing to the rain forest. She is an avid naturalist, a beginning gardener, a Harley enthusiast, a lover of all things Celtic, a fan of Elizabeth Peters and Diana Gabaldon, a teacher, a macaw owner, and the pet of Milo, her beagle. Linda Kay plans on writing until the day she can no longer hold a Pentel.

Locking the last cabinet, Ben Friedman filched a small bottle of Quaaludes as he slipped the keys into the pocket of his oversized lab jacket. He’d always considered it one of the few “perks” of being a pharmacist. After all, there was little excitement in mixing potions for runny-nosed children and grumpy adults. What harm was there in skimming a little for personal enjoyment? At least he wasn’t selling Valium on the side to neurotic housewives who had nothing better to do than feel sorry for themselves. He wasn’t about to play a part in that. The Quaaludes were for his own use.

Lifting his hand out of his pocket, Ben turned out the lights and started for the back door when he heard an odd thumping sound. Reaching again for the lightswitch, he jumped back as he saw a silhouette hovering ominously behind the unopened inventory sitting behind the counter. “Who’s there?” Ben asked, his voice quivering in the semidarkness of the lab. Its echo came back at him like a slap in the face. As the room burst into a wave of bright, fluorescent light, the silhouette transformed into a small, angular man wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black trousers, and a black seaman’s cap.

“Th-the money’s already in the vault,” Ben stuttered, backing away from the silent intruder. Something glistened in the man’s hand, and Ben could see the sharp edges biting the light.

Still, the dark ghost did not move.

“I’ll give you anything you want,” Ben begged, backing into one of the glass cabinets. In the harsh light of the room, which seemed to illuminate everything except the intruder, Ben saw two ice-blue eyes glaring at him. They reminded him of shark’s eyes—unmoving and murderous.

“Anything. Really,” Ben continued, unable to take his eyes off of those lifeless ones staring back at him.

Finally, the specter stepped forward, eyes riveted like two half-penny nails to Ben’s, as if attempting to hypnotize him. As the intruder’s right hand slowly raised the blade in the air, the demon spoke.

“Anything?”

Ben nodded quickly. The slow, even warmth of his fear spread down his legs, creating a wet spot against his brown pants. “Anything.”

The intruder raised the gleaming knife to shoulder height before coming to a halt. The cold, hard eyes were now framed by questioning eyebrows as he pointed the knife’s sharp tip directly at Ben.

“Even retribution?”

Arms and legs trembling, Ben attempted a verbal reply, but he could only nod up and down, up and down.

“Good. Then place your keys on the counter and you may leave.”

“M-my keys?”

“The keys to this cabinet.” The trespasser’s voice was cold and devoid of emotion.

Reaching into his pocket, Ben slowly withdrew the keys and quickly set them on the glass cabinet with a “tink.” The sharp, watchful eyes frightened him almost as much as the blade hanging in the air like a guillotine.

Without touching the keys, the specter looked at them, smiled, and then nodded, as if he was having a conversation with himself.

“Go.”

Ben lurched for the back door. Before his trembling fingers could reach the shiny knob, a flash of brilliance erupted from the hilt of the knife as it plunged deep between his shoulder blades and out his chest. Staring at the blade protruding from his chest, Ben tried to grab it, cutting his hand as he vainly tried to pull it out. He felt no pain now, only a slow numbing sensation he often felt when doing drugs. As he gasped and gurgled, Ben slid down, leaving a bloody trail oozing down the white door. Rolling over on his side, Ben tried to focus on the hazy face of death leering over him. Had he ever seen this man before? Ben wondered, his head now swimming like that time in high school when he first got drunk. With his life slowly trickling out of him, staining the white lab coat bright red, Ben Friedman uttered the last word he would ever speak.

“Why?”

As Ben’s head hit the floor, the killer swiped the keys off the counter without making a sound.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” he replied, staring down at the dead man. “Retribution, my friend. Good old everyday, garden-variety revenge.”

Sighing loudly, Delta squinted into the night staring blankly back at her.

“What’s with the heavy sighs? That’s the fifth one in as many minutes,” Jan said, as she slowed the patrol car through an intersection.

Delta turned to her partner and smiled. Although she and Jan had only been partners a little over six months, Jan already read her well.

“Is it Megan again?”

Delta looked down at her hands folded in her lap. While she and Jan had very distinct styles and backgrounds, they jelled immediately. The way Jan handled herself when they first met made Delta warm up to her quickly. Delta remembered it as if it happened yesterday.

“I’m sure you did your homework on me,” Jan had said the first night she hopped into the patrol car. Jan had to hop because she was so short, and this made Delta grin.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’ve done the same,” Jan said, adjusting her seat belt. “I don’t usually beat around the bush, so excuse me if I seem a little blunt.”

Delta bristled, and waited for the “I know you’re a dyke and if you touch me, I’ll kill you” routine. There seemed to be two genres of female cops: the very gay, and the very straight— few were in between. Many straight female cops wouldn’t have a thing to do with their lesbian colleagues, and vice versa. Delta hoped that this woman wasn’t one of those who looked upon her lesbian counterpart with disdain.

Delta’s left eyebrow rose as she waited for her new partner to cast aspersions. “And?”

“And it’s no secret that the guys think you’re a lesbian.” It wasn’t an accusation as much as a simple statement. “It makes no difference to me who you sleep with or what you do on your own time. My main concern is that you and I get home to our families, whoever they may be, at the end of every shift.”

“Then it won’t bother you to be in a car with a lesbian for ten hours a night?”

Jan laughed. “Only if you don’t use deodorant.”

And that was the end of that.

Now staring at Jan’s profile, Delta felt pleased. True to her word, Jan neither judged nor condemned Delta’s lifestyle nor choice of lovers.

“Yeah, it’s Megan,” Delta said, settling back into the seat, and gazing out the window into the dark of the night. People of the night reminded her of vampires and other night-crawlers who carefully pick their way through the endless alleyways and deserted parking lots. To Delta, the earth held two coexisting realities: one of the day, where business and industry boomed and people functioned like parts of an enormous clock, and one of the night, where shadows cast irregular dimensions on homeless souls who roamed aimlessly through the darkness. For the night creatures, time was of little import and the major industry was one of either staying alive or finding personal enjoyment.