Vengeance of the Wolf

By Solitaire Parke

Detective John Yardley and FBI agent, Frank Williams are on a quest. They are determined to stop a manipulative, unknown mass murderer, whose targets seem to be specific politicians in a bizarre and maniacal killing spree...one that draws them into a world of dreams and nightmares beyond their wildest imaginations. Awaiting them are unbelievable terrors, chilling twists and turns, and a scope of destruction that they would never have believed possible.

"Solitaire Parke takes the reader into the world of dreams. The description is so well written; the reader is transported into the world Dorian creates for his victims. Everything is so vivid and descriptive that it isn't hard to get lost in the story. 'Vengeance of the Wolf' is an absolute read by anyone who loves a good thriller...It leaves you guessing until the very end." -Beverly Rearick - Inscriptions Magazine

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781105463600

Solitaire Parke

Solitaire Parke is an author of Science Fiction/Urban Fantasy, Poetry and Larger World books. He is a lover of dragons, the poetry of Edgar Allan Poe, and has a large collection of science fiction books and movies. After becoming an award winning photographer and earning a degree in music theory, he worked in graphic and web design, but he always returns to writing.When he is not writing, you can find him reading, watching a sci-fi television show or movie, or researching a new “techno gadget” on the internet. He now resides in Arizona with his family and two very spoiled dogs!

Book preview

Vengeance of the Wolf

VENGEANCE OF THE WOLF

By

Solitaire Parke

Copyright © 2012 Solitaire Parke

Cover Design & Artwork by Brandi Parke

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the permission of the author.

ISBN 978-1-105-46360-0

CHAPTER ONE  - 1ST MUTATION AMERICA

(Now I lay me down to sleep)

A mist was creeping in from the trees that lined the house.  He frowned and tried to remember where he was.  Wolves were howling in the distance, as if they had been frightened, and he sympathized with them.  Sensing movement, he whirled around and saw a shape advancing through the nearest trees toward him.  Nausea swept through his stomach and he could taste bile in his throat.  With a slight popping sound, the shape disappeared and materialized beside him.

Just not having a very good day, are we Senator?

Like a flash the Senator felt he should know this place but the image eluded his clouded mind.  Where am I? - And how did I get here?

Come, come Senator; you used to live here as a boy.

The Senator turned slowly and looked at the house, a sense of realization beginning to show upon his face.  This estate burned down many years ago, and was never rebuilt.

This is a dream Senator; one you've had many times before; but take heart, you'll never have it again.

Senator Harkness, in an agonizingly slow progression, watched as the ground began opening around his shoes.  Like hundreds of tiny tendrils the roots of underground plant life began writhing upward until his feet had disappeared beneath the level of the grass.  Although he wanted desperately to move his feet, they simply would not comply, as if they had suddenly grown into the ground like the roots of the trees surrounding the house.  Dimly in the back of his mind he noticed that the howling of the wolves had stopped.

Harkness had gone to bed in his Seattle home after having consumed more martinis than his doctor would have approved of, and surely would regret in the morning.  Middle aged and not in the best of health, he had indeed dreamed this scenario before but not since he had been a younger man.  This was when he always woke up.  He frowned again.  The pressure on his feet was beginning to become uncomfortable, and panic was setting in.

You know Senator, I don't like politicians.  I especially don't like dishonest ones.

With a stab of pain, Harkness felt his ankles snap with the sound of dried twigs.  His hands went instinctively to his chest as the familiar pressure and pain erupted in his rib cage.  This was not the first heart attack he had suffered through but he knew somehow it would be his last.

Hurts doesn't it Senator?

Their eyes met as the snapping sound escalated to his shins.  Each bone seemed to break independently and with each sound the pain grew worse.  The tendrils wound methodically around his body like a living cocoon until only his head remained visible.  The snapping sounds were going off like popcorn kernels, but somehow the bliss of unconsciousness would not take him.  Searing gouts of pain shot through him with the ferocity of electrical current but his cognizance seemed enhanced with every break.

Time to wake up now Senator.

Harkness could hear a hollow laugh as the veil of sleep pushed itself from darkness into the light.

~~~~~~

Seattle, Washington - March 3rd, 1990.

~~~~~~

The morning light bathed the Senator's face as he opened his eyes.  His breathing came in short gasps that closely corresponded with the beating of his heart.  Never had the pressure in his chest been this great with previous attacks.  Beaded sweat rolled down his face and stung his eyes.  Music was playing softly over the central intercom system and he could make out the sounds of the morning meal being prepared.  Medication for his weakened heart lay within reach on the bedside table but at this moment seemed a thousand miles away.  Every part of his body felt as if it was on fire and his extremities refused to obey even the simplest of commands.  Try as he might, he could not move either arm to retrieve the bottle of pills within his sight.  Tiny explosions erupted in his eyes as the heart attack escalated to its predictable end.  In desperation, the Senator attempted to scream for help but instead, pathetic mewlings emerged as the pain became too great to breath.  With a sudden fierceness the pain stopped and along with it went the beating of his heart.  The room seemed to back away and the lighting dimmed.  Absently he noticed that the peripheral vision was gone and he could no longer move his eyes.  The room continued to grow darker until it was black.  Senator Harkness accepted the darkness but thought of nothing until even the memory was gone.

~~~~~~~~~

Seattle, Washington - March 3rd, 1990

~~~~~~~~~

The Senator is dead, the paramedic said with obvious frustration as he rolled his eyes.  He switched the receiver to the other ear as if that might relieve the exasperation.  Well of course I'm sure.

He paused listening.  This much damage can't happen with a heart attack, no matter how severe.  Anger began to creep into him as he listened to the reply.  Look, I'm telling you this can't be from natural causes.  Why? - Because the son of a bitch has had every bone in his body broken, that's why!

A rumbling sound issued from the phone.  No I haven't moved the body and yes his girl friend has agreed to sit tight until you get here.

He slammed the phone down and turned to his partner.  Jeez, you'd think we just found the President or somethin.

~~~~~~~~~

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled across the tops of the trees.  The tendrils had totally engulfed the Senator and were pulling him underground.  Grating noises and the sound of the earth being ripped apart subsided until only the breathing of the humanoid shape accompanying him was heard.  It leaned forward as if to make sure that the Senator was actually gone and spit on the spot now closing from his passage.  It turned and soundlessly a rip in the fabric of time and space opened allowing It to step through.  A shimmering surrounded It momentarily and then formed a mathematical matrix which closed the rip one digitized line at a time until, with a hissing noise, It and the opening were gone.

~~~~~~~~~

Lincoln, Nebraska - March 3rd, 1990.

~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the wall he smiled and turned to the window, glancing back once more as if to make a last minute decision.  A breeze moved his hair and the smell of recently mowed grass was in the air.  Strewn over the bed were photographs of government officials and lists of their accomplishments.  Thumb tacked to every wall was other photos of Senators, Congressmen, Governors, and even one likeness of the President.  Carefully drawn on each was a bull's-eye centered over the area where their hearts would be.

He turned again and faced his makeshift political gallery while running his hand through disheveled brown hair.  Green eyes moving constantly, he contemplated, then chose a picture from the wall.  Holding it with his left hand at chest level to his six foot frame, the photograph suddenly burst into flames.  Grinning wolfishly he allowed the photo to burn down until only ashes remained.

To his right and on the floor was a second pile of ashes that only hours before had been the image of Senator Harkness.  He stepped over and carefully placed the new ashes next to the old ones and nodded significantly to himself.  The window behind him slid down into place and the lock latched with a convincing click.  His head snapped around as the television came on with the news about the death of a Senator.

We interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin.

Crouching, he watched the screen with amusement.

~~~~~~~~~

Seattle, Washington - March 4th, 1990.

~~~~~~~~~

The Seattle police department was a bee hive of activity, with people rushing to and fro, none of which ever seeming to know where they were going yet always ending where they needed to be.  Detective John Yardley's voice was suddenly heard above the already existing cacophony; Everyone assigned to my case meet me in Conference Room B, on the double.

The den of noise ceased for approximately three seconds and then picked back up as if it had never stopped, although six of the ever moving bodies disconnected themselves from the mass and moved toward an exit.  Yardley's voice rumbled again; I want those photographs and I mean now mister.

Yardley was a massive man of better than six feet and, at the moment, all two hundred plus pounds were leaning heavily on his desk to allow enough room for the telephone cord to stretch to his ear.  How the phone had managed to end up on the floor behind his desk was a minor mystery that would soon be forgotten in the melee.  No, an hour will not be sufficient.  I want them in Conference Room B in five minutes or I'll use your ass for target practice.  Yardley was beginning to look exasperated.  Realizing again where the phone was, he simply dropped the receiver on the floor and walked away.

Conference Room B was a smoke filled, postage stamp sized after thought, where assignments and decisions were made.  Its diminutive proportions were supposed to expedite the process, but usually just made life more difficult.  Yardley cleared his throat.  I've looked over the preliminary reports, and frankly gentlemen, they simply will not do.  He paused significantly, and then looked around as if trying to remember something.  Where the hell are those photographs?  Someone shoved an envelope into his hands.  Yardley scanned to locate the origin but was unable so instead, shrugged, and then opened the manila folder.  I've got a crime scene with no clues...Photographs with no detectable variances other than that which would be considered normal...A suspect with no motive...A broken body with no visible marks...and a death from natural causes that everyone insists is a homicide.  Would someone care to shed some light on this, you know, maybe just to help this poor twenty year veteran with obvious limited mental capacities understand what the hell is going on here!  An explosion went off as Yardley's fist came down on the conference table.  A street blue appeared at Yardley's arm and thrust a folder forward.

This just came for you, sir.

The look of impatience was evident on the Detective's face.  Can't this wait, sergeant?

A very odd look accompanied his reply.  I really don't think so, sir.

Yardley took the folder, opened it and read, his face falling with the impact that was purveyed inside.  He sat down slowly, lit a cigarette, and looked around the room.  Well gentlemen, seems as if you'll have another chance to get this right.

Murmurs and looks of confusion shot around the room as Yardley's statement lingered like a tangible oppression.

The Governor of Oregon was only moments ago found dead in his home.  Unofficially, the cause was classified as a heart attack...but like Senator Harkness, there was not one bone in his body left intact.  They of course think there is a connection.  He cleared his throat as every voice erupted at once.  Dismissed gentlemen, let’s get moving.

Yardley's partner, Bill Bradley remained seated until everyone was gone, knuckles tapping silently on the table top.

You know John, this is not going to be solved quickly, and quite frankly, you look like shit.  Why don't you go home and get some sleep while you can?  Take a shower and get laid before your wife disowns you.  I know you, and once you start into this, you'll be living off coffee and cigarettes until it's over.

Yardley looked up with a sly boyish grin; I wasn't aware that you were worried about my love life, or my level of personal hygiene, Bill.  But for the sake of agreement, I think I'll take your advice before this gets out of hand.

CHAPTER TWO

(There was once a crooked man)

Clouds rolled by with the rapidity of time lapse photography and connected themselves to the ground at the horizon line.  A mountain range had lost its peaks to the descending sky.  Wind blew from an indeterminate somewhere to an unknown nowhere, but tossed Governor Anderson's hair around before it left.

The Governor was sixty-ish, a frail man of less than six feet and grossly under weight.  Pale blue eyes observed the unearthly sky with detachment.  It occurred to him that, try as he might, he could not remember how he had gotten here.  He noticed that the ground was dry to the point of looking scorched and yet the wind did not disturb a grain of the sand that seemed to be everywhere.  Odd.  He murmured.  After scanning a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, he glanced up.  No sun.  No plant life either.  For the first time he noticed that he wore pajamas and his feet were bare.  How in the hell?

The wind stopped…If there had been a sun it would be setting and rapidly if the failing light was any indication.  Without warning the sky suddenly filled with lightning, yet not a sound could be heard other than his own breathing.  Somewhere in the distance he began to hear a woman's voice calling, a desperate and frightened whimper.

Carl, can you hear me?

Anderson recognized his wife's voice calling his name.

Carl, where are you?

Becky, is that you?

Becky can't hear you, Governor.

Anderson spun around to face the grating voice behind him only to be hit with an unseen force.  The ground came up with the velocity of a swung hammer, and his consciousness was gone instantly.

Slowly the light began to increase and the squeal in Anderson's ears subsided to a dull ringing.  He recognized that he was again conscious and laying on the floor of the same desert as before.  A shadowy figure appeared over him and stood in the only light that seemed available anywhere.  No features, no visible marks, but vaguely human.

Who are you?  Anderson's voice lacked the confidence that he wished to portray.

The votes are in and the incumbent loses, Governor.

What are you talking about?  Anderson demanded.

You always were slow on the upswing.

A wave of dizziness passed over Anderson, suggesting a concussion and he was sure that his jaw was broken.  What do you want from me?

You know, Governor...It paused as if several ideas collided with each other.  As political careers go, yours has been, well let’s just say rather single minded.  Not once have you ever given thought to another human being, regardless of the consequences of your actions.

How dare you! exploded Anderson.

Oh that's easy.  It managed to smile without a mouth.  Your career is over and mine...is just beginning to take shape.  Take a look around you Carl.  Does any of this look familiar?  Or is it just coincidence that the surroundings happen to correspond with your favorite nightmare?

This is a dream!

Congratulations Carl, you've passed the first test.

Water appeared twenty feet to the right of Anderson, with an ever increasing whirlpool in the center.  Moving in a clockwise rotation within its boundaries was Carl's wife, Becky.

Wild eyed, Becky cried, Carl help me!

With a flippant gesture of its hand, the scene involving Becky was put into freeze-frame, and the entity turned to face the Governor of Oregon.  Okay, C A R L... stretching his name out sarcastically.  Here's the pitch.  Let Becky drown, and I let you go free; on the other hand, try to save her, she goes free and I will sacrifice you quickly."

Carl, looking thoroughly disgusted, sat up and turned toward the water.  Both of his legs twisted with a crunching sound accompanied by a piercing scream as he attempted to lie back down.  Rolling onto his stomach, Carl tried to pull himself to the water's edge.  All ten fingers seemed to writhe with a life of their own until they bent backward as if looking for his wrists.  At the point of fracture, his fingers simply went limp, like the breaking point caused their death.  Carl tried to look over his shoulder at the shadowy figure, but in doing so, his entire head kept revolving until the neck made a dull popping sound and, like his legs and hands, went limp; the life removed from them completely.

Convulsions…fluttering eyes...An inward voice...This is only a dream.  Wolves were howling in the distance...Got to reach her before they do.  Pushing closer...angry... frightened.  Carl's ribs went in rapid succession, like the cracking of knuckles.  Glancing over to the water, Carl noticed the lifeless form of Becky floating face down, arms extended in the remains of swirling eddies that were subsiding even as he watched.  I tried to save her, Anderson sobbed.

You failed.

But you said that if I tried to save her, she would go free and you would sacrifice me quickly.

I lied.

Carl looked around frantically, hoping for a way out; wondering if dreams could hold this much reality.  This isn't fair.

The entity as if musing over his comment, leaned closer to the Governor of Oregon.  Life is not fair Carl.

A dimple formed in Carl's stomach about the size of an apple, but as it became larger, it pressed toward his back until both sides met in the middle.  This is only a dream, Carl said as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Explain that to Becky.  Anderson wondered if the wolves would reach them soon, when he realized that the howling had stopped.  He decided that reality was only a matter of perception.  Slowly, he closed his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~

Washington, DC - March 4th, 1990.

~~~~~~~~~

The light flashed and the telephone buzzed insistently.  Frank Williams, looking annoyed, finally reached to pick it up on the fourth ring.

Williams, he growled.

While the caller identified himself, Frank leaned out of his office in an attempt to locate his secretary; the blonde who ordinarily answered his calls.

Yes, I'm aware of the problem.  I've been following the story since it broke in Seattle yesterday.  Frank leaned back in his chair, sighed loudly, knowing what was going to be said next.  The locals are not going to be happy campers and I can't say as I blame them.  Shifting in his seat, Frank turned the receiver up to allow room for his coffee cup.  I know you could care less what they think, but that still doesn't change the reception we're gonna get.  Their investigation team hasn't even had a full day to gather facts relating to it.  They what?  Frank sat up as a courier stepped into his office with a folder that was jammed with paper.  Nodding, the man left as quickly as he had arrived.  Look, I'm aware that both men were influential politicians, but how could they think terrorism.  There is no apparent connection between the two, other than politics; they're not even in the same party.  How do we know it's not some nut serial killer that thinks his vote won't count?  Okay-okay, I'm on my way.  Shaking his head, Frank put the phone down and turned his attention to the folder the courier had brought.

The team in Seattle was headed by John Yardley, an experienced detective of roughly twenty years.  Frank had been with the Federal Bureau of Investigation for a decade and he knew that John would not relinquish his command easily; especially to an F.B.I. team led by a man with half his seniority.  Frank Williams was a small, balding man of forty and he knew that would not help either.

Summing up the folder's contents was relatively easy;

1. Both had died from apparent heart attacks.

2. Prior to death, something or someone had

broken every bone in their bodies.

3. There were no finger prints, no visible

marks on the skin, no signs of struggle,

and no real suspects.

4. There were no leads.

Frank sat back in his chair and pondered how an experienced team could deliver a report that was so full of detail, but devoid of information that could be considered useful.  He would brief his assistant on the flight to Seattle.  For all the good it'll do, he mumbled aloud.

Excuse me?

Williams started violently, his coffee sloshing in his cup from the movement.  Where in the hell have you been and don't sneak up on me like that...Jesus.

The blonde, unruffled and blank just shrugged, Has there been any phone calls?  I've been in the ladies room, and do you want more coffee, not that you need it?

Her voice was high pitched and squeaky.  Williams wondered how she ever managed to procure employment in a government building or for that matter how she had enough brains to find the ladies room.  I'm going to be out for awhile, so try to stay close to the phone.  You see, I won't be here to answer it for you, or perhaps we should just put the damn thing in the ladies room...would that help you any?  And yes, I would like a cup of coffee, preferably in a hurry, you know, before I leave.

The blonde blinked twice, then turned and walked away without saying a word.

Williams rubbed his eyes and chuckled; I wonder if I should wait on the coffee? 

~~~~~~~~~~

It looked around at the sand that seemed to stretch into forever.  Gurgling noises began to emit from the pool of water as Becky's head rose up.  Her face had taken on the bloated look of a floater and the visible skin was the cold pale blue color of death.  She dragged herself from the water and shuffled over to her husband as liquid poured from her mouth onto his twisted form.  Ever so slowly, she pulled Anderson back to the pool, where they both disappeared beneath its now placid surface.  The shadowy figure watched with detached amusement until the watery grave had vanished into the sand.  A low thrumming sound began to make its presence felt and as its pitch became painfully low, a mirror appeared in front of the darkened creature.  The noise stopped as it stepped through and within seconds, the desert had followed its passage into the looking glass.  The creature's memory lingered momentarily, and then faded leaving nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seattle, Washington - March 5th, 1990.

~~~~~~~~~~

The flight to Seattle was uneventful and as Williams sat in the foyer in the Seattle Police Department, he began to wonder if he was being deliberately ignored.  He was determined not to act angry or in any way that might cause offense, especially if this was happening by design.  Within due process, or when they realized that he wasn't going to ruffle, Williams was allowed beyond their outer barrier and into the more restricted areas. On their way to the conference room that was to be their formal meeting place, Williams noticed the looks of disdain written clearly on the faces of the Detectives that passed them in the hall.  After a short, but mandatory, series of introductions Williams was finally allowed to sit down at the opposite end of the table from Detective Yardley.  We need to work together on this Detective Yardley, Williams said emphatically, after a short, but dramatic pause.

Yardley took a long drink from his coffee cup and looked around the room.  I don't think we need help to solve this case, personally.  Not that anybody higher up would ever believe that.

Williams let out a long slow breath and with as much command as he could generate, said; I can't be in two places at once, so virtually nothing will change here in Seattle.  I'll set up a base of operations in Oregon while your team continues the investigations here.  Should anything surface during that time, you will of course, notify me immediately at that post.

Yardley looked visibly relieved with the admission of Williams' impending departure.

A telephone at Williams' arm buzzed twice in succession.  After his initial answer, Williams sat and listened for several minutes, at which time he responded with a curt dismissal noise and put the receiver down on its cradle.  The silence hung in the air as Williams composed himself.  Another politician has died.

Who?..Where?  Yardley exploded.

Frank Williams took a deep breath and said, "Alvin Stewart, Congressman from Casper, Wyoming.  Found him in his home about an hour ago; same symptoms as the first two.  But that's not the end of the bad news.  Several foreign governments from South America and Asia

Reviews for Vengeance of the Wolf

[lms1982 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Solitaire Parke’s “Vengeance of the Wolf” is a mind swirl of suspense. You will be on the edge of your seat the entire time you are enveloped by the author’s mind. It is brilliantly written and is a pleasure to read. The author’s words bring you into the story as the plot tantalizes your mind, not knowing what is coming next. While the characters, will become a welcomed friend or a known foe. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a great suspense filled story. It is truly a great book; one, in which, I shall enjoy re-reading.