Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) (25 page)

He had no worries about his heart, though. Mark kept himself in excellent shape. He had finished his 14
th
marathon just four months ago and had already scheduled his 15
th
, 16
th
, and 17
th
for the coming year. What he was worried about was what he would do if trouble was waiting for him at Rita Bryant's home.
 

It wasn't until he heard the sound that Mark stopped questioning his decision to investigate Rita's house alone. It was deep and sharp, distinctive from the other sounds filling the space around him. Being a one-time avid deer hunter, he recognized the sound and immediately identified it.

"Shotgun," he said.

Mark pulled out his cell phone as he increased his pace. He dialed the trooper barracks, but he received no report that the call had been connected. A quick check of his cell signal told him that he had no coverage.

"Damn this storm," he said aloud, then quickly moved off the path in case the shotgun shooter was close enough to have heard him. He waited for two or three minutes before he drew his service pistol from its holster, crept back onto the path, and continued moving forward.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

She emerged from the darkness with a swiftness that Maggie couldn't comprehend. Maggie saw the figure approaching her but didn't recognize the person or the fact that she held a shotgun in her arms until the still hot barrel was pressed hard against her cheek.

"Get in, shut the door, and if you make one sound, I'll make you watch me kill your half-blood son. Now," Rita said, her voice turning disturbingly calm, "inside like a good and respectful daughter-in-law."

Maggie walked through the dark kitchen and into the living room where her eyes quickly scanned the scene. The single candle that was flickering against the wall to her right danced across the faces, symbols, and statues that filled the room.
 
She saw Robby, sitting on the floor, legs crossed and his innocent face ,revealing hidden terror, lifted towards her. She wanted to grab him, scoop him into her arms, and protect him from not only Rita Bryant, but also from the images filling the room.

"I'm so glad you've joined us, dear. Your husband was just about to tell us all about something he saw his dear departed father doing one dark and stormy night."

Jack's shoulder didn't hurt as much as he thought it should. The intense burning caused by the lead slug had faded, leaving behind a peculiar numbness. He reached his hand up to his wound and was shocked when his hand was not covered with blood as he held it up in front of his eyes.

"Come now, Jack. Please tell us all about what you saw that night in the basement. Tell us what you saw your father doing." Rita took a strong step closer to Jack, deeper into her living room. "And if your foul mouth spills out more evil, I won't hesitate to repeat my last punishment."

Jack caught Maggie's eyes. Though he couldn't see their brilliant green, he knew she was looking at him. It was time, Jack knew, to come clean with his wife. To tell her everything. As he prepared to talk, he began to realize that this might be his only chance to let his wife know how he truly felt about her, about Robby, and about his life. Jack watched Maggie as she slowly kneeled on the floor, embraced their son, and whispered something into his ear. She didn't ask Jack if he was okay, despite the obvious wound to his shoulder. As Jack took a deep breath and began to speak, he felt that Maggie's apparent lack of concern for him hurt more than the slug sent into his shoulder from his own mother.

"My father," he began after pulling himself to a more comfortable, yet still seated position, "had a hobby of doing paranormal investigations. It was his passion. Probably kept him sane. It, of course drove you crazy, mother," Jack said, gesturing towards Rita with his head. Rita responded to the implied insult by lifting her chin, softly shaking her head, and by raising the shotgun's business end in line with Jack's chest. "He started with the whole ghost thing when I was around 12 or 13. He used to tell me about his 'ghost hunts,' and he'd always say how he was able to prove that whatever it was that he was searching for, never turned out to be a ghost.

"One day, he came home from work all excited. I heard him talking to you, Mom, about some ritual that was being held in some secret location. I have no idea how he found out about the ritual or where it was going to be held, but he was planning on going. I remember him coming down the stairs a little while later dressed all in black. He didn't tell me much about the ritual, but he did say that he wasn't on the guest list, or something like that.

"I figured he was planning on spying on whoever was part of the ritual, which made me scared for him. Can't say for sure, but I sort of remember seeing something on the news about a satanic cult that was planning to hold a black mass in the town park. I think the local officials got the whole thing blocked, but based on what I heard my dad saying, they found another place to hold their mass.

"I don't remember what time it was that I heard him come home, but I do remember being so excited to hear about what he saw that I walked downstairs to see him. When my dad wasn't there, I figured he must have walked down to the basement. My dad used to keep a lot of pictures and notes about all his adventures in a file cabinet in the basement since dear old Mom didn't want it upstairs."

"Evil was never welcome in my house," Rita said. "Still isn't," she added, throwing her gaze towards Matthew, Robby, and Maggie.

Jack wanted to get closer to his mother to either try to disarm her or to at least be in between her and Maggie, Robby, and Matthew in case she fired off another slug. Trying to move, however, only caused the numbness in his shoulder to be driven out by pain. He fell back against the life-sized crucifix, again, banging his head on the metal feet of Jesus.

"Don't stop now, Jack," Rita said. "The best part is yet to come."

Righting himself again, Jack continued. "My dad didn't want me to go downstairs. Said there were too many sharp tools that could hurt me. But I really wanted to see him and wanted to make sure he was okay. I was just going to go down part way and tell him that I was still awake. I was hoping that he'd just smile at me and tell me that he'd be up in a jiffy."

"But he didn't say that, did he, Jack?" Rita said, moving closer to her three huddled captives. "He didn't say that at all, did he, Jack?"

Jack felt his heart racing, and he began to breathe in heaves. "No, mother," he said, his voice quickly filling with emotions, "he didn't say anything."

"Now listen closely," Rita said to Maggie. "Listen to what your husband saw that night so long ago."

"I don't know what I saw," Jack demanded.

"Yes, you do, Jack," Rita said calmly. "You've always known what you saw, and you've always known why we had to do what we did once the good Lord gave us the courage."

"I didn't kill my father," Jack said, the tears streaming down his face catching the yellow flickering light of the candle. "You killed him."

"Yes, yes, Jack," Rita said. "The Lord called for my hands, but you helped me drag his body out into the snow, and that is what killed him. The cold killed your father, Jack. So it seems that it was you and I who killed him, doesn't it?"

"What do you want me to say?" Jack screamed.
 

"Finish telling us all what you saw that night. Tell us that your father wasn't alone in the basement. Tell him who was with him, Jack."

"He didn't do anything wrong," Jack snapped. "He was trying to save him."

"Save who, Jack?" Rita said, her voice falsely curious. "Who was down there in the basement with your father?"

"I don't know," Jack said.

"Yes, you do, Jack. Who was with your father that awful, evil night?"

Jack looked at Maggie. "It was a baby," he said, his voice broken by emotion. "He was holding a dead baby in his arms. My father was just standing at the bottom of the stairs facing the wall with a dead baby in his arms."

"That dead baby's name was Oliver Jones," Rita said. "Poor Oliver Jones, had he lived, would have been our little friend Matthew's uncle. Had he lived, of course." Rita moved towards a chair that sat next to the wall, sat down, and fixed the shotgun's aim directly at Matthew. "Poor Oliver was born to wicked, wicked parents, wasn't he, Jack? Born of sin and killed by sin."

"My dad didn't kill him," Jack said to Maggie. "He tried to save him."

"Now, now, Jack, no one believes that part of the story, and I didn't ask for you to share your opinions, did I? I only asked for you to tell us all what you saw that night in our basement."

"My father tried to stop the ritual," Jack protested.

"We've heard enough from you, Jack."

"He tried to stop them once he saw what they were going to do with the baby."

"Enough, Jack."

"He tried to save him, but it was too late."

"Shut your filthy mouth," Rita screamed. She stood up quickly and raised the shotgun to her shoulder.

"I know who was there," Jack said softly. "I know who was at the ritual and who my dad tried to stop from killing the baby." Jack grinned at his mother.

"Enough, Jack!"

#####

Derek could see only movement through the curtained window. The wind was still blowing, making his attempts to listen to whatever sounds might have been coming from inside the home futile. But he knew the house was not empty.
 

"Three sets of tracks," he whispered to John.
 

"Maggie, Robby, and..."

"Must be Jack. Whose house is this?" Jack asked, hoping John would know.

John only shrugged his shoulders.

It probably was a combination of the pain in his shoulder and the howling winds that prevented Derek from hearing him approaching from behind. But when he felt the pistol pressing into the back of his neck, he knew that whatever his and John's plans were to make entry to the house were about to be put on indefinite hold.

"Quietly back away from the house," the pistol holder spoke in even and low tones. "I have no intention of using his gun, but will if I have to."

John recognized Mark Irish and was shocked to see him holding a gun up against Derek's neck.

"How dare you," John said. "Do you know who you are holding that gun up against?"

"I sure do, Father. The private investigator who likes to pretend he's a priest. Now, please, both of you, move away from the door. We need to talk."

"Not sure if you heard the gunshot, Trooper, but walking away doesn't sound like a good idea to me," Derek said.

"Neither is barging into the house. Who knows what she will do if we storm the place."

"She?" Derek asked.

"Rita Bryant. Jack's mother. Now," Mark said more sternly, "back away from the door. We need to figure this out."

Derek and John looked at each other, a moment of sudden realization streaking across both their faces.
 

"It all makes sense now," John said.

Both Derek and John lowered their profiles and quickly moved away from the door. Keeping a close eye on the door and on the darkness beyond it, they moved back towards the Marginal Way until they were shielded from view by a tight nesting of trees and shrubs. It was only when Derek was certain that they could not be seen from anyone looking out of from the house that he realized that the spot they were standing was the exact spot Ron White had his telescope pointed to.

"Private Investigator Derek Cole, I presume?" Mark said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the blowing winds.

"Yeah," Derek said, his attention split between Mark and the door to Rita Bryant's house. "The whole priest thing just kind of fell into place."

"It was all my idea, Trooper," John said. "I needed Derek's help once Ron was murdered, and the only way I could think of getting him inside Ron's room was to suggest that Derek was my associate. Not skirting ownership of the fib, but I never told anyone he was a priest, just that he was my associate."

"Doesn't matter now," Mark said. "We have a situation here, and with this storm, it's up to us to make sure no one get hurt."

"That gunshot suggests that we may be too late to prevent that," Derek said.

"Based on who is in that house with Rita, I tend to believe that the shot was a warning shot."

"I know we are pressed for time," John said, "but could you give us the Reader's Digest version of this situation?"

Mark spent two minutes explaining the case to Derek and John. He told them how Rita Bryant was the main suspect in several murders, including her husband's and Ron White's. He also explained that Vanessa Jones was Jack's sister, making Matthew Jones his nephew.

"We don't know how or if Jack Bryant is involved in the crimes, but I do believe that Margaret is just trying to get her son to safety."

"She prefers to be called Maggie," Derek said, offering the only defense for Maggie that he could. "And we need to get her and Robby out of that house."

"Fair enough," Mark said. "Maggie is, by all accounts, completely innocent of anything. Based on what we believe, Rita Bryant assaulted Vanessa and kidnapped Matthew. I know that Maggie, Jack, and Robby are inside the house, and I strongly suspect that Matthew Jones is in there as well. I suspect that Rita used Matthew as bait to get Jack and Robby inside, and Maggie was just trying to get her son back.

"If I'm right, Rita is the only one in that house with a gun. She is holding them all hostage, for what reason, I am not 100% clear about. What I am clear about, however, is that getting them to safety is up to us three. Father," he said to John, "I'm going to ask you to stay back here, away from danger."

"Absolutely not!" John demanded. "I will see this thing through."

"No sense arguing with him, Trooper," Derek said, finding a reason to smile, "he may be a priest, but he's a hell of an investigator."

#####

"What are you afraid of, mother? You wanted me to tell the whole story, didn't you? Well, the whole story isn't complete without the details."

"Say another word and..."