Hush: Part Three of the Tangled Web Trilogy

By Ian Black

“The scariest hush is the kind that screams”
—Sloan Phoenix
A friendship will be tested. . .
A trust will be broken. . .
A lifelong secret will be revealed!
Having barely survived the car explosion that nearly killed him and his best friend, Garry Lennox, Sloan Phoenix must immediately contend with the complications of the sudden murder of an old enemy, Sydney Prescott.
After her culpability in the murder of her first husband, Charlie, was exposed, Judy’s marriage to Chris Faulkner is on the verge of divorce. Becoming increasingly short on allies, Judy hires divorce attorney, Jericho Fox, a childhood rival of Sloan’s, to handle her case. Her life is further complicated when she and Sloan are invited to Sydney Prescott’s will reading, which puts many of their dirty deeds over the years in danger of being revealed.
As the killer goes after many of the people present at the will reading, Sloan and Judy are pitted against each other in a dangerous game of cat and mouse in an effort to expose the other as the killer. But the true killer has another game. A game that has three rules:
Don’t scream.
Don’t cry.
Just hush. And you die.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728321509

Ian Black

The Revd Ian Black is Vicar of Peterborough, Canon Residentiary of Peterborough Cathedral and Rural Dean of Peterborough in the Church of England Diocese of Peterborough.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 Ian Black. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/15/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2151-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2149-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-2150-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019910724

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Dying

Chapter 1

Explosion

Chapter 2

Sins

Chapter 3

Flames

Chapter 4

Burned

Chapter 5

Connection

Chapter 6

Bitter

Chapter 7

Change

Chapter 8

Broken

Chapter 9

Lost

Chapter 10

Scream

Chapter 11

Will

Chapter 12

Specter

Chapter 13

Mask

Chapter 14

Impulse

Chapter 15

Vendetta

Chapter 16

Identity

Chapter 17

Memory

Chapter 18

Shattered

Chapter 19

Puzzle

Chapter 20

Mortality

Chapter 21

Crash

Chapter 22

Passion

Chapter 23

Alone

Chapter 24

Dark

Chapter 25

Home

Chapter 26

Shame

Chapter 27

Hate

Chapter 28

Cold

Chapter 29

Power

Chapter 30

Conquer

Chapter 31

Consumed

Chapter 32

Fear

Chapter 33

Hell

Chapter 34

Shadow

Chapter 35

Nightmare

Chapter 36

Heartbeat

Chapter 37

Alive

Chapter 38

Enemies

Chapter 39

Twisted

Chapter 40

Conclusion

Epilogue

Phoenix

Dedicated in loving memor

y of:

Garry, my best friend in this life, whose friendship, sense of humor and grounding influence was the inspiration for the character that bears your name.

And Mark, the tall red head with a bad smoking habit, who more closely resembled the character Garry than the actual Garry.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to the following people. The production of this book (and the entire trilogy) would be impossible without your contributions to my life.

My parents, Raymond and Sandra for never giving up on me.

Sharon J. and Sharon K., whose bravery and kindness I honored with the character Karen. I would not be here today had it not been for you.

Jan and Lavette, for your constant support and encouragement during this project.

PROLOGUE

DYING

T HE ONLY THING KAREN Jones hated worse than having to walk all the way to the center of town to go grocery shopping at the farmer’s market in the middle of an unusually hot and humid autumn was walking all the way back to the fifth floor in her apartment building to be greeted by that smell. That putrid smell that saturated the halls like new paint in a room with no ventilation. Something was dying and nobody seemed to care. Everyone on the floor had been complained to her about it. Mostly kids from the college, too busy and immature to complain to the landlord properly instead of laughing and making off-color comments.

As Karen fished for the key to her apartment in her pocket while cradling the hulking bag of meat and produce in her arm, she cursed herself for settling in this slum instead of the nice tower apartments closer to her office building. Money was tight these days and her secretary job didn’t pay very much, so this would have to do until her lease was up in December. With how liberal she considered herself to be, Karen was sickened by the fact that everyone else in this building seemed to be having more fun than she was. With all the loud sex, drugs and wild parties at all hours, Karen was beginning to feel like the life was being sucked out of her by this place. Something in her was dying and no one seemed to care.

Even with hours of relaxing under the breeze of her fan, the bullying smell made an unwelcomed rendezvous with her nose, penetrating the walls and closed door and overpowering the rose-scented candles she lit throughout the apartment. In a fevered huff, while trying desperately not to inhale, Karen marched out of her apartment and slammed the door behind her, making her way to the source of the smell. An apartment around the corner at the end of the hall.

When she whipped around the corner, she smacked into the chest of a tall, handsome, redheaded young man, seemingly in his late twenties. Oh excuse me. I’m sorry.

She smiled politely, charmed by his chiseled face and bright smile. She hadn’t seen him in about a year. He used to be here more frequently. Not since his old girlfriend started acting crazy. It’s okay. It’s just me. I was going around the corner to find out about that smell.

He squinted and scrunched his nose. Yeah, I noticed it when I was here last night. What is that? It smells like something is dead or dying.

She shrugged and giggled under the charm of his smile. I have no idea. It’s been like this all day. I’m going to call a health inspector if the sleazebag landlord doesn’t do anything.

Connie Lennox, a brunette, bony, pale, sultry-looking woman in her mid thirties staggered up the hall from behind her charming conversation partner in a provocative black, leather outfit. She was tall and stringy. Surprisingly thin for a woman who was eight months pregnant when she met her a year ago. Before she started getting crazy. Karen wondered if she perhaps lost that baby, which caused her boyfriend to leave her. Karen’s guess was that it probably happened because she was on drugs, which wasn’t too farfetched for Connie Lennox. Hey baby, are you coming back later?

Karen glanced down at his hand as she wrapped her lanky body around his arm possessively. There was a golden wedding band on his finger. Karen figured if this man was hanging with a girl of Connie’s reputation in this building, then she was right about everyone in this building having more fun than she was. Morality was dying and no one seemed to care.

The gentleman shook his head, seemingly embarrassed and frustrated by the intrusion. Yeah. I’ll be back in an hour, you go get some rest. He shrugged uneasily at Connie’s presence in the awkward moment of silence. Uh—Connie, this is my new friend uh—

Karen interjected to quell his stammering. Karen Jones from apartment 502. And your name is?

He smiled charmingly and shrugged, seemingly claustrophobic in the combined presence of both ladies. Charlie Palmer. He glanced down at his watch, inching toward the staircase. I should get going.

There was a tense silence that filled the space between her and Connie when Charlie slipped down the hall, with Connie eyeing his path disdainfully, letting an angry mumble crawl from her frown. Asshole. She jumped at the sound of her voice. No, not you. He just pissed me off is all.

She smiled nervously. I understand. You want to go check out that smell?

Her face puckered sourly. Oh yeah, I think it’s coming from Pauli and Maggie’s apartment at this end of the hall. Just my luck, I ended up living right next to the funky smell. She gestured with her head and started back down the hall toward the apartment at the end where the smell was strongest. Her roommate, Pauli’s been out of town for days, So Maggie’s been there alone. She only left the apartment this morning. I know Maggie was depressed but to let her housecleaning slide this much is ridiculous.

Upon stopping at the door, Karen could barely open her mouth to speak as the smell grew more toxic in its intensity. Depressed? Why?

Connie shrugged and tossed her stringy hair over her shoulder. Oh, some problems with her man. Connie grabbed the doorknob and drew back her hand in surprise as the door opened in that spine-chilling way it would if a ghost had opened it. Connie strategically, wordlessly slipped away and took off down the hall. After a long moment, Karen dared to step inside and reached for the light switch to illuminate the hovel inside.

It was barren. No furniture. No carpeting. Windows completely shut. A swarm of flies did their collective ballroom dance in the air around the source of the rank odor. The air pressure in the hall slammed the door behind her. As startled and disturbed as Karen was, she was surprised that someone this close to her could be living in conditions like this with life going on like nothing was wrong. Something was dying and no one seemed to care. Hopefully not the woman who lived here.

Karen called out to the woman, hoping for response. She was startled a faint rhythmic tapping coming from the bedroom. She followed the sound, proceeding cautiously for anything that may jump out at her. She was eerily surprised to see the bedroom was almost as barren and empty as the last, with the exception of the rickety wooden dresser by the open closet door. With every second, the smell increased in potency—almost intense enough to make Karen vomit. The last time Karen remembered smelling something so foul was the time her brother, Reggie left a shoe box in the basement, to cover up the fact that he accidentally killed her pet hamster a week prior to her finding it.

Upon scanning the barren room, Karen spotted the bottom drawer in the dresser moving, in perfect time with the tapping sound. She crept close to the dresser and slowly knelt on the floor. She slowly pulled open the drawer and nearly gasped at the sight of a small baby, kicking at the drawer. A boy naked and filthy. His face was turning a purple color as if struggling to breathe. The sight was enough to make her cry. This child was dying and no one seemed to care. Gently she lifted the baby, from the puddle of urine and feces he wallowed in. He let out a cough as she brought him to her chest. The cough seemed to make him breathe easier. She thanked God that children didn’t remember their first years. Otherwise this child would end up becoming a claustrophobic nutcase.

Karen turned toward the door and screamed at the sight of the woman sitting on the floor. Her body was slumped over, her skin, an ashen gray. Her long, stick-like legs spread apart, and resting in a small puddle of blood, which served as a watering hole for the flies and maggots that populated the room. As Karen drew close, she noticed that around the woman’s neck was an expensive-looking silver locket. An heirloom of sorts. The woman was obviously an addict, as Karen took notice of the track marks on her left arm. This woman had been dying and nobody seemed to care or notice. Karen was beginning to feel claustrophobic and rushed out of the room and the apartment, making a mad dash for her apartment, the baby wailing and crying the entire way.

She placed the baby on the couch and reached for the phone to call the police. As the phone on the other end of the line rang, the baby began to cry louder. She looked on him with great sympathy and touched his belly to shush him. Calm down little guy. I’ll get you some help. Okay, you’re going to have to pardon me. I’m going to sing. Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a—

The dispatch at the police station finally answered the phone. It was a female voice. Carolina Bay police department. How may I help you?

Surprised at the sudden voice, she stammered for a reply. Uh—hi, I’m in the Sloan building on Godiva Street. I’m on the fifth floor. I just found the woman, living in apartment five hundred, is lying dead in her apartment.

Wait a second, mam, did you hear anything coming from the apartment or see anyone else?

She shivered at the possibility of foul play the dispatcher was proposing. No, no sounds. No one else. The baby s reaching out toward her, widening his haunting, green eyes reminded her of what to tell the dispatcher. Oh, wait! A baby. I found a newborn baby boy in the dresser in the bedroom. I need to get him to the hospital as soon as possible.

She could hear the dispatcher plucking away at her computer as she spoke. Okay, I’m sending two units to your building, along with an ambulance. They should be there in about five minutes.

Okay, thank you. Karen hung up the phone on the end table beside the couch and knelt by the couch by the baby’s side, the baby delightfully cooing and reaching out to her. The sight of him, so at peace made Karen smile. Hush, little baby.

phoenix.jpg     phoenix.jpg

Karen spent much of the night with the baby at the hospital and answering a barrage of questions from the police. They concluded what Karen already knew, that the Sloan building was a hotspot for a lot of shady dealings Drugs, prostitution and possibly Mafia activity. They told her that another mother had been found dead in an alley next to the Sloan building. She reportedly dropped her baby off at a local orphanage across town while she was pregnant. She apparently died from a uterine infection caused by a labor that probably lasted for days and wasn’t properly treated.

After a barrage of tests on the baby that lasted early into the morning, the nurses, who suddenly seemed all-too eager to release the baby, gave Karen most of the paperwork to take over to the orphanage. She was happy to learn baby was fine, short of a minor lung infection, probably from breathing the fumes in that drawer and the toxic air from the dead body.

On the drive across town to the Cradle House Orphanage, Karen looked at him in the rearview mirror squirming from the car seat the hospital gave her. You’re going to make it, little guy. You’re going to have quite the story to tell. Quite the story indeed. She nearly cried when her mind drifted to the fact that she had nothing to offer this innocent child. No mother. No father. No home. Nothing but a crowded orphanage full of nuns, priests and small crowded rooms full of what may be unruly children. That thought amplified itself in her brain as she parked in the barren and poorly paved parking lot. She observed the silhouettes see many of the children, running around and playing through the windows of their rooms and sighed.

Grabbing the paperwork from the glove compartment, Karen stepped out of the car and unfastened the seatbelts on the baby’s car seat in the back, scooping him up in her arms. She carried the child toward the house, making silly faces at him as she brought him to the door. She paused for a moment before ringing the doorbell and considered what would happen to this baby when she left him here. She wondered if it was something his mother would have wanted for him. She locked eyes with the infant in her arms, his green eyes seeming to read her thoughts. When he cooed, all of her doubts melted away, and she gently touched the doorbell.

Several seconds later, the door was pulled open by an elderly, zaftig nun in full garb. May I help you?

The sight of the obvious stress on woman’s flustered face made her hold the baby closer. Good evening, ma’am. I’m here to drop off this special little boy. I’m not the baby’s mother. I just found him in my apartment building a few hours ago.

The nun’s eyes widened as if she were familiar with the story. Oh, you’re from the hospital. The young lady the police called us about. We’ve been expecting you for some time. I’m Sister Mary Higgins. Come right in. I wonder why the hospital was so soon to release that little darling so soon after he was found. She widened the door gestured for her to enter.

I thought that too. Karen stepped into what appeared to be the main lobby. The inside was modestly decorated, with several young boys chasing each other around the furniture.

Sister Higgins glared at the children judgmentally, causing them to immediately calm down and scurry up the main stairs noisily. I’m sorry we’re so chaotic here. We’ve been awfully busy all day. We’ve had an unprecedented amount of children, being brought in tonight. Seventeen, not counting your guy and twelve of them being little babies. He is the second one with pretty green eyes like that.

Karen handed Sister Higgins the paperwork from the hospital in a manila folder, stamped with the hospital’s logo. I understand. I already signed these. I hope everything’s there. I wouldn’t want to make things any more complicated for you than they already are.

Sister Higgins took the papers and hand and whipped out a pen from her pocket and set them on the coffee table. Don’t worry about that, dear.

As Karen began to make faces at the baby in her arms, a slender looking priest, seemingly in his mid –twenties, wearing full clerical garb came marching down the stairs. Sister Higgins, you have to start being more careful with the nursery. You had the baby Josh and the baby William in the wrong cribs. That’s the second time you did that.

Sister Higgins giggled, unconcerned. Oh dear! It’s just that all of them came in so fast and all the Babies look alike.

The priest smirked sarcastically as he walked toward them. Baby William is Chinese and the Josh is black. Or it maybe it’s just that you’re so near-sighted that you couldn’t tell them apart gender-wise even. He said with a sarcastic chuckle.

Sister Higgins shook her head, chuckling as she signed the last of the papers. "Oh Patrick, you can be such a curmudgeon.

Ma’am, this gentleman is Father Patrick Turner. She gestured toward Karen and the baby. Patrick, she brought this little guy to us tonight. Patrick, this is Miss Jones."

He smiled and walked over to the baby and lifted him out of the car seat in Karen’s arms. Cute little guy, isn’t he. He gently rocked the baby around in his arms and cradled him near his chest. Several seconds of staring down at him and making goofy faces ended in the baby spitting up on his sleeve. Uh-oh, looks like someone can’t hold their formula.

Sister Mary shook her head, shaking the paper in her hands. We can’t keep calling him little guy. All the other kids will make fun of him."

Father Patrick snatched the papers from Mary, scanning it over. His name isn’t on here. I doubt his name is baby John Doe.

Karen felt blood rush to her cheeks as Father Patrick glared at her sarcastically. After all this time she couldn’t think of a name for the baby. Being that she never knew the name of his mother before finding her in her apartment, giving him a name off the top of her head didn’t seem right to her. I couldn’t think of a name that the hospital would accept.

Sister Higgins took the baby from father Patrick and cradled him softly in her arms. The hospital told me you found him in the Sloan building. Let’s call him that."

Father Patrick arched his eyebrow sarcastically. What about his last name. We can’t call him Sloan Doe; that sounds like an exclamation Homer Simpson would make.

Sister Mary laughed softly. Well Karen is the one who found him, let’s give him her last name. What’s your last name, dear?

Karen struggled to get her voice, feeling like she was being put on the spot. Jones.

Father Patrick rolled his eyes. Oh great, now his names rhyme. So much for the kids not making fun of him.

Karen stepped "Well, Sloan, I have to get going. He cooed softly as she held him to her face and kissed him. When she finally gathered the inner strength to tear herself apart from Sloan by handing him over to the priest, she backed toward the door in tears, waving goodbye. In his contented cooing, she almost heard him say goodbye.

The walk toward the car was one of the hardest steps Karen had ever taken. She thought it was the tears in her eyes, causing the dying lights in the parking lot to play tricks on her, because she saw two black –suited men, standing outside a black stretch limousine blocking her car’s way out. As she drew closer, one of the men—the taller one, approached her with an eerie sense of self-confidence.

He stopped directly in her path, looking down at her as if he had some strange degree of authority over her. Excuse me ma’am. Are you Karen Jones?

She flinched at the mention of her name by the stranger. That depends. Who wants to know?

Karen kept her eye fixed on the man who addressed her, but she could tell that the other man had moved in behind her by the boxed-in feeling she was getting. Mister Vespucci would like to speak with you.

The man in front of her opened the door. Would you come in mam?

Karen eyed him for a moment. If this had gotten any shadier, she would be prompted to scream. However, judging by the obvious bulges in their jackets that she assumed were guns, screaming was probably not the wisest choice. After a few tense seconds, she finally got her legs to move and stepped forward to peek inside the limo. Inside sat a somewhat portly man in a gray Italian suit, sipping a brandy out of a snifter. His eyes rolled over to her, giving a pat on the seat beside him. Miss Jones, please come in.

She hesitated for a second, figuring she had no choice. She thought it wisest to comply and slide inside, one of the guards closing the door behind her.

He eyed her for a moment as he seemed to be allowing time for the other men to get in front of the car. You seem to be so tense, Ms. Jones. His voice was deep and intense with a heavy Italian accent.

Karen wiped the tears from her eyes and breathed an annoyed impatient breath. Ok. Who are you? And why does everyone seem to know my name when I don’t know jack about you?

His bushy eyebrows seemed to do a dance of amusement on his forehead as he leaned forward to knock on the partition window. Let’s drive, boys.

A well of fear rose up in Karen’s stomach as the car turned on. Where the hell do you think we’re going?

He rolled his eyes as he placed his glass in the cup holder and as he sat back in his seat. His confident presence filled the space between them, making it seem smaller. Calm down, Miss Jones. I came to you to discuss something. Important business. To make you an offer. He reached down behind the bottom of his legs and pulled up a leather briefcase, which he set and opened on the seat beside her.

Karen had seen such things in movies, but she had never seen so much cash in real life. Seeing the neatly stacked piles of cash made her eyes widen. Let me guess, this is the part when you make me an offer I can’t refuse.

He frowned at her sarcasm. No, this is the part when I make you an offer you’d better not refuse.

A note of fear slithered up her throat and into her voice. What kind of offer? What is this supposed to be?

Well, a few hours ago you found a dead woman and her baby in your apartment building. I’m not so much concerned with the mother as much as the baby you brought to the orphanage. I’m more concerned with the pseudo-maternal bond you’ve undoubtedly developed with him.

She crossed her arms impatiently, giving him a sardonic glare. Yeah so, he’s a cute kid. I love him. I still don’t understand what you want me to do.

He took another sip of his brandy, eyeing her sternly. I’m sure you’d probably adopt the little fellow if your situation were different.

Karen glanced out the window. For some reason, they were circling the block. So, what now; you’re you going to bribe me into adopting him?

He laughed as if she said something naïve. No, I’m going to bribe you to not adopt him. He slid the briefcase closer. After tonight, you will never see him ever again. Never have any contact with him through the years. Leave him to whatever life he decides to make for himself.

She picked up a stack of cash and thumbed through it. She felt must have been ten thousand dollars per stack. Close to two million dollars in all, judging by the width, length and depth of the briefcase. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle fit together in her mind. You’re the reason the hospital was so eager to discharge that baby so quickly.

The man’s wicked chuckle sent a shiver racing down Karen’s spine. What makes you think I’ll go along with this?

He shrugged and leaned back with a confident smile. The fact that I’ve done my research. Karen Elizabeth Jones. Born here in Carolina Bay to Stanley and Elizabeth Jones. A custodial engineer and a missionary. Despite low-paying occupations, their meager combined savings and income, they managed to put you and your brother and sister through fairly expensive northeastern colleges, a feat that landed both you and your siblings in a great deal of debt. Your father’s mother is suffering from Alzheimer’s in a nursing home. Healthcare at any age is not cheap. Any word to a friend of mine from me may cause them their house to go into foreclosure, plunging them into bankruptcy. I doubt salary as an entry –level accounting assistant and nursing student could even begin to cover the cost of that.

There was a tense silence in that moment. His smile at her surprise and fear was sinister and sadistic as he eyed her looking at the money. If she could, she would’ve shrunken and slithered out through the door. But as difficult it was for her to admit to herself, his threats were very real and the money was too great to her pass on."

He smirked an arrogantly and with satisfaction at her silence. So, are do we have a deal?

She couldn’t believe that she was even considering this. Her gut urged her to refuse, but then she pictured her Grandma Alice, being thrown out of her nursing home. And her hardworking parents, losing the home the worked so hard for. She heard all their voices, her mother, her father and her siblings—all of them begging her to take it and make their lives easier. It was almost as if they were all in that car with her staring at her with pleading tears in their eyes. It got so very crowded in here. With her father, her mother, her grandmother and Mr. Vespucci and his two goons in her head. Reluctantly, she slammed the briefcase shut and took it in her arms, much like she did that baby. ‘Yes." With the breath of that word, Karen felt something inside her shrivel up. Her heart. Her integrity. Very her soul were all dying and no one seemed to care.

Get tangled in the web

Previously …

Years ago, best friends, Sloan Phoenix and Garry Lennox left the orphanage in where they grew up in search of their birth parents. Their search ended in a dual disappointment. Garry learned that his mother, Constance Lennox had gone insane after his father, a man named Charlie Palmer, left her to be with his wife. Sloan learned similarly that this father, Chad Prescott, left his mother to be with another woman, a young socialite, Sydney Walker. Chad later married this woman, after becoming very wealthy off of several savvy investments.

After learning this, a very bitter Sloan, with the help of his friend, embarked on a several-year-long campaign of manipulation and revenge against his father and his two children, Mike and Chloe Prescott, Sloan became involved with a former flame of Mike’s, Kristen Evans, later manipulating her into break off their subsequent engagement by leaving Sloan for Mike. The series of events ignited a firestorm of bitterness and anger between Sloan and the Prescott family, the climax of which left Kristen incurably insane, due to the effects of a psychotropic drug, called Scratch, both Mike and Chloe dead, and Sloan inheriting the family business.

In return for Garry’s help, Sloan sought out the wife of Garry’s biological father, Psychiatrist Judy Palmer, and under the guise of a patient, groomed and manipulated her into killing her husband for his most current infidelity with Dr. Palmer’s young secretary, Kristen Phillips, who as later revealed to be a prostitute named Tanya.

Two years later. . .

Embittered by Sloan’s manipulation, Judy later re-married old college friend, Dr. Chris Faulkner whose old friendship with deceased silent partner in Prescott Industries, Marcus Raymond allowed Judy, who has abandoned her career as a psychiatrist, to take his place in the company run by her enemy. Declaring war on Sloan, Judy forms a secret vengeance pact with young heir, Dan pierce Jr. whose reluctance to sell his late father’s company bitterly begins with Sloan’s suspected actions against the Prescott family.

Sloan, somewhat troubled by, Judy’s reemergence, turns to his lifelong best friend, Garry Lennox. After a conversation with his mother, still a patient in a mental institution, Garry learns that her earlier affair with Charlie Palmer was orchestrated by his boss, mobster Angelo Vespucci, who later is discovered to be Charlie’s father as a means of keeping young Charlie and Judy apart. As Sloan helps Garry cope with the information, Sloan develops a passionate relationship with young widow, Alexis Pierce, all the while being tormented by dreams and memories of his past at the orphanage at the hands of Father Patrick Turner, estranged half-brother to Chris Faulkner.

Meanwhile, Judy is dismayed by the visitation of her estranged sister, Tara, who is visiting due to the death of her former fiancé, Marcus Raymond. Even more troubling to Judy was the mysterious bond Tara forms with Chris. Sloan and Garry learn that Angelo became involved with Charlie and Judy’s past when he learned of Judy’s father enlisting Tara and Marcus to steal Judy’s baby with Charlie and make Judy believe that it had died in order to break them apart.

Tara remains inwardly haunted by her the ghost of her father’s memory who torments her with the fact of what she’s done which may have left her sister to be unable to carry children. Hoping that what she and Marcus did remains a secret, she desperately searches for Marcus Raymond’s missing wife, who may have vital information as to what really happened.

Judy has insidiously involved Patrick turner in her scheme against Sloan by arranging a surprise visit with Sloan at his office. Sloan later discovers that the very priest who abused and tortured him throughout his childhood is the adopted father of his lover, Alexis Pierce. Their surprising re-introduction leads Sloan to propose to Alexis pierce, only after when tells him that she is pregnant. Angry with Judy for her deception, Patrick discovers that Judy killed her husband, Charlie in the shocking double murder that rocked the town two years prior and threatens to reveal the truth to his brother¸ Chris.

After learning that her former father-in-law, Angelo Vespucci is very much alive, Judy turns to the mafia to arrange certain problems for Sloan and Alexis. Her plan traps, herself, Dan Pierce Jr. and a very pregnant and stressed out Alexis in an elevator in the Prescott Industries building. Alexis delivers a healthy baby boy with Judy’s help. Judy enlists the help of mafia hit man, Ernesto Del Toro to have Patrick shot at Sloan and Alexis’ wedding, as he stands up to object and stop the marriage.

Ernesto is later nearly killed through orders from Angelo Vespucci. Barely surviving being thrown off a bridge, Ernesto vows revenge on old enemies, Sloan and Garry.

Meanwhile, reluctantly following along with Judy’s diabolical scheme, Dan Pierce breaks into Sloan and Alexis’ house and spikes the baby’s milk bottles with powerful pain killers. The baby later dies at the hospital, with Alexis blaming Sloan for having so many enemies. After the baby’s burial, a doctor from the hospital helps Sloan piece together the baby’s death by revealing that the baby was poisoned. After Sloan deduces that Dan was the one who administered the poison, he and Garry prepare to burry Dan alive in a graveyard far outside of town. But before they do, Dan reveals that Alexis had been working with him and Judy all along, out of revenge for a miscarriage caused by the devastation over the grief her friend, Tanya, a.k.a. Kristen Phillips, the woman who had an affair with Charlie Palmer.

Enraged, Sloan goes to expose Judy’s actions. Sloan, confronted Judy’s suspicious sister, Tara, learns that the baby Judy had years ago isn’t dead and later pieced together that the baby is his wife, Alexis. Sloan later confronts everyone with the truth and it is revealed his trusted secretary, Mary Don Viuda has been working with Judy all along and is the widow of Marcus Raymond. Sloan reveals what he learned about the scheme Chris, Tara and Marcus Raymond carried out at the behest of Judy’s father and reveals to Judy that Alexis is her long -lost daughter.

Alexis and Sloan later team up to lure Judy back to the Prescott building, under the guise that Alexis is holding everyone hostage. Her penchant for heinous violence is revealed in front of her husband when she attempted to shoot Alexis to death, only firing blanks. Sloan later played a pre-recorded conversation that had Judy admitting to Charlie’s murder, leaving Judy vowing revenge.

After the drama unfolds, Sloan meets up with Garry, explaining that his son is very much alive n safe in a faraway orphanage. After their conversation, Garry got into his car which surprisingly exploded bursting into flames with him inside.

THE TANGLED WEB

By Ian Black

Sitting in my hiding place

In my dark and lonely hungry space

Then one day it’s you I see

Pretending not to notice me

I lure you with a hidden line

To draw you in and make you mine

My hypnotic dance you see me do

In an effort to devour you

You draw in closer just to feed

Your interest to dance along with me

And how deeply does this interest lie?

Is it in your mind and behind your eyes?

Past your chest? Between your thighs?

Along your spine onto your hips,

Emerging softly on your lips

Your heart beats at a rapid pace

You start to run I start to chase

As you entice with a hungry stare

You make me fall and gasp for air.

Alone I dangle tethered to

The tangled web I wove for you.

CHAPTER 1

EXPLOSION

T HERE WAS AN EXPLOSION of light and urgent voices when Sloan opened his eyes as the gurney he found himself laying on crashed through the doors of what he assumed was the emergency room at Carolina Bay Hospital. He tried to focus and recall what had happened to him, in spite of what seemed like a swarm of emergency room doctors clustering around him and the blasting pain in his forehead that throbbed in opposite intervals of the pain in the back of his head.

Then, in one painfully blinding flash, he remembered—oh God, did he remember! It was early in the afternoon in Snyder Park. Sloan was sitting in his car brooding over having just dropped off his son, Sasha, who was presumed dead, off at an orphanage. Garry Lennox, his lifelong best friend, dropped by the park and sat in the car, helping him come to terms with the chaos of the last year. They said their goodbyes and prepared to part ways, leaving a feeling of good will about an otherwise disturbing situation. But as Garry stepped into his car, all good feelings about the moment vaporized when a massive explosion consumed Garry’s car in flames.

The force from the explosion threw Sloan onto his back, knocking the wind out of him as he smacked his head hard on the curb. He struggled to get to his feet and darted to the flaming driver’s side door, finding Garry unconscious on the in the seat with flames and twisted metal surrounding him. Shards of glass were embedded in his skin. Unsure of whether or not to move him. Sloan swallowed his doubt and knelt beside him, carefully reaching over to rescue Garry hoisted his limp and bloody body over his shoulder. Sloan burned his right arm on the flames on the door as he pulled Garry out. As he carried him away from the fire a second explosion launched Sloan off his feet and threw him to and Garry to the ground. Garry landed in a soft patch of grass. Sloan, however, hit his head on the pavement. Then everything went black.

Sloan figured it was al one big nightmare. It had to be. In all the chaos of the present moment, Sloan could only gather the presence of mind to call out to Garry in hopes of the unlikely event that he survived.

A masked female doctor forcefully placed her hand on Sloan’s chest and looked over to one of the other doctors crowded around him. Keep him calm!

Sloan shoved her hand away and raised his groggy-sounding voice. No wait! Where is he? Is he okay?

The doctor, a male doctor, nudged the other doctor aside and held down Sloan’s shoulder. Sir, I need you to stay calm. Something about his patronizing tone rubbed Sloan the wrong way. Sloan’s mind flipped back to his concern for his feisty cat Churchill. And how he hated being held by Strangers. Sloan asked himself, what would Churchill do in this situation?

With that thought, Sloan clenched his fist and launched it toward the male doctor, cracking across his jaw. An explosion of surprised gasps burst from the crowd as they rushed to hold him down. Again, Sloan launched his fist out at another doctor, this time a female. A male nurse grabbed his hand. Sloan slipped his wrist through his hand and shot his closed fist up at him to punch his nose. Suddenly, Sloan felt a slight sensation pain, in his arm. It was a needle. The feeling of it slurred speech of his mind. The room became heavy and slow and dark. Until everything went black.

phoenix.jpg     phoenix.jpg

Mr. Phoenix?

Sloan’s eyes slowly peeled open upon hearing the sound of his name. A short, gray bearded man in a white doctor’s jacket stood at his bedside. Sloan didn’t recognize the man at first.

He smiled gently and spoke in a controlled tone. Mr. Phoenix, I’m Doctor Freeman. You’re in the Carolina Bay Hospital Intensive care unit. You were brought here after an incident at Snyder Park.

Sloan felt a bandage wrapped around his forehead as he went to furrow his brow. There was another bandage tightly wrapped around his arm and Torso. I think I hit you in the face.

The doctor laughed bashfully. It’s okay, you were delirious. My face only bled for an hour. After I heal, I can go back to my modeling side gig. Sloan tried to laugh politely at the doctor’s sense of humor but his mind was too scrambled. What happened? How long have I been here?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses and glanced down at the iPad in his hand. A little more than two weeks. You were in and out most of that time. I doubt you will remember much after the surgery. You and your friend were critically injured during a car explosion. You suffered two major concussions, a third degree burn on your right forearm and two bruised ribs.

It startled Sloan how quickly the memory of it all came back to him. Him sitting in his car, talking to Garry, walking to his car and then that horrid explosion went off. He felt the sting from the aged burn on his arm when he pictured pulling Garry away from the fire. And then the second explosion that forced him on his head. Garry! Where is he? Is he okay?

The doctor’s face went gray with a stony shadow of remorse. Your friend suffered intense trauma from the explosion. The burns on his arms, legs and back were enough to thrust his body into shock. That coupled with the internal bleeding primarily caused by his broken rib bone puncturing his heart was more than enough to make him lapse into a coma during the operation.

Sloan’s jaw dropped at the doctor’s explanation. Where is he? I have to go see him.

The Doctor grabbed loan’s wrist as he motioned to get out of bed. For the most part, he’s stable. He’s come out of his coma but he’s still unconscious. We’re restricting visitors at this time to give him some rest. You should rest too and not worry so much. That’s quite a concussion you had, young man. Very close to doing permanent brain damage. Doctor Freeman backed away from the bed and looked toward the door as Sloan lied back compliantly. I’ll be back soon.

Sloan closed his eyes as the doctor left, letting the weight of the events soak in his head. As he heard the doctor stroll down the hall, he felt the sudden urge to peak beneath his blanket and spotted a tube trailing out from under his hospital gown. He dropped his head back on to the pillow and signed with disgust. They put a catheter in me. He said to himself. I should have hit him harder.

For what seemed like timeless minutes there was nothing but silence. And in that silence, one truth screamed at him: Judy caused this explosion. She’s tried to kill him and she tried to kill his son. Not to mention, she threatened him when he exposed her machinations to her husband, The thought that the explosion was intentional—the thought that one person or persons had the audacity to try and kill his best friend in the open filled Sloan with such a rage that that he was prompted to open his eyes and grab the empty, plastic water glass on the end table beside him and chuck it at the door.

That very second, the door was opened by a slender, dark-haired female doctor who gasped in surprise at the sight of the glass flying at her head and reflexively caught it. She looked at the glass, seemingly surprised at the fact that she caught it. Her eyes drifted over to Sloan, playfully appalled.

Sloan shrugged and smiled impishly. Nice catch, Doctor.

She walked toward the bed, grinning with a flirtatious smile that seemed like another reflex. Well it’s good to see your reflexes are still intact.

Sloan smiled at how pleasingly attractive he found her. She was a slender, young woman in her late twenties or early thirties with long shiny dark hair and tan skin, obviously biracial. As she walked closer, Sloan could see her eyes were a bright, enchanting hazel color. Was that ever a question?

Well, considering your skull decided to kiss the pavement at eighty miles an hour after an earth-shattering explosion, I questioned it a lot.

Sloan smiled. Obviously seeing me half naked on an operating table doesn’t make you know me well enough to know any better.

"I thought I understood what makes people work but you, Mr. Phoenix, give the term rising from the ashes a new meaning."

Sloan furrowed his brow playfully at the comment. Whatever do you mean, Miss—?

McCarthy. Doctor Evangeline McCarthy. I’m sorry with all the ducking of random projectiles, I forgot to introduce myself. I was referring to your tendency to survive dangerous fire related events.

Why does that seem so strange?

I remember your name from the news. Two years ago, you survived an attempt at being burned alive in your house. By Sydney Prescott of all people. I was just using your last name as a pun in relation to you surviving the car fire.

Sloan smiled receptively. Two unrelated events, I’m sure. Sydney Prescott is currently in jail for her attempt on my life.

She rolled her eyes sarcastically. No big loss to the community there.

Sloan flinched at her blunt sarcasm. He repressed the urge to disclose the entirety of the truth. That actually it wasn’t Mrs. Prescott that nearly burned him alive in his home. It was the woman that went by the name of Judy Palmer, attempting to even the score with his luring her into punishing her first husband, Charlie for his affair with her secretary. An affair which he and Garry orchestrated. Sloan had twisted Judy’s mind so much that she framed the disinherited Sydney Prescott for the crime. The history of all of that and so much more gave Sloan a greater reason to suspect her of causing the explosion of Garry’s car. But was too complicated to go into with a perfect stranger. After a momentary silence, Sloan opted to sit up. I know, Doctor Freeman went over this, but I ‘m really anxious to see my friend now.

She looked at her watch. Your friend came out of his coma last night but he’s still unconscious. If you come with me, I think I can sneak you in.

Sloan felt an energetic smile crease his face as he sat up. That would be great. He looked down beneath the blanket and then back up at Evangeline. But first, could you detach this catheter.

With red flushed cheeks, Sloan allowed the doctor a few clumsy minutes to detach the catheter. When it was removed, Sloan breathed a sigh of relief and turned out of the bed, planting his feet on the floor. Though his feet were dressed in those dark blue hospital socks the doctors slipped on him while he was unconscious, the floor felt cold and sterile. He humbly scanned around his room. Where are my clothes? I don’t think I don’t’ want to walk around in this breezy gown. Unless you haven’t seen enough of my ass.

She giggled flirtatiously. Not unlike a teenage girl flirting with the captain of the football team. "We just got this back from the police who were keeping them as