Valley of the Shadow: Wesley Winter, #2

By Stoney M. Setzer

April, 1993: Wesley Winter and his family make the difficult decision to place his grandfather Homer into a nursing home as his Alzheimer's symptoms worsen.

 

When a mysterious old lady named Ms. Glad tells Wesley that someone known as the Death Angel is killing residents, he doesn't want to believe her...until he is confronted with undeniable proof that a killer is at work.

 

Now Wesley and his friends must solve the mystery before his grandfather becomes the next victim, but the Death Angel isn't the only killer with designs on Homer's life....

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tinnie Press
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393722342

Stoney M. Setzer

Stoney M. Setzer lives south of Atlanta, GA, with his beautiful wife, three wonderful children, and one crazy dog. He is the author of the Wesley Winter trilogy, and he has also written a number of Twilight Zone-like stories with Christian themes. His works have been published in such online magazines as Fear and Trembling and Residential Aliens, as well as a number of anthologies.

Book preview

PART ONE

WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY

CHAPTER ONE

Monday, April 12, 1993

2:14 AM

Compared to the hustle and bustle that visited here during the daylight hours, the nocturnal corridors of the nursing home were like a ghost town. Eerie echoes punctuated each footstep, threatening to rouse the sleeping residents at any moment. Amazingly enough, however, the doors remained closed, serving as a testament to the potency of their bedtime medications.

Maybe I only notice the echoes because I want so much to be quiet, and I’m hyper-aware of every sound I make. Yes, that must be it.

Of course, not everyone was asleep. A skeleton crew of employees remained on duty around the clock, mostly clustered around the various nurse’s stations, only sporadically leaving to do a token sweep of the hallways. If an emergency arose, however, they were ready to take action, to do everything in their power to save lives...provided, of course, that there was something that could be done. Sometimes, it was simply a particular resident’s time to go, and nothing in the world could prevent that.

Tonight is going to be one of those times.

For all of the myriad echoes that had heralded each footstep, the door to the room shared by Sadie Pickens and Bertha Flemister slid open with beautiful silence. Of course, the fact that tonight’s visit had been foreordained helped immensely. That had led directly to the hinges receiving a liberal treatment of WD-40. Now, hours later, its smell still lingered.

The matter of who would have their appointment tonight could have been a toss-up. Both ladies were aged and decrepit, their best decades far behind them, their remaining time a bleak forecast of discomfort and deterioration. A visit to either of them would be a mercy, a chance to avoid the misery that awaited them. For just a moment, the temptation to visit both of them was strong....

...No. It could not be done that way. Both of them would have their turn eventually, but trying to visit them both tonight was too risky. All the previous visits had been at least three days apart, and no consecutive visits had ever been on the same wing. This only worked as long as there was restraint and discipline at all times. Lose that, and disaster would ensue.

Sorry, Mrs. Pickens. I know that you’re suffering and that you have so little reason to go on. You’ll get your visit in time, but tonight it’s Mrs. Flemister’s turn.

Quietly, with both an adherence to stealth and a solemn respect for what Bertha Flemister’s life had once been, their visitor produced the syringe and with teary eyes inserted it into the sleeping lady’s vein. The contents would take a little time to their work, by which time the visitor would be long gone. Sticking around to witness the actual moment when the foreordained passed away had never seemed like a good idea, and there was no need to break from that tradition now.

Moving with painstaking care, the visitor slipped out of the room and back into the hallway, taking time to observe a moment of silence in honor of Mrs. Flemister’s life. It hurt to see her in such a sad condition, just as it hurt to see each resident in such living decay. At least I was able to help her tonight.

Now it was time to slip back into normal routine, until such time that someone else in Spring Valley was due for a visit.

CHAPTER TWO

Monday, April 12, 1993

3:45 PM

Why do all the crazy ones seem to track me down? Wesley Winter thought to himself, even as he smiled courteously and nodded at all the right times. Olivia, where are you?

The forty-something woman standing next to him in the aisle seemed utterly oblivious to his discomfiture. "So I told her that throwing all of his belongings out into the front yard was one way to handle it, but it certainly wasn’t the most creative thing to do. Why, Frank would have known as soon as he came home from work that she had found him out and that he was in for it. No, I told her, to really pay him back the way he deserved, the key was to play it subtle, lure him into a false sense of security, and then WHAMMO!—hit him with something original, something that he wouldn’t see coming in a million years. All his stuff out on the lawn, he’d half expect that."

Wesley cleared his throat politely, both from his awkwardness and from the gagging scent of her perfume, which reminded him of nothing so much as bug spray. So what you’re telling me is that you don’t know where the brown sugar is?

Don’t worry, I’m getting to that. So anyway, I tell Janice that what I would do is that I would make him a big old dessert, whatever his favorite happened to be, but then I’d put in a little special ingredient just for him. Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered, Laxatives.

I know you guys used to keep stuff like that on this aisle, but ever since you remodeled, I haven’t really figured out your new layout, and my girlfriend is over on the other side of the store, and....

See, one time my ex-husband did that to me, so I baked him this huge pan of brownies, with a heaping helping of Ex-Lax melted right into the chocolate, the grocery store employee chortled. That no-good louse, he eats probably two or three right off the bat, raving on and on about how they’re the best brownies he’s ever put in his mouth. Well, a little while later, when all those laxatives kicked in, that’s when I charged in there to the bathroom and started beating the slop out of him with an umbrella, and he wasn't able to do anything.... By now she was laughing too hard to finish her story.

Hey, Wesley! Are you coming?

Relieved, he turned to see Olivia standing about ten feet away from him. Among other things, she had a box of brown sugar in her grocery cart, which she lifted up for him to see. They had actually moved this closer to where I was, so I figured I’d go ahead and grab it for you. I also grabbed you some Mr. Pibb, since that’s your favorite.

Great. Let’s go, he said quickly. Uh, ma’am, thank you for all your...help.

No problem, the lady chuckled, trying to regain her composure. Come back anytime.

As they walked away, Olivia elbowed him in the ribs and whispered, OK, so why do I get the idea that you don’t want to come back here any time soon?

Let’s just say that my crazy magnet strikes again.

And that’s supposed to be a news flash or something? she teased. "When does your crazy magnet not strike?"

That’s beside the point, Gorgeous.

Gorgeous, huh? she purred, sidling up subtly closer to him. I like the sound of that. But I bet you say that to all the girls.

I’d better not. I don’t want you getting any cute ideas involving brownie mix and laxatives.

Olivia chuckled and shook her head, letting her auburn locks bounce softly. Yeah, it definitely sounds like the old crazy magnet was hard at work. I can’t take you anywhere without that happening, can I?

No, I guess not.

Luckily for you, I always look forward to seeing who gets drawn to you next.

Never a dull moment, right?

Right. She sidled up to him affectionately. Besides, you’re handsome enough for me to keep you around. Especially since I talked you into growing that goatee.

You really like it, huh? Wesley stroked the hair above his lip ad on his chin, as he found himself doing frequently now.

Definitely. She stretched upward to kiss him on his cheek.

They maneuvered their way to the checkout, where a pretty blonde cashier awaited them. She smiled broadly as they approached, which Wesley was willing to write off as being nothing more than good customer service. At least, he might have, had Olivia not tensed up ever so slightly at his side. Even though he didn’t see a reason for her to suddenly be on edge, he could already hear what his girlfriend would have to say to him later. Wesley Charles Winter, you are as naïve as the wall, do you know that?

Hey, how are y’all doing today? the blonde asked warmly, trying to show as many teeth as she could manage. The plastic name tag identified her as Katie.

We’re just fine, Olivia replied.

Katie began scanning their items but then paused to look up at Wesley. Hey, you’re that guy whose family runs the motel, aren’t you? The Dew Drop Inn, right?

Yeah, that’s me. A month had passed since the blizzard and the Outcast’s killing spree. During that span, he had gotten that question quite a bit from random people around Briggsville, people who probably would have only paid him minimal attention before. Wesley still hadn’t gotten used to it, and he doubted seriously that he ever would. Every time someone recognized him, he felt horribly self-conscious. After all, no matter what Olivia or his grandmother might tell him, he still didn’t see himself as a hero. He had simply done what needed to be done in order to assure that he and everyone else snowed in at the Dew Drop Inn had survived their ordeal.

That is just so amazing what you did, Katie beamed appreciatively. I don’t know that I could have been so brave. You really are a hero, you know that?

Uh, well, all I did....

He saved my life, Olivia cut in. In fact, he risked his life for me. She was edging in even closer to him, her body language signaling possessiveness. Wesley didn’t mind it a bit, but it also changed the way he looked at their cashier. If Olivia thinks all this is necessary, then she must be seeing something that I’m not.

Oh, really, Katie responded, her tone not quite as warm as it had been a moment ago. Her smile was there, but it was different now; different in a way Wesley could see yet couldn't explain.

"Yep. Nothing quite like thinking you’re about to die, only to have the man you love step up and save the day."

Uh-huh, Katie replied. "I guess not. If a guy were to do that for me, I don’t think I’d ever be able to thank him enough." She cut her eyes toward Wesley pointedly. Immediately he sensed that there might be some hidden meaning there, but he wasn’t sure if the cashier really intended it or if he was just imagining it. Maybe Olivia’s right about me.

What he was sure of, however, was that Olivia’s glare toward the cashier was hardening. The tension in the air was thickening rapidly, as if it might displace all of the oxygen and choke Wesley out at any second. By the time that they had paid and were heading out the door, he felt as if he had been holding his breath underwater, and he practically gasped for air as they walked out to the parking lot.

Giving his arm a little squeeze, Olivia commented, I’ll bet you a Mexican dinner that all that in there just sailed right over your head, since you’re as naïve as the wall.

What, with the cashier?

OK, you’re doing better than I thought. So what do I think you missed?

Uh, I mean, I can tell you saw something, but I didn’t....

I knew it, and I’m already looking forward to my taco salad, Olivia quipped. I’m glad I went with you now, Naïve One.

You really think...?

"No, I don’t think. I know. And trust me, when she said that about not being able to thank you enough if had been her? Use your imagination, come up with what you think is probably the last thing she meant by that, and I guarantee you that’s exactly what she meant."

Oh. He still found it hard to believe, but he was learning to take Olivia’s word for whatever she might say about other women.

See, with girls like that one back there, and you not picking up on it when they’re hitting on you, it just makes me worry. I don’t want some chick to just come along when I’m not there and try to steal you away from me without you even realizing what she’s doing.

Wesley just looked at her for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. This certainly wasn’t the first time that she had picked at him for being too naïve to tell when girls were flirting with him, so he couldn’t really dispute the point. After all, it had only been in the aftermath of the Outcast incident that he had realized that Olivia herself had been in love with him for a long time, even while he had been terrified to tell her that he loved her.

Since they had become a couple, however, the cracks about his naïveté had begun to take on a new flavor. Before, the remarks had seemed like little more than good-natured ribbing between friends. Now they spoke to worry and even a little insecurity on her part, something that he never would have imagined.

"Do you really think that somebody would want to steal me away?" he asked.

Of course I do. Why wouldn’t they? I mean, you’re wonderful. You’re good-hearted, you’re handsome, you’re....

...I’m not sure that I’m any of those things.

Trust me, honey, you are, Olivia answered. "And trust me. I see how other women look at you. I’m not the only one who sees all of that in you."

"But you’re the only one who has me. And as for somebody trying to steal me away from you? Relax. I’m not like a wallet or a piece of jewelry that somebody can just come along and pick up. I’m a person, and I have a say whether somebody else takes me from you or not, and I’d say no to anybody else but you."

She smiled and looked him straight in the eye, as if she were peering in there, trying to find some kind of reassurance. Really?

Absolutely. He pulled her in and gently kissed her lips. She threw her arms around his neck immediately and squeezed him tightly, almost desperately, as if she were terrified of letting go.

When they pulled apart, she whispered, I hope you’re right about that.

"You do trust me, right? he asked, trying to be both gentle and firm at the same time. After a while, you make me start to wonder."

Olivia’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t speak right away. For just a second, he saw a flash of anger in her emerald eyes, but it subsided quickly. At last she murmured, I trust you.

So, why are we still....

"It’s all of them that I don’t trust."

OK, point taken. But trust me. I may not catch everything that you see, but I do know who I love, and I’m already with her. Gorgeous little redhead, looks just like you....

He gently placed his hand on the small of her back and began to lightly play his fingertips across the fabric of her shirt, hoping that the touch might transmit something to her that would put her at ease. Immediately he could feel the difference as she relaxed and tried to pull herself more tightly to him, burying her face in his chest. Still, he knew that the matter would still gnaw at the back of her mind.

CHAPTER THREE

When they were still a couple of miles away from the Dew Drop Inn, an uneasy feeling began to settle over Wesley, causing goose bumps to pop up along the flesh of his arms. He tried to ignore it, but the sensation only intensified, like a little child jumping up and down and shouting louder and louder for attention. Something’s up, he murmured.

You feel it too? Olivia replied immediately, almost before he himself could finish speaking. Like something bad is about to happen?

Sort of. There was no reassurance in knowing that she felt the same unsettled sensation. In fact, it was probably the least reassuring thing that she could have told him. One of the many things that he had learned about Olivia over the past month was that she had a way of sensing when things weren’t exactly as they should be. The fact that she shared in his sudden uneasiness was alarming, and he pressed down harder on the accelerator.

Even from half a mile away, the Dew Drop Inn bore an uncanny resemblance to the Bates Motel from Psycho. The main building was a squatty, one-story job, showing the marks of years of disrepair. All twelve rooms sat side by side, connected by a narrow sidewalk that passed each door. The office building, along with the now-defunct diner and gas station that once were part of his grandfather’s business, hunched off to one side, looking even more decrepit than the Inn itself. Finally, the Hitchcockian motif was completed by the Winter family home, which stood behind the Inn and loomed over it just as Mrs. Bates’ house had done in the movie.

Now, thanks to Adrianna, we now have our own little history of murder to complete the package. Alfred Hitchcock would be so proud....

As soon as his family’s property came into sight, he knew that his apprehension had been justified. Three people were standing on the ground in front of their house, while a fourth was positioned up on the roof, sitting on the overhang over the front porch with his feet dangling over the edge.

Please, God, don’t let it be....

Olivia suddenly grabbed his arm. Wesley, that’s your granddaddy up on the roof! she gasped.

Come on, God. I said please!

He wasn’t even aware of how fast he was driving until he turned into the Inn’s parking lot, sending gravel flying everywhere like so much birdshot. Slowing down just barely enough to ensure that he didn’t lose control, he pulled up as close to the house as he could and jumped out without even stopping to cut the engine. Quickly he ran over to the three people on the ground—his grandmother, Mae; his father, Gene; and his friend Cole. What’s he doing up there? Wesley cried.

Gene shook his head. You tell me, and then we’ll both know. No telling what’s going on in his head when he’s like this. Instinctively Wesley caught himself sniffing for a trademark stench of alcohol as his father spoke. When he didn’t smell any, he didn’t know whether to be relieved at his father’s momentary sobriety or embarrassed that checking his breath should have been the first thing to come to mind.

Homer Winter! Mae shouted, the agitation in her voice obvious. Get down from there as fast as you can!

Cole Inman cleared his throat. Be careful what you tell him, Mrs. Winter. The fastest way down isn’t really what you want.

Mae gave him a dirty look, but she got the hint. Go back inside and come down the way you went up!

No! Homer retorted, sounding nothing like a grandfather and everything like a defiant child. Given the progression of his Alzheimer’s—and the regression that came with it—such was probably exactly what the older man thought he was at this point. His moments of relative clarity were becoming increasingly rare, and Wesley feared that they were drawing close to the day when they would cease altogether.

How did he even get up there? Olivia asked as she came beside Wesley.

Cole Inman turned and peered at them over his sunglasses. Near as I can figure, he went through one of the upstairs windows and just decided to park it out there.

Wesley looked up to see that the window of one gable was indeed wide open. Gene was right—there was no way of knowing what might have been running through Homer’s mind at the time he decided to go up there, just like they couldn’t tell where his mind was right now. All that he could know for sure was that his grandfather was at risk of falling—and his grandmother might put herself at risk of a heart attack by worrying about him falling.

He could only see one way to avert either calamity, one that put a brick-sized lump in his throat. If there was one thing he had learned from his experience with the Outcast, however, it was that sometimes those lumps had to be swallowed. Without a word, he hurried into the house and up the stairs, only vaguely aware of everyone’s voices outside. Their attention was on Homer for the moment, which was what he needed.

Each rung on the old wooden staircase squeaked under his weight, as if they were one by one voicing their objections over his plan. Going from the landing to the pull-down attic steps should have taken him four strides, but he was peripherally aware of covering the distance in only two this time. The shaky ladder creaked, and a splinter gouged into his left index finger, but