Sunken

By S.R. Everett

The witch’s beast, Voro, has been captured and sunk into King’s Marsh, but the evil in Cold Grove has not yet passed.
Weeks go by as John struggles with a guilt-ridden conscience and the loss of his job as sheriff. Amidst this a new threat emerges, even more vicious and menacing than the first. This monster is not Bella’s though; it’s something else.
John and the rest of the residents of Cold Grove are plunged into chaos when the murders start again, each one eerily similar to the original murders. No one is safe. The police and FBI don’t know what they are facing, but John does. He also knows he will not be able to face it alone.
Will he be able to overcome his own demons in order to battle one of hell’s?

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.R. Everett
• Release date: Jan 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301390229

S.R. Everett

S.R. Everett: Author of the Cold Grove Trilogy S.R. Everett is an author and father of two. He was born and raised in Eastern Tennessee but has spent the last decade living in Northern Sweden. He is the author of Devoured, the first book in the Cold Grove Trilogy, and numerous short stories and poems.

Book preview

Part 1:

New Beginnings

Welcome back, Henry.

- Dr. Lenson

1

John sits waiting inside his car on a small dirt road on the outer edge of Cold Grove. The rain is beating down hard on the roof, making it difficult to concentrate. Actually concentration isn’t his problem. He would rather not even think about, much less concentrate on his current thoughts. Still, the rain’s pounding fills the interior of the car like a thick haze, and it’s maddening. It feels like the perfect weather for tonight’s task but he’d rather it be clear and quiet all the same.

A flash of headlights hits him square in the eyes. He shields his eyes until the driver of the other car kills the engine and gets out. The driver runs over to John’s car, opens the door, peers inside then climbs in.

Dr. Lenson, John says in a dry tone.

Sheriff, Lenson replies, and runs his hands through his slicked-back hair. You can call me Frank.

Ok, Frank. Are you ready to do this? John says, wanting desperately to be done with the task.

Frank ignores the question for the time being and says, How did you find him?

He is the one responsible for all the deaths here recently, John says, being careful not to bend the truth.

I see. He’s a bad seed, this one. But how did you know to call me? And more importantly, why did you call me? I thought cops sent guilty people to jail.

My father called you once before and now I am calling you. It’s as simple as that.

I see. I thought your father took that secret to his grave, Frank says.

John is struck by his callousness. This man is a psychotic too. Andy told me of the torture Henry endured at his hands. He doesn’t feel empathy. I guess they will make a perfect match. Andy only cares about himself. He would have unleashed another monster on Cold Grove if I hadn’t returned in the nick of time. I don’t have enough evidence to convict him, for starters. I know he is the one responsible, though. And, quite frankly, he deserves this. Prison is too good for him.

I couldn’t agree more, Frank replies with a wicked grin. John is sure he is already fantasizing about what he will do with the man he thinks is Henry when he gets back to The Brushy Mountain Home for the Criminally Insane.

Let’s just do this, John says. He gets out and walks to the trunk of the car. Frank does the same. John unlocks the trunk and opens it wide. Inside is Andy, bound by his hands and feet and with his mouth gagged. He looks up at Frank with fear-stricken eyes, and shakes his head back and forth, trying to loosen the gag. Andy has never met Frank before but he knows who he is. John has already told him where he is going.

Remember me, Henry? Frank says with that same wicked grin. He grabs Andy by the collar and drags him out of the car, then turns to John and says, Don’t worry. I won’t let him escape a second time. He’s going straight into lockdown when we get back.

And no one will ask any questions? John says, needing reassurance that his plan won’t unravel.

No. I’m the director, you know, he says and slaps John on the back. No one asked any questions thirty years ago, and they won’t now either.

Good, John says as he watches Frank put Andy in the trunk of his car. A minute later they are gone. Fuck you, Andy. You did this to yourself!

2

John hopes this will be the last trip he ever makes to Bella’s secret chamber. He stands near the center of the room with a small electric lantern in his hand. Its fluorescent light seems out of place in this ancient chamber. Next to the wall is a large bloodstain where Henry was gutted and bled out. John moved his body after handing over Andy. Knowing that his plan would never work if anyone found out about this place, he dragged Sara and Henry’s bodies into the marsh and staged a crime scene out there.

No one doubted if Henry was actually Andy. They were nearly identical in every way. No one, besides Lenson, knew of Henry’s existence. Thank God neither one of them turned out to be a fat ass. Henry was carted off as Andy: the man who murdered his wife and then went on a killing rampage. There are still a lot of questions about the case and many of them will never be answered, at least not openly. Gnat’s going to have a hell of a time figuring out what happened to all that rotting flesh. But that’s his problem, not mine. My version makes far more sense than the reality of the situation.

John steps across the marble slab that used to serve as a table before the wooden bits had rotted away. A chill runs down his spine, like when you walk over the grave of someone you used to know. He tries to shake the memory of shooting Sara as she was transforming into a hideous beast, but he can’t. The situation is a near mirror image of what his father did all those years ago. You came here, shot your gun, and stopped a monster from being born, Dad. And so did I. You took Henry and secretly sent him away to the mental hospital. I did the same with his twin brother. You couldn’t live with the guilt though. Can I? He’s unsure of the answer. The full gravity of what he has done hasn’t sunk in yet.

At any rate, he knows he must destroy the re-animation potion. Modern science could possibly do wonders with this but I can’t let them have it. It’s too dangerous. He gathers up all of the remaining potions on the shelves and stuffs them in a cloth sack. A few minutes later he is standing in front of the same muddy quagmire he and Andy sank the beast into. He takes one final look into the bag. Even after all this time, the potions glow in an otherworldly and most unholy manner. Without a second’s hesitation, he casts the bag into the muddy quicksand-like pit and watches as it sinks out of sight. Good riddance, Bella. His heart is heavy, but he knows he has done the right thing.

3

Weeks pass, and autumn comes into full glory. There’s not much glory in it for John, though. He’s a shell of the man he once was, now pale and sickly-looking. He sits in his living room in complete darkness except for the light cast by the TV, which he isn’t watching. He sits in his favorite chair with an empty beer in his hand and a couple of dozen empty ones on the floor, lost in a thought, or a memory, or both.

John hears a car pull up outside and gets up to see who it is. Fuck! Not today! He stuffs his shirt in his pants, brushes some leftover crumbs off his shirt , and heads to the front door. He opens it as Velma is about to knock. She pulls her hand back with a puzzled look on her face.

I saw you drive up, John explains, acting as sober as he can manage.

Velma examines him closely. Are you drunk?

I might have had a few… earlier, John replies and puts his hand on the doorframe, trying to block her from peering inside. What are you here for?

Velma lets out a huffy sigh and pushes him out of the way so she can enter. What’s the matter with you, John? she says and walks right past him.

John is at a loss for words.

Holy shit! When was the last time you cleaned up in here? John can hear the tin clunking of empty beer cans in the living room as he closes the front door.

It’s not that bad, John says as he enters the room. He scans the area and realizes it’s far worse than he thought. He hasn’t paid much attention to anything lately, other than his guilt. Velma tosses some dirty clothes off the couch so she can sit down, then takes out a cigarette and lights it. He considers trying to clean up a little bit more but sitting back down in his favorite chair is much more inviting. So, what is going on then? he asks.

What’s going on then? Velma says in a mocking tone. Smoke puffs from her mouth with each word. Are you kidding me? You’re going to sit there and act like I need a reason to come by here? Un-fucking-believable, John.

Velma, I—

You’ve been avoiding me for days. What the hell is going on with you? she says. The words sound harsh but John detects a note of concern in her voice too.

John rubs his temples. They fired me from the police force. He wants to confess to her about Andy too, but he can’t.

What? Velma says, looking surprised. But, why? You did your best on those murders. I hear a lot of gossip at the diner, John, and everyone thinks you did the best you could.

She probably came here expecting to hear that John had fallen for another woman, or some similar nonsense. This was far worse. Not everyone, John says, thinking of Emily Crenshaw. Velma just shakes her head. It has nothing to do with the murders.

What then? she asks, taking another drag and blowing out a big puff of smoke.

Velma, I have a heart condition. I don’t know how they found out, but I was declared unfit for active duty and forced into early retirement.

Velma sits up in her seat and places her hand over John’s heart. What sort of condition?

John draws his hand away. He doesn’t feel worthy of being loved. It’s called non-sustained ventricular tachycardia. It’s treatable with medicine but it can still act up if I get too worked up over something.

Why didn’t you ever tell me?

John’s mood changes from defensive to angry, mean-angry, in an instant. I wasn’t about to tell the biggest gossip in town my closest secret!

Velma’s eyes widen. John! You know I would never….

Never gossip about me? he says, knowing she won’t answer the question truthfully. You nearly cost me my job a few years back when you went and told half the town about how Jenny Gibson liked to be strangled when someone was giving her the goddamn bone!

You’re bringing that up? Oh my God!

I’m just saying. You couldn’t keep a secret if someone’s life depended on it. That job was my life! There was no way in hell I was going to risk telling you about it.

Velma snuffs out her cigarette in one of the empty beer cans and gets up. I see, she says and storms off towards the door. She shouts, Fuck you too, John! before slamming the door behind her. John can hear her talking to herself as she walks down the driveway, but he can’t quite make out what she is saying. Nothing good, I suppose, he thinks and cracks open another beer.

I don’t deserve to be with her anyway. I don’t deserve to even be alive. A powerful vision grips him. A naked man is strapped to a chair. It’s Andy. He has a wooden gag in his mouth and a look of wild terror in his eyes. Andy screams in pain through the wooden gag, and then bites down as hard as he can. His breathing is heavy and erratic. At his feet is Dr. Frank Lenson, wearing that wicked, toothy grin of his. Andy tries to say something through the gag. It’s impossible to hear the words, but it’s obvious he is begging for the torture to stop.

Frank holds a long thin piece of wire up. His grin is all the more wicked under the shadowy lighting. He looks up at Andy and watches the pain take grip as he shoves the wire under Andy’s toenail. The screams are like a drug to Frank. He relishes them like a wine connoisseur might do with an expensive bottle of Bordeaux. There’s a noticeable bulge in Frank’s pants as he bathes himself in the glory of Andy’s pain. And then he jams in another one. The torture seems to go on for hours in John’s mind. It probably feels like days to Andy. By the time Frank’s done, Andy is left with more than twenty of those bloody, metal wires sticking out of his feet. John can’t help but think how much they remind him of those voodoo dolls that a witchdoctor uses.

The vision fades, and John is left staring at the wall once again. He’s not sure (how could he be?) but he thinks the visions are sent from Bella as a punishment for what he has done. He lifts his beer and downs the whole can. I have enough guilt without you showing me, he says to the empty room.

I’ve come full circle now. I finally understand why you did it, Dad. You couldn’t live with the guilt of putting your own son into a mental hospital, where you knew he would be mistreated. And I can’t live with putting my own brother there.

John drops the empty beer can and reaches down. He pulls a small revolver out of a pocket on the chair and places it in his lap.

Am I really going to do this? Andy’s just my half-brother… at best. We didn’t grow up together. He unleashed that beast on this town! He was going to turn Sara into one too! He’s mad, insane, off his rocker! But does he deserve to be tortured?

John is sincerely unsure of the answer. He picks up the gun and empties the shells out into his hand. He puts one back in the cylinder and slips the rest into the chair’s pocket. Let God decide it. He spins the chamber then slams it shut. He raises the gun to his temple and, without another thought, squeezes the trigger. There’s a hollow click and nothing else. He slips it back into the chair’s pouch.

4

Nate steps out of his police cruiser into the cool autumn air. He’s wearing a Stetson hat that’s a little too big for his head. His greasy hair sticks out in patches on either side, making the hat all the more mobile. As he walks, he has to constantly adjust it to keep it from falling off. Jeanne watches him from behind her desk as he saunters across the parking lot, his chest puffed out for everyone to see his new sheriff’s badge. To Jeanne—and pretty much everyone else too—he looks like a teenage boy trying too hard to look cool.

He throws the front doors open in an almost comical fashion and nods at Jeanne for her to open the door. His hat shifts forward and threatens to fall off before he manages to grab it. Jeanne presses the button that unlocks the inner doors. Nate passes through them and comes around to Jeanne’s desk. He sits on the corner of her desk, trying to look casual. He’s desperate to show he is in charge now. The idea of being sheriff has gone straight to his head.

"Howdy, Sheriff," Jeanne says, a hint of tease in her voice, but he doesn’t catch it.

Jeanne, Nate replies and tips his hat, mimicking the guys in the old western movies he loves so much. Any news for the sheriff? He smiles widely as he says the words.

Jeanne is a bit repulsed by his goofy smile but she can’t help but be a bit attracted to his new-found self-esteem, even if it is over the top. All’s quiet in Cold Grove, she replies, with a goofy smile of her own.

Nate beams with joy at her attitude change towards him. They had always cut up together around the station, back when Cold Grove was still a quiet, peaceful town. He’s had a crush on her since he first started working here, but she was always much more interested in Terry. Terry’s not in the picture anymore though, is he? He smiles sheepishly at her, and from her reaction, he figures she gets the message loud and clear.

It looks like another quiet day. This business with Andy has kept people in more lately. I think a lot of people don’t quite want to accept that it’s really over, she says. We’re getting there. It just takes time, she says.

Nate notices a distant look in her eyes. That can only be a memory of Terry. She doesn’t even realize she said, we’re instead of they’re.

Sure, Nate says, changing the subject to get her mind off him. Hey listen, I was wondering if you could help me gather together all of the paperwork from the murders. Some of the families of the dead are going to file charges in civil court against Andy’s estate. He really wants to ask her to dinner but he’s too scared to do so. He figures being close to her is good enough for now. Better than nothing.

Huh? Why would they do that? He’s already dead, she says with a vacant, uncomprehending expression on her face.

Because they want whatever money he left behind. I guess sorrow doesn’t cancel out greed. Somehow, Nate feels his confidence in his voice is gone and so, too, may be Jeanne’s fleeting interest.

I guess. Of course I will help you, Sheriff, she says, with not much enthusiasm.

John made a horrible mess out of that stuff.

[With that final attempt to make himself look better while cutting down John Ingle at the same time, Nate sauntered back to his new office.]

5

Velma sits at one of the empty booths in her diner. They are all empty at the moment. She cracks open a beer. She’s pissed as hell at John’s drinking but she can’t deny how easy it is to turn to the drink when she is upset. Not so different from John, now, are ya? She looks down at the open bottle of beer then sets it aside. She sighs and looks out the window at the passing traffic on the highway. Each car that passes is a reminder of another lost opportunity. She feels the same way about John. He’s pulling away from me. She knows the routine; she’s seen it before. You don’t get to be 40, unmarried, and childless without having seen your fair share of worthless shitheads who decide they have gotten what they wanted and move on.

I need to go see you tonight. She picks up the beer again and takes a big swig. You’re just like one of those big rigs, John. You’re going to roll on right past me too if I don’t do something about it. Just like an omen, one of the big rigs comes rolling down the off-ramp.

6

Benny watches from the other side of the