Four from Peoria

By Andrew Durant

Jim, a successful Wall Street stock broker, has suffered from intensely realistic dreams for as long as he can remember. When he dreams about murdering a man in cold blood, he consults his Psychologist, Dr. Linda Welch. During their consultation, the two are shocked to discover that the man in Jim's dream was Linda's uncle, Dr. Livingston.

In an effort to solve the mystery behind Jim's dreams and find the murderer, the two decide to team up and travel to Ohio where the murder took place.

Their journey sets them on a collision course with a powerful consortium intent on covering up the work of their former associate, the late Dr. Livingston. When they finally solve the mystery behind Jim's dreams, they are shocked by the truths they uncover and learn that their actions will forever change their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543929843

Book preview

978-1-54392-984-3

Walking across the backyard towards the large, Victorian – style house, Anthony took note of the surroundings for future reference. It was the middle of the night on the summer solstice. The white light reflected by the moon was enough that he could still make out the general layout of the yard. Two large oak trees spanned the width of the yard. Near the house, there was a narrow brick path that winded through the collection of shrubs and flowers, all neatly planted in a well-organized fashion. Beyond that, the patio was trimmed with planters down both sides and in one corner sat a cast iron table and chairs. The night air was fill ed with the smell of jasmine that overtook the high wooden privacy fence that lined the perimeter of the yard. This was Dr. Livingston’s home.

As he approached the backdoor, Anthony tucked his handgun into his belt and readjusted the fit of his gloves.

At the backdoor, Anthony reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a small vinyl case from which he extracted two steel picks. He masterfully inserted the picks into the keyhole and then checked his watch. He began probing the lock with the picks, looking for its weak spot. When he found it, Anthony turned both picks in unison and felt the lock click open. He removed the picks and once again checked his watch.

Twenty-five seconds, he thought. Not bad, but I can do better.

A wave of pain shot through his temples and made him flinch. Anthony closed his eyes and waited for the pain to pass. When it had, he took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. He pushed the door open and scanned the inside. The old hinges of the door squeaked from the lack of lubrication as the door ground to a halt.

The backdoor had opened into the kitchen. He stepped in, closed the door behind him and was greeted by a heavy odor of cigar smoke.

Jesus! A person could get lung cancer in here! he thought to himself.

A dim light from the next room allowed Anthony to easily navigate through the kitchen. An eerie feeling came over him as he passed through the doorway into the next room. His mind was telling him no one should be home but his gut was telling him something was not right.

He stopped just inside the long living room that spanned almost the entire front side of the house. Two brass chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling lighted the room. An eclectic assortment of antiques filled the space to capacity making the room look cluttered rather than furnished.

Anthony walked to the center of the living room and surveyed it. From there he could see the bottom ten steps of the staircase that led upstairs. The steps were sunken into the wall and hadn’t been visible from his previous position. At the top of the ten steps was a landing. From there, the rest of the staircase took a ninety-degree turn to the right and was hidden from view behind the wall.

Before Anthony could make another move, he heard the unmistakable groan of the old staircase behind the wall, as if someone had just stepped on it. Seconds later, another groan from the staircase, only this time it was more intense.

Could the Doctor have gotten home early? He wasn’t due back for another four days. Or – was somebody else in the house?

Anthony turned to the staircase, took a deep breath and prepared himself for a confrontation. He wasn’t about to turn around now, not after coming this far. He removed the gun from his belt. It felt heavy in his hand and he let it drop to his side, keeping a light grip on the handle.

His heart raced as his mind scrambled through the different scenarios of what he should do. With each creak of the stairs his heart pounded harder and harder. The increased blood flow made his head pound and his body ache and wished he could have simply beamed himself out of there.

Anthony watched as the Doctor stepped onto the landing and turned towards him. Although he was obviously startled by the intruder’s presence, he quickly composed himself. He was an average sized man in his mid sixties. The top of his head was bald and the remainder of his hair, along with his thin beard, had turned a light gray. His posture was straight and proper.

Finishing his descent down the last ten steps into the living room, he said in an unwavering voice, Anthony? What are you doing here?

Anthony raised the gun and pointed it at the Doctor. What – No, Hello? No, how have you been? Really, where are your manners?

Looking annoyed, the Doctor replied, Very well. How have you been Anthony?

Terrible. I feel like shit and the Doctors don’t have a clue why.

I’m sorry to hear that but, back to my original question. What are you doing here?

I was hoping that maybe you could shed some light on what might be wrong with me.

And how am I supposed to do that?

Well, you might start by pulling out that nice big file you’ve kept on me. And review your notes.

A sarcastic smile crept over his face but it soon faded. I think the only thing wrong with you Anthony is you’re delusional. Now, why don’t you just turn around and go back to where ever it is you came.

Don’t fuck with me now, Doctor Livingston – or should I say Father! I’ve really lost my tolerance for your bullshit.

Oh really. What are you going to do, shoot me?

Knowing Anthony as he did, the Doctor knew he didn’t have the fortitude to use the gun and would use that knowledge to his advantage.

Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. Simply give the files to me and you’ll never see me again. Nobody gets hurt and nobody ever has to find out about your precious work.

How generous of you. But I’m afraid there is no such file. There never was. I think you should seriously consider getting some professional help. I could recommend a good psychiatrist.

No thanks, I don’t want to have anything to do with anyone associated with you.

Very well, you can’t say I didn’t offer. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do and I think you should leave. Anthony stood his ground. He had come to get that file and he wasn’t leaving until he had it.Come on, Anthony. You know as well as I do you’re not going to use that gun. Now put it down and get out of my house!

The Doctor picked up a cane that had been resting against the wall where he stood and swung it at the gun. His intention had been to knock it from Anthony’s hands but, instead, the impact caused the gun to fire.

The gunshot echoed through the house and the smell of spent gunpowder filled the air. The Doctor’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. He gazed down in amazement at his blood-stained shirt and then back at Anthony. His left leg gave out first causing him to spin and land face up on the floor.

Shocked, Anthony rushed over and kneeled beside him. The Doctor’s eyes were still wide open as they stared up at Anthony. He wheezed with every short breath.

Where are those files? Anthony begged one last time. But it was too late. The Doctor breathed one last breath and then died.

Anthony stood up and looked at him one last time. A pool of blood began to soak the carpet underneath the Doctor’s body, his eyes staring out into space with disbelief.

Anthony glanced around the room, not sure what to do next. The curtains that adorned one of the windows had not been closed completely. Through the six-inch opening that had been left, Anthony noticed the lights in the house across the street turn on. Obviously, the neighbor had heard the boom of the gunshots and had gotten out of bed to investigate. Anthony rushed to the light switch and flipped it off so as not to make it obvious where the shots had come from. A second glance out the window revealed a man peering out the second-story window of the house across the street. Then it became evident he was not the only one who had heard the shots. Lights from other houses began to turn on.

Anthony felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and knew that he would not get the opportunity to find the files tonight.

He knew there was no time to dispose of the body and that he had better concentrate on getting away from the accident. The house was dark now and Anthony nearly tripped over several pieces of furniture before making it back to the kitchen. He opened the backdoor and darted out of the house. As he sprinted down the brick path and across the backyard, Anthony looked for lights coming from other houses and didn’t see any. When he reached the fence at the rear of the property, Anthony stopped and shoved the gun back into his belt. His heart was pounding and the adrenaline was rushing through his veins and it took little effort to catapult himself over the fence.

Anthony landed in the narrow, unpaved alley that he had used to get here. A bolt of pain shot through his body with the impact. Blocking out the pain and trying not to be seen, he ran down the alley in a semi-crouched fashion. Anthony reached down to make sure his gun was still in his belt and found that it was not!

He stopped short in the middle of the alley, his mind racing. His first impulse was to just get away but, the gun was registered in his name. Once the cops found the gun, it would lead them right to him.

Oh shit! he mumbled.

Changing his direction, Anthony sprinted back to the place where he had landed. The alley was only dimly lit and Anthony could not see his gun. He bent over and began feeling around to try and locate it. It was then that he heard the distant scream of a siren. He was just about to abandon his search when Anthony caught a faint glimmer of something along the fence. He rushed over to the general location and found the gun. He picked it up and, clutching it in his hand, began to sprint down the alley once more his body now aching from the exertion.

At the end of the alley, he turned left and continued down the sidewalk. Anthony had parked his car several blocks away at a convenience store. Anthony had already run three blocks down the sidewalk and was about to cross the road for the final sprint to the convenience store when a car turned onto the road.

Anthony slowed to a walk not wanting to look too suspicious. He was almost to his car and the last thing he needed was some neighborhood watch patrol to stop and question him. The car’s tires hummed as they made their way down the brick-covered street. Anthony watched as the approaching headlights took a dip as the car hit a low point in the road. When they bounced back up, the beam engulfed Anthony and momentarily blinded him. The next thing he saw was the flash of red and blues from the top of the car.

Christ! Just what I need, the cops!

Anthony left the sidewalk and calmly walked towards the gap between the two closest homes. Once he was out of the cruiser’s sight, he took to an all-out run.

The moon still lit the backyards and alleys well enough for Anthony to easily see where he was going. The problem was, it also made it easier for the cops to see him. Anthony knew this and decided to stay out of the alleys where he would be an easy target. Instead, he would stay as close as he could to the houses until he was far enough away to make a dash across the street and to his car.

Anthony was halfway across the second backyard when he heard the slam of car doors. He guessed there were probably two cops, one would follow him and the other would try to head him off. He wasn’t particularly concerned about the cop behind him. Anthony knew he had the advantage there. However, the cop that was in front of him was a concern. That was the one he would have to outsmart.

My only chance is to get as far down the street as possible and hope that neither of them see me, Anthony thought to himself.

He had passed twenty or so houses and crossed four alleys before deciding to take one of them towards the street. Halfway down the alley, it was evident this had been a mistake. In the street was another cruiser without its lights on. Making his way down the alley towards Anthony was another cop.

Freeze, it’s the police.

Anthony could see the officer had his gun drawn and aimed directly at him. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Anthony stopped running and raised his hands in the air. At the time, he hadn’t realized it but the gun was still in his hand.

The officer pulled a flashlight from his belt and shined it in Anthony’s eyes.

Drop your weapon and don’t try anything funny!

He hadn’t intended for anyone to get hurt. He only wanted some information that might shed a little light on his condition and possibly save his life. He had come a long way and had gotten so close. Now there was a dead man and Anthony was standing in front of a cop with the murder weapon in his hand. He slowly bent over and laid the gun on the ground.

The officer was walking towards Anthony when he radioed the other cops. I’ve got em, boys. We’re three blocks down the street behind your cruiser.

I’ll be right there. A voice on the radio crackled back.

Anthony had his hand outstretched in front of his face to shield his eyes from the glaring light of the officer’s flashlight.

The officer continued to walk towards Anthony and was about fifteen feet away when he stumbled over something in the alley and fell to the ground landing six feet in front of Anthony. When the officer hit the ground, his gun fired.

Anthony could feel the air as the bullet whined past his face, barely missing him.

As the officer tried to scramble to his feet, Anthony took two long steps and kicked him in the stomach. The blow knocked the wind out of the officer and he fell on his side. A second kick to the face rendered him unconscious.

Anthony knew the gunshot would have awakened everyone in the neighborhood and before long the place would be swarming with eyewitnesses. If he didn’t get out of there soon, he never would. He retrieved his gun once again and started for the street.

He had almost made it to the street when Anthony saw another other cop running down the sidewalk towards him.

Freeze or I’ll shoot! he yelled. His voice was short as if he were already running out of breath.

Anthony decided to take a chance – maybe he could outrun this one.

Anthony’s feet pounded the brick street. As he was just about halfway across, the sound of gunfire split the night air.

Linda fumbled with the door handle on her office door. The box in her arms was filled with textbooks on psychiatry, her degrees all nicely framed in matching marble frames, a couple of miniature Greek statuettes, and an assortment of other office paraphernalia. She had collected and saved these items for the time when she would have her own office to decorate. The box was heavy and it required both arms to manage it, which left only an elbow to open the door. Once she succeeded in disengaging the catch, she pushed the door open with her butt and placed the box on the floor inside her new office. She turned around and, before closing the door, admired the name plaque that had just been put up. It read Dr. Linda Welch. She smiled and closed the door.

Well, that’s the last of it, she said, talking to herself. You finally did it, girl. You finally got your own office. No more sharing a space with old Lenny! A feeling of deep satisfaction welled inside her and almost made her feel giddy.

Linda worked for SynapTech, Inc., a bioresearch firm that specialized in research of the human mind and finding ways to tap into its vast potential. She had gotten a job with the company about a year ago in their Scranton, PA lab, thanks to her Uncle Joe.

It’s not to say that she didn’t have the credentials to do it on her own (she graduated magna cum laude with a specialization in sleep disorders and dream behaviorism). It’s just that SynapTech was a very difficult company to get in with. It was a privately held company and its management took the utmost care in selecting employees. As it happened, her Uncle Joe was good friends with a couple of the Big Boys at SynapTech and convinced them to give her a chance.

Once she landed the job, Linda worked hard to make a name for herself. Nine months ago, the Company decided to move her to their New York offices, along with thirty-two other doctors.

SynapTech had just acquired more space in their building and all of the offices weren’t quite ready. She spent the first nine months in New York sharing a space with several of her colleagues.

Linda was thrilled when she found out she was finally getting a space of her own. It was a nice office too, not extremely large but certainly of ample size. Best of all though, aside from the fact that was her office, was that it was located on the corner of the building and it had two windows with breathtaking views of Central Park.

Linda checked her watch; she had nearly twenty-five minutes before her first appointment for the day would arrive. That would give her enough time to unpack the box and put the final touches on the office. When she finished, she stepped back and took and look at her handy work.

Perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing!

Satisfied, she began to pull the file for her first appointment and organize her thoughts. The phone interrupted her with a soft pulse ring.

Hello.

Linda?

Linda immediately recognized the voice on the other end of the line as her Mother’s. Even with hearing just one word, Linda sensed something was wrong. Linda had always been highly perceptive to other people’s feelings and moods and was probably a big factor in her deciding to become a psychologist.

Mom? What’s wrong? Is Dad OK?

Your Father is fine. He’s out on the golf course doing what he does. Are you sitting down, Linda?

No. Should I be?

I’m afraid I have some terrible news. It’s about your Uncle Joe. She had difficulty getting the last words out. Barbara Welch was a melodrama queen and a hypochondriac. If she wasn’t telling you what her latest ailment was, she was busy making a mountain out of a molehill. To top it off, she had a temper like nobody’s business. Once she became pissed off, you’d better get out of the way because she was going to clear some ground. It’s the Irish in me was the excuse she liked to use. Although most people who knew her probably thought it was more likely that she was a bit crazy rather than the fact she had one-eighth Irish blood coursing through her veins.

What happened to Uncle Joe? Linda asked as she sat down in the leather chair behind her desk. Something told her this was no molehill.

Are you sitting down yet?

Yes Mother. What’s wrong with Uncle Joe?

Well, we received a phone call at four-thirty this morning from a gentleman at the Zanesville Police Department. I was already up so I answered the phone. I’ve been having another go around of insomnia and had been up for hours so I really didn’t mind the phone ringing that early in the morning. Lord knows your Father wouldn’t have gotten out of bed to answer it anyhow. The man introduced himself as Officer... Well, I can’t remember his name now. My memory just isn’t what it used to be. I wrote it down and can tell it to you later.

Mom, I don’t care what his name was. What did he tell you about Uncle Joe? Linda was starting to get annoyed and she knew that if she didn’t cut in, her Mom would drag the story out for five minutes before ever saying anything of significance.

Alright, Dear, you don’t have to get short with me. The officer told me that someone had broken into your Uncle’s home and... and... Barbara began to cry before she could finish.

And what, Mom? Did they rob Uncle Joe? Is he OK?

No, he’s not OK, she continued in her sobbing voice. They murdered your Uncle, Linda. They murdered Joey. They murdered him in cold blood.

Joey was the name Barbara used for her brother. It was his nickname during childhood and regardless of how much he hated it as an adult, it had stuck with him, at least within the family. Barbara was the only person left in the world who