Love Mirage

By Dennis Clothier

Although only still in high school, Kyle Phelps had found love in Valerie Brickly that many others search an entire lifetime for. He knew that he would do anything to protect her, including kill for her, and that is exactly what he did.

Valerie had been raped by a man Kyle knew all too well. Kyle’s best friend had a history of womanizing but had never taken it to this extreme before. It took one small squeeze and one bullet to put the animal down.

More murders and crimes begin to arise in Kyle’s town. The evidence in these crimes point directly to Kyle’s involvement, but he has no recollection of having a hand in any of them. The time frames of these crimes pinpoint moments of blankness in Kyle’s mind. He can’t recall committing such crimes, but on the other hand, he can’t remember what he was doing at the time of these crimes.

Kyle finds himself drifting further and further from reality as his brain tries to ponder how he could not recall a single moment of any of the crimes he allegedly committed. He realizes that his mind only becomes clear when he is with Valerie.

As the police close in on Kyle, he finds that he is on the run for his life, and only his love can save him, but how willing is Valerie to forgive him for the evil that he unleashed on the world?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662472275

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Love Mirage

Dennis Clothier

Copyright © 2022 Dennis Clothier

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7226-8 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7227-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

It Has Begun

The Fire Is Already Stoked

Preparation

Two Years Prior The Tension Starts

The World Slightly Crumbles

The Universe Balances Itself

The Purification of the Family

The Downward Spiral

Hatred Consumes

The Righting of the Wrongs

The Fury of the Demon Slayer

All’s Well That Ends Well

The Angel’s Conquer

The Fog Hides Yet another Truth

The Truth Giver Will Set You Free

Wealth Surpasses Guilt

For my daughter, Kaitlyn, who gave me the inspiration to complete this novel, and to my wife, Tip, who has always and continues to stand by my side, no matter what life throws at us.

Chapter 1

It Has Begun

Friday, October 4

Kyle Phelps sat at the end of the long cherry-colored oak bar nursing a Heineken. Although the skunk flavor and smell used to make his stomach cringe, he developed a love for the beer. Perhaps it was because when he lived with two other guys, this was the only brand they would not touch. Labatt Blue at the time was his drink of choice, but after every football game that Kyle had to work, he’d come home to all his beer mysteriously gone. Nobody ever did know what happened to his stash, but after every game, they’d all be smashed.

Kyle pulled out his pack of Marlboro Lights and inserted one between his lips. Fumbling around in his right pants pocket for a few seconds, he pulled out his chrome Zippo lighter. With one attempt, he lit the flame. He tilted his head slightly to the left and placed the tip of the cigarette into the yellow-orange flame and inhaled. Kyle released a small puff of smoke, flicked the wrist that held the Zippo, and closed the flame. Then he placed the lighter in his right hand and slid it into his pocket.

Looking around the room, Kyle noticed he was one of three people in the bar at that moment. He peered at his gold-plated pocket watch to reveal the time. It was nine thirty. The bar wouldn’t become packed for at least another half hour, but that was perfectly fine by him. He still had to plan out how and where he would make things right again.

Kyle leaned back on the barstool and jumped up a bit as a cold metal object touched his lower spine. Looking around nonchalantly, he moved his right hand to his back and adjusted the problem. The man at the other side of the bar had been staring at him from the moment he walked in the door. The local drunk sitting there drinking his Budweiser draft and sipping on shots of Philadelphia Whiskey, wearing the same dirt-covered blue overalls that he always wore, loved to stare at people as if telling them to put him out of his misery. Not a bad idea, Kyle thought. Maybe after I take care of one problem, I could spare the world from another.

The local drunk, also known as Bicycle Billy, with some trouble, rolled off the barstool onto the floor and proceeded to waddle across the floor past Kyle and out the door. Kyle spun around slowly and peered out the window to watch the overweight lush crawl onto his three-wheel bicycle with a wire basket in the front just above the headlight. He started to pedal away, swerving to the right and then to the left, almost toppling into the busy intersection.

After the fun was over, Kyle turned his body to face the bar again. He took another drag of his smoke, a cigarette between his index and middle finger. He reached to the ashtray, and using his thumb on the butt, he flicked off the ash that was beginning to form into the yellow-stained glass circle.

Why? Why had he done that to us? This question echoed throughout Kyle’s brain. Why?

It was starting to rain outside. The tears of God were what Kyle’s mother used to call the drops of rain. The tears of God.

Thinking of how very religious Kyle’s mother was always made him wonder why. Of all the shit she had endured in her lifetime and was still enduring, why did she believe in a God who would allow these things to happen to her? He guessed that this was her only way of fooling herself that there was something better after this world, or maybe she didn’t think that, but just in case there was, she wasn’t going to miss a little happiness in this life or the next.

Thinking about his mother, Kyle decided that when he accomplished this task, he would be sent on another. She should have had so much in this life, and instead, she had nothing but heartache and pain. This does not make any sense, Kyle thought. It will be remedied. I swear to you, Mother.

After that little oath, Kyle reached for his beer and pressed the green bottle to his lips. He hesitated for a moment and tipped the bottle to the heavens. And with a small tear in his left eye, he took a gulp.

People started to file into the bar at that moment. About fifteen to twenty came pouring in all at once. Scanning the faces of the newcomers, Kyle found the one that he was waiting for. He viewed the crowd, and it was apparent that there were two groups of people who entered the establishment. Fifteen of them immediately moved toward the dartboards, and the five left met up at the jukebox. The crew he worried most about was the fewer of the two. But he knew they wouldn’t stay five for very long. The time was ten thirty on that fine Friday night.

Looking around the smoke-filled room, Kyle realized something and started to smirk. Although he was only eighteen years of age and legal drinking age was twenty-one, he was probably the oldest person besides Franky, the bartender, in the bar. The other man who was in the bar must have snuck off when the crowd came in to avoid the noise.

Kyle knew every person that was in the joint from high School. Most of the bigger group’s members were juniors, and the five music lovers were seniors, but Kyle knew his birthday came before theirs.

Franky, the bartender, had to have some agreement with cops in the area, for this wasn’t a fluke thing. Kids knew they could get served here any day of the week, and the police never bothered Franky. There were even certain times where the cops would come in and buy drinks for everybody. They knew every kid in town and their parents, so they knew we were all underage.

Nothing bad had ever happened in this town to the slightest degree until last month.

Kyle thought, I can’t remember what I had for dinner last night, but I remember that phone call like it happened a minute ago.

August 2 was a Friday. Well, technically, it was Saturday, the third, at 2:36 a.m. Kyle thought, I can still hear the urgency in the ring of the telephone. It rang three times before I answered it. I did not recognize the voice on the other end through the sobbing and words in between long gulps of air. After waking fully, I knew who it was, and my heart stopped. Valerie? I almost hoped it wasn’t her. I need to see you now was all I got from the incoherent words which were trying to be spoken. When I got there, I wanted to die. Why? Why would anyone take away the only good in my life? He will pay for the hell he has brought to both of us. Just knowing that the son of a bitch who took my salvation’s purity from me is standing in the same place that I’m in makes me want to finish it now. I will wait. I will be patient. He will fall tonight!

Hey, Franky! One more for the road. Kyle’s voice rose to pierce the music which played throughout the bar. Franky set another Heineken in front of Kyle. But before handing the drink to him, he used his bottle opener. It was usually holstered in the waistline of his jeans. He popped the top and threw the cap into a large garbage can in the corner behind the bar.

The music which overwhelmed the joint made the night more ironic. The whole scenario that Kyle’s last month was about and what he planned on doing was outlined to a T in the song over the speakers. Off ICP’s Great Milenko album, the song eight entitled Under the Moon.

I wonder if he played this song, Kyle thought as a smile crossed his face. If he did, then he should know what will become of him tonight. I hope he did.

Kyle finished his beer, stood up from the barstool, and grabbed his leather jacket. He slid his right arm in first, pulling up the jacket and inserting his left arm into the sleeve. Grabbing the collar of the cow skin, he pulled the coat up and situated it, straightening the collar then zipping up the front. He snatched up his pack of cigarettes, opened it, and took one out. He lit it and, on his way out, looked over to Franky.

Thanks, Franky. See you next week.

Franky waved and turned back to his clientele.

Kyle walked out of the establishment and around the corner into the alley behind the bar. The time was eleven o’clock. Just about the time for the five of them to be heading over to Roger Allen’s house for his famous Halloween Bash. Although it was just the beginning of October and Halloween wasn’t until the end of the month, Roger had to throw his party around his parents’ business trip, and it turned out they were going to be gone this week, so Halloween came early. I sense one of them won’t be blessing us with his presence, Kyle thought as he moved farther down the unlit corridor.

Hearing the bar noise filter into the street, Kyle knew the door was opening and someone was going in or coming out. Listening closely, he heard the voices of his nemesis’s friends, half drunk or half deaf, whichever came first in that place. He watched as four of them walked by the alley. Kyle realized the one he was after wasn’t with them. Opening the alley door which led to the bar, Kyle peered in and saw the one he was waiting for trying to get a girl to go with him somewhere, be it the party or his car. He had no shame.

The girl shook him off her arm and proceeded over to the group of guys that she came in with. With a quick finger jester, he grabbed his jacket and moved to the front door. Kyle slowly and carefully shut the door, and for the first time since he left the bar ten minutes ago, he realized that the rain was more or less in a pour. That’s when the lightning and thunder came.

That’s the angels bowling and always getting strikes. His mother always would tell him this to get him to calm down during storms. Perhaps it is Mother, he thought.

A silhouette of a man appeared at the opening of the trash-filled alley.

Kyle’s hatred was released full force, and he said what popped into his head. He never recited this part, just where to do it and how. Those were the easy plans.

Hey, Christopher! Kyle screamed to get it over the sound of the rain. The words came out as if all the hatred he had for him was coming out too. His voice was harsh and cold and almost devil-like.

Christopher Morton peered down the alley, still with his high school football jacket over his head to try to block the rain.

Hello? Is somebody down there? Christopher replied with a little hesitation to his voice.

Squinting his eyes, Christopher stared down the dark corridor. Slowly, he proceeded down the alley to see what caused the ruckus. A figure of a man appeared from the shadow and moved five feet closer and stopped as if daring Christopher to do the same.

Who is that? he asked, half worried Hey, look, if this is about the girl in there, I just invited her to a Halloween party I’m going to tonight. That’s all. I don’t know what she told you, but she’s a fuckin’ liar!

Kyle moved five feet closer. He moved his right arm to his back and slipped his hand in between his jeans and his boxer shorts, gripping the object which caused him to jump as it touched his skin in the bar. He lifted his arm slightly, removed the item, slowly lowered it, and held it behind his right leg.

Christopher noticed the strange movement. And immediately following the slight descent of the arm, an almost inaudible clicking sound was heard over the pouring rain.

Hey! Look, we can talk about this shit, ya know. No need to go crazy. It’s just a girl, for Christ’s sakes.

You’re right! She is just a girl, Kyle responded. One that I loved and you took from me! Just a piece of meat, right, Chris!

Who the fuck is that! Christopher started to walk quickly but carefully farther down the alley.

Kyle started to approach him as well.

This is it, Kyle thought as his hands, even though soaked from the rain, sweated uncontrollably. His vision became so zoomed in. Christopher was as clear as day, but everything around him was a big blur. The ten seconds it took for them to meet felt like an hour or so. The rain, even though it still came down, was not in Kyle’s world. Nothing was except red and black colors. Red was Christopher; everything else was black. Kyle raised his chin to stare at Christopher, and as he did, he did not see a man. With eyes half closed and wet hair hanging in his face, Kyle only saw a demon. Like the demons his mother always spoke of to frighten him into being a good little boy. But at this moment, he was not afraid. His planning was now his reality, and Christopher must die for his sins. I am the demon slayer was all Kyle thought.

Kyle, is that you? A sense of relief was heard in his voice. Jesus Christ! Man, you scared the piss out of me! I thought you were this chick’s boyfriend.

Before he could finish, Kyle interrupted him. I am.

Oh, come on, man. You’re still on that. Look, we’ve been best friends for, what…sixteen years? Fuck, man, who are you going to believe? Me, whom you’ve known basically your whole life, or some tramp who only got what she really wanted anyway?

Kyle stepped up to him and leaned into his opponent’s left ear.

Some tramp, he replied.

Kyle placed his left arm across Christopher’s chest and, with one thrust, threw him back a good five feet, sending him to lose balance and fall into two garbage cans. Christopher tried to find his footing, his legs moving violently across the pavement.

Kyle slowly walked over to him, pulled the chrome .45 out from behind his leg, and aimed it at Christopher’s groin.

Oh, please, Kyle! Please don’t! I’m sorry! For fuck’s sake, don’t kill me! Tears ran down Christopher’s cheeks as Kyle repositioned the pistol to Christopher’s head.

God forgive you was all Kyle whispered as he gently squeezed the trigger.

The gun went off, and so did the back of Christopher’s head. At the moment of the healing, everything was in slow motion. Although the gun blast was overwhelming, Kyle never blinked. The sound did not echo in Kyle’s ears. In fact, no noise was present that Kyle could recall. As the bullet penetrated Christopher’s head, Kyle watched as his right eye disappeared, except for the small part that flew into the puddle which soaked Kyle’s feet. Chris’s head shot up then back. But before his head smacked the alley wall, a splatter of dark red blood with cream-colored chunks painted the wall. As his head hit the brick wall, the mess of blood and brains splattered again from the impact of his cranium. Kyle stood there for a moment and looked at his deceased opponent. His head and brains were plastered on the alley wall opposite Frank’s place as if an abstract painter brushed it. Kyle reached into Christopher’s jacket pocket and removed a pack of smokes, two lighters, and a cell phone. He also grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and inserted all the items into his inside jacket pocket. With one last glance, Kyle placed the gun back into his pants, calmly walked down the alley to the street, made sure no one was around, and turned right in the direction where his car was parked.

He walked slowly to his vehicle, and all he could think about was how calm he was and how easy it was. No remorse as of yet. No fear of getting caught. It looked like a mugging. The thunder covered the gunshot. No one would find him for hours. Kyle opened the driver’s side door, crouched down, and positioned himself behind the wheel of his 1984 Cavalier. Now, the next part of the plan. We’re off to a keg party.

Chapter 2

The Fire Is Already Stoked

I

Friday, May 31, four months earlier

Hey, Val. Valerie, wait up! A young man’s voice rang throughout the courtyard.

A slender boy in his late teens dodged in and out of students to catch up with a colleague. The girl’s long curly blond hair flung around over her shoulder as her head turned to see the person calling her name. A smile immediately came to the girl’s face as she recognized the source of the call.

He was half out of breath when he finally reached her. The overexcited boy approached her from behind, wrapped his arms around her, and gently kissed her left cheek.

What’s up, baby? was the girl’s response to the boy’s action.

They walked through the open area without a care in the world. They had each other.

So are we on for a movie and dinner tonight, or are you still grounded from last week’s late-night adventure?

No, I’m free. That is if you can get me home by two this time.

I don’t know. It all depends on if you’re ready to be home by two. Let me remind you that last week’s curfew break was not my fault. If I do recall properly, you didn’t want to leave Joe’s party until—he paused for a second—what time was it, four thirty?

Yeah, well, I had to let your drunk ass sober up at least a little bit. I swear that’s the last time you play beer pong when you have to drive me home. Dumbass.

Kyle opened the school’s heavy steel door, held it until Valerie passed through it, then proceeded himself. They walked slowly down the first corridor to their left and approached Valerie’s homeroom.

So I’ll pick you up at six thirty sharp? Kyle asked more as a statement. As he awaited an answer, he found himself lost in the blue-green tint of her eyes. At that moment, he realized that he loved her and would always love her.

The first bell chimed, slightly startling the boy who was temporarily lost in his love’s presence.

Six thirty’s just fine. Will I see you after class? she asked with a slight hesitation to her words,

Afraid not, sweetie. I’m in the dungeon today. Yippie! he replied with a slight tone of sarcasm.

Well, that’s what you get for smoking on campus.

After those words were spoken, Valerie revealed a smile issuing concern for the boy’s general well-being. Although Kyle was not a known thug, Valerie often prayed that his home life would not rub off on or corrupt the young man that she grew to love. Every time Kyle even was in the slightest trouble, she worried that he was turning into his father.

Yeah, well, I’ll see you tonight then. He leaned toward Valerie, placed his mouth on hers, and kissed her sweet voluptuous lips. Then he darted down the long corridor to the main office to check in for today’s in-school suspension.

As Kyle entered the all-glass room, he peered around the office to see many faces that he shared much time with in the room with no windows. He strolled slowly past three chairs to an empty one and sat down. In-school suspension was nothing new to the boy. It was the worst punishment, as many called it. But to Kyle, it wasn’t a punishment at all. It was a full day with no distractions to complete homework, projects, tests, or just to catch up on sleep. In his possession were his usual props. He had his knapsack full of homework assignments not completed, his notebook to doodle or write his thoughts in, and the most valuable item which became a necessity after the third period, Stephen King’s The Cycle of a Werewolf. This was the largest book he could find that would sufficiently hide the fact that he was asleep during punishment.

Roll call proceeded after the last bell for homeroom rang. Kyle sat listening to the names being slowly read off, waiting for his to come up.

Ah, Mr. Phelps, what a shock to see you here gracing me with your presence. What did you get busted for this time? asked the old woman behind the counter with the gray beehive hairdo.

Smoking behind the tennis courts, he replied.

Again? You’d think you’d wise up after the fifth time of getting caught.

Yes, ma’am. I’m in the process of finding a better spot so I don’t get caught, Kyle said with a grin.

Very funny, the principal replied, unamused. She turned away from Kyle and faced the other students. Go ahead. You all know where to go.

Everyone stood up simultaneously and proceeded toward the door.

The principal faced Kyle again and, in a low voice, said, Mr. Phelps, you will be making the best of our in-school detention program today, won’t you?

Yes, ma’am, I certainly will, he returned to her then picked up his backpack and followed the rest of the kids to the dungeon.

Walking down five steps, Kyle arrived at the base of the in-school room. There was not one window in the small rectangular room, just red and brown brick walls. He often wondered how this room ever passed the fire codes, considering if there was a fire right in front of the door, everyone in the room would be killed. A teacher’s desk with not one item on it was in the front of the room, and along the long wall in front of it were twelve student desks. Three of them had full-sized desks, and the other nine had only half desks. Kyle sat down at his usual desk, which was the third desk from the door to freedom. This was one of the three full-sized desks in the room.

He unpacked his essentials for the day and thought about Valerie. They had only been together for six months, yet he knew she was made for him. Kyle never fell so hard or so quickly for anyone in his life. High school relationships were made so there would be a breakup and stories to tell your friends. But not this one. He knew they’d be together forever.

What was it that made him feel the way he did? He asked this question a lot. She was perfect. That was the explanation. She was his soul mate.

II

Valerie Brickly ran her fingers through her hair as she stared at the clock. Study hall was not exactly the most entertaining of all her classes. She completed her homework last night and didn’t feel like reading or writing, so she just spaced out and let time tick away slowly. The time was 9:35 a.m. on the loud ticking large off-white clock eight feet above the door. Each tick the clock made, made the time seem to be going backward. Twenty minutes till math was what Valerie was repeating over and over in her head.

Then, for some unknown reason, she received a cold chill, one so brisk it gave her a terrible case of goose bumps. At that moment, she knew something awful was going to happen to Kyle. Is it just my overactive imagination again, or is this feeling one of the true ones like I received when I was a child? She decided that this feeling was just a draft, even though the study hall room was calm and no air current was anywhere to be found. But what if it wasn’t? She couldn’t help but think about her first encounter with her strange gift.

III

When Valerie was a small child, no older than seven years of age, her golden sunshine-colored retriever had gone missing. The dog was a part of the family since Valerie was just about a month old and was by far Valerie’s best friend. Thinking the dog had run away or had gone too far into the fields, Valerie figured he would return in a day or so. That’s what her parents had told her.

The night of the dog’s disappearance, Valerie was tucked into bed as usual and read her favorite story, Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss. After receiving a kiss good night from each of her parents, she fell asleep very easily. Not long after, the dream state kicked in. Twenty minutes later, she sat up in bed, screaming hysterically at the top of her little lungs. Within a moment, her parents were beside her, comforting her. The nightmare she had wasn’t one of goblins or being chased. It was much worse. As she lay between her parents in their queen-sized bed, she thought vaguely about the dream and remembered what her father had said: After breakfast, we will go into the meadow and see for ourselves that it was just a dream. Finding comfort in the fact that it was just a dream, she slept.

When the dream first began, it was pleasant enough. Maggie, her best friend and loyal pet, was running playfully in the meadow. Valerie could actually smell the morning dew and all the plants and flowers which accompanied the meadow. Then the position switched. Instead of seeing the dog, she was seeing what the dog saw. Her vision became black and white, and she could see the top of a golden snout. Every once in a while, she viewed a long flap of the tongue which so readily licked her face to wake her up in the morning.

It was such a nice dream to start with. Then about twenty feet ahead of where the dog was running, two boys no older than seventeen but no younger than fifteen appeared walking toward the dog. Still keeping her course through the meadow, Maggie ran up to the boys. When in reach, the boy who had a jagged rainbow-shaped scar under his left eye lunged at the dog, tackling her to the ground. With a quick thrust of his body weight, Scar had the dog pinned. The boy’s legs crossed with the dog’s hind legs, and his hands were pressing the dog’s front paws into the dirt.

Now! Scar ordered. The other boy pulled out a hammer and lifted it above his head. With a downward thrust, it made contact with the dog’s skull. Over and over the boy crashed the hammer into the cranium of the defenseless and gentle beast. Then Valerie’s vision grew into a dark red atmosphere and then slowly blackened. Her eyes were now back to color, looking down at the crime scene. The two boys dragged the dog through the meadow and onto the neighbor’s land. They passed the trees which separated the Bricklys’ and the Bottes’ land and came to a halt in front of a well that was on the Bottes’ property. The boys each grabbed a side. Scar had the head, and the other had the backside. With a quick heave, they hoisted the corpse over the side of the well. Several seconds later, a splashing sound came from the bottom of the well. That’s when she woke up.

Before officially sliding into dreamland, Valerie thought of how real this dream was. There were no talking animals or monsters or anything unrealistic about it. A child’s imagination, most of the time, brought on the undoubting fact that it was a dream. But not this time.

Valerie’s father made good on his word. They made it out into the meadow around nine fifteen the next morning. Having a hearty breakfast of pancakes and blueberry syrup, along with sausage links and orange juice, gave her the energy for the long hike. As they walked through the meadow, Valerie noticed that her father had plowed the grass. In her dream, that was the only thing that did not fit. The grass was too short. It should have been up to her waist by this time. But in the dream, it was only about three inches long. This confirmed that the dream had some sort of credibility, although Valerie hoped not too much.

As they proceeded through the green pasture, Valerie came upon an anthill about six inches high. In her dream, the incident occurred a few feet to the left, the direction in which her father walked. A few seconds later, her father ceased his stride, knelt down, and placed his hand in the grass. Valerie could not see what had made her father stop so abruptly. He stood from his position with his right hand clenched. He did not look at the girl but looked at the tree wall which divided the property. He spoke, his words slightly cracked.

Go get your mother! he called to her, not swaying his glance at the trees. Without so much as a second lost, Valerie turned from where she stood and ran. She ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, and although the distance was about half a mile, she stopped not once. She made a quick right turn, circled around the huge elm tree which held her chain-link swing, and ran to the house.

Mama! Mama! Come quick! she cried as she turned the corner of the steps of the front porch and ran up the ten steps which joined her front door. Her mother, seeming to have been waiting for them, ran from the front hall, swooped up Valerie, and headed down the stairs to the white porch. After about two minutes, the forty-three-pound child became impossible to carry. Her mother set her down gently and instructed her to guide her to her father. Time lapsed as adrenaline took over each of their bodies, and soon they came to the spot where Valerie left her father. They peered down at the sight that halted her father. They both saw what appeared to be a slightly bloody mound of flesh and fur. In the middle of the pile was one broken chain link just about the size of the chain around Maggie’s neck. Her father looked up, his stiff and pale body emerging from the trees.

Stay here! he ordered. I’ll be back in one second. Then he ran back in the direction of the house.

Within what seemed to be minutes, her father was back, and at the same time, a man appeared from the tree line. It was John Bottes, the owner of the land which joined theirs. As her father spoke to John, he held out his hand, and John peered at the unknown object. Although Valerie wanted horribly to know what was in her father’s palm, she knew not to ask.

Several minutes later, as her father and neighbor still conversed, red and blue lights flashed throughout the meadow. Two sheriff’s cruisers bounced their way through the fields and stopped only a few feet from the two men. Four officers stepped from the two vehicles. Three of them joined her father and John, and one circled his way to the trunk of one of the cars. He lifted the trunk up into its locked position and pulled out a long coiled rope and some sort of harness. Sliding off his force-issued, properly polished knee-high black boots, he reached in the trunk once more to remove a pair of fishing waders. Lifting his leg, he slid the waist-high boots on his left leg and then his right. He also slid on a waterproof parka which was also taken from the trunk. Then he closed the trunk. He slid the coiled rope around his right shoulder and walked clumsily to the pack that had formed to join in on the conversation.

Valerie broke from her mother’s grip and ran to her father, clasping her hands around his waist. She pressed her soft ivory face into his navel area and started weeping. He placed his hands on the girl’s head and slowly and gently rubbed the back of her head in a soothing gesture. Although Valerie could not see it at the time, her father’s eyes slowly puffed up and released a few tears. Not for the loss of the family pet but tears for his child who, until now, was innocent to the likes of death. Much would have to be discussed regarding the circumstances which had taken place the last few days. Although death was inevitable, her father wished she could be blessed without it until she was at least twelve or thirteen. But apparently not.

The skinny officer wearing the waterproof outfit walked past the circle of humans, now with her mother as well, and walked into the trees. It was not far or difficult to locate the well. The three-foot moss-covered circular rock formation stood about twenty paces back and five paces to the left. The officer affixed one end of the rope around the tree and tugged on it in a violent fashion to make sure it would not give way and send him to the bottom of the unknown void. As soon as it was established that the rope would definitely hold the officer and any other given weight that was needed, the officer attached the harness that he brought from the trunk. Lifting his parka about three inches, he grabbed what appeared to be a rock climber’s hook attached to the waders and clipped it to the rope. The others had now joined him at the hole and awaited instructions.

You guys got me? the smallest of the group asked.

With that notion, the three other officers grabbed the rope off the ground and pulled up all the slack in the line. The officer on the other end of the line hoisted himself up on the rock foundation and peered down. A bottomless pit was what echoed through his mind. Reaching to the left of his waist, he unzipped the hidden pocket which wasn’t visible until now. He reached his hand inside and pulled out what seemed to be a flashlight wrapped in a headband. He placed the elastic band around his head, and it was apparent that the flashlight was actually affixed firmly to the headband. Hands-free light was what the officers called it. With a little bit of adjusting, the lamp was firmly in place and switched to the on position.

Ready? was all the officer asked. After receiving gestures from his colleagues, he slowly went into a crouched position. With his hands, he lowered himself into the unknown abyss. The rope tightened as his body weight came to rely on it for life. Not one person moved in the whole ten minutes it took for him to reach the bottom. The slack was back in the line again, and the slight sound of splashing water was heard. He made it to the bottom. After another five good minutes, the slack in the line was taken up again, and a voice from the depths below called out. What Valerie heard was incoherent and slightly scary, but the other officers seemed to have understood it quite well. In an instant, they all started to pull up the line. Valerie’s father and John were also in the tug-of-war match. A few minutes later, a hand shot up from the well. All hands stopped pulling but held the rope in place for the officer to climb out. He lifted himself out of the unknown, and the soaking wet officer rolled off the stone fixture and into the dirt.

Keep pulling! he ordered as he tried to regain his normal breathing speed.

As they tugged on the line, they all knew as well as Valerie and her mother that there was still something on the other end of the rope. Then the four strings which supported the harness appeared from the darkness. One more pull revealed a wet lump of fur which had taken the color of wet earth. They lifted the body out of the well and unstrapped the harness. A wet thud was all that was heard as the lifeless mound hit the ground.

Valerie didn’t need a closer look. She knew it was her best friend in front of her. Her father walked over to the little child who had not stopped crying completely and held out his hand. The hand that hid the mystery of what he had found in the meadow in the pile of flesh opened. Through tearstained eyes, Valerie wiped away what moisture she could and peered down. In her father’s hand was a pink metallic tag with one word etched on it: Maggie.

IV

Kyle reached down to the floor next to his desk and grabbed the sleep aide, as he liked to call it. The Cycle of the Werewolf by Stephen King was by far the largest book that he could borrow from the library without raising suspicion. Although encyclopedias and dictionaries were larger in size, no one would believe that he of all people was actually reading them. But a story of beasts and horror, they all could believe. He propped the book on its base and balanced both sides of the cover so that it would not fall on him if a sudden draft took place. Then carefully, he adjusted it so that it blocked all vision between himself and the teacher on duty. After it was established that no one would know, Kyle laid his head down behind his screen and closed his eyes. The time was 10:21 a.m.

Within moments, Kyle was asleep. Well, at least the best sleep someone could get when you know that someone was always watching you. He was now in a familiar place—his bed. A slight disturbance was echoing through his head. Although he knew he was sleeping, he could still see everything that was going on around him. The phone was rattling as someone tried to get a line through to him. He could not move. He did not wake. Then it stopped. A slight thumping noise was heard, and it grew louder. Louder still it came as his bedroom door creaked open. His mother appeared through the doorway and came up to him. Although he was aware of everything, he still did not stir. She placed her hands on his shoulder and shook him gently. His eyes opened. With a look of terror on her face and not one word spoken, she sat down on his bed and handed him the telephone. Still slightly groggy from a dream state, he placed the receiver up to his ear and listened. A voice, unrecognizable to the ear but known to whom it was, spoke in shattered cries of fear and pain. It was