Crimson Glow

By Jolene Howard

Maura Delaney is just your average, sarcastic, chain-smoking young woman who happens to moonlight as a vigilante assassin. Through the use of advanced technology, her mission is to dispose of the human monsters who plague our communities every day. We're talking murderers, rapists, pedophiles—the worst of the worst. Seems like a dream job, right?Of course, everything doesn't always go according to plan, especially with a best friend constantly playing matchmaker, a hard-nosed boss breathing down her neck, and an obsessed coworker who doesn't understand the term friend-zoned. The malfunctioning of her ability to inconspicuously dispose of the bad guys suddenly throws Maura for a loop. And the appearance of a handsome stranger amid the chaos really throws a wrench in the cogs. Who is this enigmatic man, and why does he make Maura's palms sweat? There's something peculiar and yet absolutely magnetizing about him that she can't seem to shake.To top things off, a serial murderer is on the loose, and without Maura's disposal mechanism running at full capacity, the bodies may really begin to stack up. It's a high-stakes race to stop a killer, with quite a few speed bumps, school zones, and construction detours along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662402029

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Crimson Glow

Jolene Howard

Copyright © 2020 Jolene Howard

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-6624-0203-6 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-6624-0202-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

From as far back as I could remember, I had been a mental babbler. You know, talking to myself in my head, sometimes at great lengths about subjects both inconsequential and substantially important. Today for instance, it was one of those substantially important topics—typical life and death, blah, blah and so on—a debate, really.

I mean, I didn’t exactly enjoy ending lives. It wasn’t a thrill ride for me like it was for actual cold-blooded killers. I would, however, go so far to say that it was somewhat…morbidly satisfying—just not actually enjoyable. I know that sounds pretty sick, so let me explain. Yes, I would still be classified as a murderer by nearly all groups in society, whether I enjoyed it or not. And unfortunately, there was no way to avoid that simple and yet bracingly true fact.

I was a murderer. Period.

Did it matter that I killed only those who deserved to die? Did it matter that by murdering them, it would actually save lives? To prove my point even further, isn’t that what soldiers do every day in the line of duty and are celebrated for it? So why was I any different?

My mind had had this conversation too many times to count, and it grew mundane. Why even argue the point? The truth was, I had a purpose to fulfill: to dispose of those Offenders who were upsetting the balance of our society. It was not my choice. In fact, I had no choice whatsoever in the matter. I was chosen to be a Representative, and I would perform my duties as such. Conversation closed.

Honk! The blast of a horn from the car behind me jarred me from my incessant thought monologue.

Sorry! I yelled out the window at the driver behind. I could see his pissed-off expression in my rearview mirror as I pressed down on the gas and left the intersection behind me. I’d been doing that a lot lately, finding myself locked in a circular argument only to be startled by the realization that the world was continuing on around me.

I sighed. Better that than to have to face the tedium of every day, I thought as I pulled into my usual parking spot and looked up at the obtrusive office building in front of me. The massive windows reflected the perfect cloudless blue sky of Tucson.

Ah yes, another dull day in the cubicle.

As I closed my door with a click, I spotted Elliot Frink walking around the side of the building toward the entrance. He was dressed in his usual, flawless business casuals complete with a stylish striped tie. An arid wind suddenly blew from the west, but was unable to budge his plastered-down locks. He almost skipped as he walked, obviously excited to begin another long day full of paperwork and monotony. Ugh.

I hung back. I didn’t need another dose of his cheerfulness to ruin my low expectations. It was better to remain bored and consistent than to look forward to something I did not want to face. And yet…I had to admit to myself that I did look forward to it just a little. Knowing that I needed to dispose of yet another glowing Offender tonight actually put a smile on my face. Yup, I was one sick puppy.

The elevator was just closing as I dragged up to it. Unfortunately, Elliot caught a glimpse of me before the doors had a chance to conceal my presence, and he pressed the Open button just in time. Damn it.

Hi, Elliot.

Hey, Maura! You look…um …tired this morning.

I haven’t had my usual half a pot of coffee yet, I muttered, hoping he would catch the annoyed tone in my voice as a hint to stop talking. He didn’t.

So any plans for this weekend?

Nope. Just going to sit around the house and catch up on those reports Ron asked for. Of course, this was a lie, but I needed an excuse. I’d actually finished the reports a week ago, way ahead of schedule. I knew better than to get behind. My concentration suffered, and my disposal list lengthened if I let things pile up. Dealing with more than two Offenders a week was trying on my psyche.

I could tell he was waiting for me to say something. I didn’t, of course, and the silence grew. He must have finally realized I wasn’t going to ask him about his upcoming weekend, so he chimed in with, Well, I’m going to catch a Diamondbacks game tomorrow.

Great. He is trying the sports angle now. I chuckled under my breath.

Do you like baseball? he prodded.

Yeah, but I am usually so stacked with work that I don’t get a chance to catch the games. It was honest but not encouraging.

I thought he finally got the hint because he didn’t speak for a few minutes as we waited for the elevator to reach our floor. After what seemed like a lifetime and after stopping on almost every single floor in between, the door opened allowing me to escape down the hall.

Poor Elliot. He was actually a sweet guy. But of course, as cliché as that was, being sweet was not usually something that raked in the girls. Most women wanted a bit of mystery, a hint of the bad boy that their fathers always told them to stay away from. Ah yes, the attraction to the forbidden—every woman’s folly. Wasn’t that why married men seemed that much more attractive? For some, a ring on the finger was a green light, a little competition to add some spice. I was extremely glad I did not have that particular fixation.

I had quite enough complications in my life as it was. Why would I want to add to the stack? Besides, it was explicitly against the rules. Having a cheap and meaningless fling with some nameless dude certainly wasn’t, but a deep relationship with a soul-mate-type person was a big fat no-no for someone in my position. I was forever unattainable.

I let out a deep breath as I sat down in my chair. My cubicle was tiny but sufficient. It boasted a generous thirty-six square feet complete with all the necessities: laptop, telephone, various desk items, floor mat, decent chair, and endless stacks of papers. My filing system was something that only I could fully appreciate.

Luckily, I’d been able to successfully avoid the mindless morning chatter by racing by the lunchroom at nearly breakneck speed as I’d scrambled to my workspace. However, I could never hide from Jill.

Morning, sunshine! Her cheery voice rattled my brain inside my head.

Morning, Jill, I answered, eyes closed.

Let me guess, up all night partying with the neighborhood boy toys, and you haven’t had your a.m. joe?

Her sarcasm melted my sour mood somewhat, and I managed a half smile in spite of myself.

Yeah, sure. You know my evening routine. Sexy boyfriend number 1 right after work, number 2 for dinner, number 3 for dessert, and number 4 as a night cap. Yeah, my schedule was chock-full last night. I laughed half-heartedly.

She smirked and tossed her long curly auburn hair like a whip over her shoulder. You know, you could really use a night out with a hot guy once in a while. You deserve a little attention. I mean, more than what you get from Elliot every day. As if on cue, I could see him down the row of cubicles, happy to have caught my glance, waving.

I groaned. Men are not a priority right now.

"Men are never a priority for you, honey. Really. You should get out. Look around! She gestured to the enormous window behind me that displayed nearly the entire valley below. This city is full of available men." She paused as she fiddled with one of her humongous dangling earrings, a distant look in her eye as she seemed to be recalling her latest sexual excursion.

Available, yes. Able to meet my insanely high expectations, not so much. I’d already had enough of this conversation. I didn’t like being reminded of my limitations—human regularities that I could never partake in. Just thinking about it put me right back in my ill mood. Jill, I really need to get started before Ron is on my back.

Just as I let that last word escape from my mouth, I heard the familiar clinking of a pocket watch chain growing louder with each second. A lingering sense of dread filled my stomach as Ron Sturgis materialized from his proverbial, invisible void, ready to catch a misbehaving employee by surprise so that he could berate them in front of their colleagues. It was his one joy in life, watching his inferiors writhe in pain as he either publicly humiliated them or barked them into submission with his hollow voice. Either way, a visit from him was never pleasant, and today was not an exception.

Ladies? Taking a break already? What time is it? His miniature mustache wrinkled a bit as his lips curled into a sneer. Pausing to take out his gold pocket watch, he scrutinized it with determination. Oh my! Why, it’s eight fifteen. Ms. Delaney, it seems that you are exactly fifteen minutes behind already.

The hissing of his accusation did little to motivate me, and my gut reaction was to spit some witty comeback right back at him. Unfortunately, however, for the sake of keeping my crappy job, it was necessary to play nice. For a brief moment, I wished that his aura would glow bright red so that I could justify his hopefully painful disposal. But alas, no such luck.

Do you always have to start the morning off with such a fabulous pep talk, Ron? asked Jill, a wry smile upon her lips. I had to admit, Jill Wyatt was my hero. She never backed down to Ron. Probably because she’d been working for the company since the dawn of time and the chance of Ron ever being able to convince the board to get rid of her would mean his own demise. Jill knew a lot of people. I was glad she was my friend.

Better get started, he snorted as he turned and stalked down the row, his eyes skimming across the tops of the cubicles to seek out his next victim.

Jill, you really shouldn’t antagonize him. He may be a weasel, but he is also determined. He eventually gets what he wants.

You take things too seriously, dear. She laughed. Ron is like a tea kettle. Let him blow off some steam every now and then, and he’s harmless. It doesn’t hurt to let the steam blow back in his face once in a while either.

Morning flew by as usual. Lunch was uneventful. However, once I sat back down for my afternoon of sifting, filing, and compiling, I began to brood. Conflicting emotions raged inside me, and after quelling them all morning, I was no longer successful at keeping them buried.

Exhilaration was undeniable. Anticipation was present as well. It was like I was going down a checklist for emotions: anxiety, check; impatience, check; curiosity check.

Notably missing was fear. I had taken fear off the list of emotions several months ago. And really, I had to hand it to experience and time. Performing the same act over and over, no matter how gruesome, tends to dull the senses. My fear had dissipated on its own. I only wished I could say the same for the soft twinge of guilt that nagged at me occasionally after a disposal, sitting on my kitchen floor, trying to reach into my memory and extract the actions I had just taken to end a life.

I could never find them—a convenient by-product of my alteration. The Superiors made sure our minds were safe from most psychological trauma. Shaking my head, I tried to clear it. Better not begin the circular argument again—at least, not here at work with curious eyes in the vicinity.

Delaney! The voice startled me, and I came very close to dumping my entire mug of coffee on my lap. I knew that obnoxious voice anywhere.

Jess! I bounced up and ran to give her a warm embrace. I hadn’t seen her since January. Had it been that long?

Hey, girl! she exclaimed. The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear.

So when did you get back?

Actually, I just got in this morning, so I thought I’d drop by to pester Ron a bit and check in on you. What are you up to? She stepped back to look at my face. Jeez, Maura, you look like hell. You okay? Jess was always way too observant for her own good.

I’m just a little under the weather, I lied. Well, not a complete lie. Too much self-reflection did make me feel sick.

Well, I have a remedy for that. Me, you, and happy hour at Famous Sam’s, she squealed. Now look, I’ve got to run. I promised my mother I would bring her the scrapbook from Ryan’s aunt as soon as I got in.

I started to protest, but she cut me off.

Meet me there at five and don’t make me go to your house to drag you out. She started to walk down the row of cubicles and then stopped short, turned, and shot me her most wicked smile. I really should say hello to Ron on my way out. She instantly transformed into her best sex-kitten persona, fluffed her wavy dark-brown hair, and strutted toward Ron’s office. After all, Ron had a thing for her, and she loved to taunt him. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Sitting back down, I took a moment to contemplate. Yes. I decided I would meet her. I didn’t want to have to deal with her coming over, and she invariably would if I didn’t show up. She was extremely obstinate about getting her way.

I’d known Jessica Gray for about two years now. She began working in the office across the hall from mine about a month into my internship at my jail sentence of a job, and we hit it off immediately. Really, we were almost exact opposites—my yin to her yang. I tended to be the grounded one, and yes, kind of morose; whereas, Jess was so full of life and energy that I couldn’t not be around her when the opportunity presented itself. She had a close family and a devoted fiancé, Ryan, whom she found every excuse to visit now that he was working in California. He was a pharmaceutical rep and spent most of his time traveling and schmoozing with rich doctors. His latest excursion landed him in LA, and Jess made sure she was right there with him as often as possible.

I could honestly say she was my closest friend, even though I could never be completely truthful with her. Naturally, it was absolutely forbidden. But even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to tarnish her carefree and eternally optimistic outlook on life with my horrifying secrets. I would rather suffer alone.

*****

The bar was almost empty when I got there. I ordered a Coke and waited for Jess. I had arrived a tad early as I did not want to give her even the slightest chance to track me down at my house. For the past week, I’d been having an especially hard time with my internal monologuing and had let my responsibilities as a housekeeper slip. Yeah, my place was a total sty.

As I mulled over the chores that awaited me, I instinctively scanned the bar. The sweet stench of discarded beer bottles at the bottom of the nearby trash bin was ever present, and the heavy wooden blinds covering a long row of small windows fought against the shining sun outside to create the proper darkened atmosphere. A television overhead silently beamed the latest spring training game to an audience of one—a bearded man with only a dull, pink glow—completely acceptable.

Most people gave off a faint pink aura, which usually accounted for only low quantities of negative energy—just human nature kind of stuff. I rarely encountered anyone with anything less. More power to the nobody’s-perfect adage I supposed. I was only concerned with those who crossed the threshold of that border into the truly crimson auras that characterized an actual Offender.

And to me, the border seemed completely subjective. I mean, what about those people who acted on the spur of the moment and ended up making the most unthinkable mistake possible—stealing a human life? Those people usually had a dark-pink aura, but not enough to put them over the edge into my territory. Shouldn’t they be held accountable with the same intensity that others were? Others who had planned a death in advance, who had malicious intent ahead of time? The end result was the same—a human being stopped breathing, and the humongous rift caused by the evil act rippled throughout the atmosphere with the same unstoppable force, only to add to the instability of this already unstable planet. I so wished for some clarity.

My friend broke my train of thought as she jubilantly skipped up to sit next to me.

What are you drinking?

Duh. She knew I could only order a soda. Unlike her, I was not quite twenty-one yet, which was absolutely and totally lame.

Just a Coke.

What? Are you trying to stay sober for a reason? Her eyebrow rose.

What are you insinuating now?

"Just that maybe you have a date tonight. It is Friday night, and you’re usually a margarita girl. You still have the fake ID I gave you, right?" she asked with the hint of a grin.

Okay, yes. I fully admit to underage drinking, but with my track record of all the shitty things that can happen to one person in a lifetime, I was definitely entitled. Of course, her insinuation regarding my going on a date was totally unfounded. I was so not ready for this conversation from her. I’d had a bad week, and this would just top it off, but I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth either, so I repeated the lie that I’d grown accustom to.

Jess, I really don’t want to talk about it. I’ve been inundated with Ron’s busy work for the last month and have hardly had time to eat or sleep, let alone go on a date with anyone.

She frowned. I knew she didn’t like seeing me this way, especially since things with Ryan had picked up. From the way things looked, they’d probably be married by Thanksgiving.

"I just hate seeing you alone. And yes, I feel a little guilty. I just want you to find someone wonderful—someone who will bring that sparkle to your eye. I hardly ever get to see it. You’re like a sister to me, Maura. I hate that you haven’t found the one yet. I mean, don’t you even want to find…someone?" Her eyes were kind, but full of confusion.

"I will meet someone. The surest way not to meet someone is by looking for them, right? It was so totally cliché, but true from what I’d always seen. Anyway, I needed to put a close to this subject before it began to jab deeper. I forced a smile. Besides, you don’t want me falling for just anyone. I know you and anyone I choose will have to go through a series of intense trials before you’ll give your approval, right?"

She was silent for a moment and then stared at the floor, obviously pondering her next words. I just don’t want you living in the past. Life goes on. Nothing was your fault, you know. She hadn’t breached this topic in ages, but it pained me just as deeply now as it did when it had actually happened. You did everything you could to give him the best life possible, even if it was only for a short time.

Closing my eyes tight, I tried to stop the image of his beautiful, pudgy little face before it entered my mind’s eye, but it was a futile effort. His smile could light up a room. His laugh seemed to ring in my ears. If I tried very hard, I could even smell his sweet baby scent. He had been my entire life if only for the briefest of moments. The most beautiful child this world had ever seen—gone in one swift instant.

No.

I closed it off. I refused to relive it.

Changing the subject abruptly, I lured Jess into an endless regale of her last few months in California. She gushed about Ryan for almost thirty minutes nonstop, and in actuality, it truly comforted me to know that my friend—my sister really—had that perfect relationship that was absent from my own life. Only once did envy rear its ugly head. She was going on about Ryan wanting a large family—three kids, maybe four.

I excused myself immediately. Smoke break! Escaping out onto the patio, I felt a little better. I just couldn’t bring myself to start thinking about Jess’s future children right now. Hell, I’d already broken my own rule of thinking about him.

The light beeping of my cell phone brought me out of my funk. It was a text from Peter. Not entirely unexpected, as it had been over a month since our last official meeting. Most likely, just the latest statistics and check in—possible procedural updates.

Tomorrow @ 14:00, Prescott

My maid duties at home would have to be shirked off until Sunday now, but I really didn’t mind. I needed something to do this weekend to distract me from my nagging guilty conscience.

One more drag and I’d go back in to hear the end of Jess’s epic saga of life, love, and the pursuit of Ryan. As I was putting out my cigarette butt in the nearest empty beer bottle, I looked up just in time to catch the brilliant crimson glow emanating from a well-dressed male as he hopped into his silver BMW convertible and sped to the exit of the parking lot. Making a mental note of his license plate, I traced his aura down the almost empty street until he rounded a curve at the next intersection.

*****

I could hear the drip-drip of the leaky faucet as water trickled down the wall to join the swirling mixture of oil and other toxic substances that now created beautiful streaks of iridescent color on the pavement beside me. The alley was totally dark except for a lone streetlamp that cast a shimmering illumination across my path and created shadows that bounced trash can reflections onto the dewy brick walls on either side.

Perfect atmosphere for a stereotypical Offender. I almost laughed to myself at this thought.

The apartment number I was looking for was 213, second level about halfway down. I conducted my usual survey of the area, and fortunately, all was quiet. The only slight disturbance was a resident—I assumed—about a hundred yards away lying under his propped-up Buick, hammering away with an occasional expletive.

The apartment complex reminded me of almost every other run-down drug dealer’s paradise I’d frequented repeatedly over the last year. That is not to say that I didn’t visit some of the upscale neighborhoods of Tucson as well. Far from it actually.

In the beginning, I was surprised by how many disposals were conducted in the more affluent communities—the Foothills, the northwest side, even some of the country club areas. Just last week, I was down in the lovely retirement community of Green Valley, just south of Tucson, where a child molester had been disguising himself as a well-to-do member of the local Veteran’s Association chapter. It went to show you that you could never judge a book by its cover. That phrase had become my own personal motto. It didn’t matter whether the perpetrator was a doctor or a transient, well-dressed or in rags, wealthy or destitute—human nature remained unchanged.

Usually, most Offenders shared a background of instability and violence. But there were a few, however, that deviated from this norm. Those few, and I remembered them vividly, were the true psychopaths. They grew up well, had everything their hearts desired including a loving family, and yet still couldn’t keep their revolting and selfish desires from becoming realities. Maybe they lacked guilty consciences. Perhaps they had chemical imbalances in their brains that triggered their monstrosities. I was sure I’d never know, and really, it didn’t matter. The motivations behind the acts were not of importance. The Superiors did not concern themselves with the why. Their only task was to lessen the instability on earth by eliminating the causes of that instability. And these Offenders, with their horrific tendencies, were the causes. Pure and simple. That led me back to my duty.

I crept up the flight of stairs to the second level within seconds, always careful to be aware of even the slightest movement, the slightest change in my surroundings that might indicate I had company. My plan was palpable as always. The subject must be within triggering distance for the disposal procedure to begin its course.

My senses began to alert me to the Offender’s presence as I moved across the landing toward his front door. My skin itched and tingled. His foul chemical odor lit up my nostrils. A few more steps and I could taste the acid reaching up to the back of my throat. It never ceased to mystify me that one little implant in my brain could create so many biological changes within me. In my altered state, I could identify even the most minute reverberations. Sound waves hit me like a slap in the face. In the near vicinity of an Offender, my skin crawled and my eyesight pinpointed the exact location of the energy fluctuations caused by his or her presence.

Conveniently, the advantages to my state of being were also projective. If I did perchance encounter witnesses to my task, they could never quite remember what they saw. They would usually babble on about seeing something or someone, but anything past that was a blur. I was faceless, invisible.

I paused.

The flighty sound of laughter echoed in my ears. Nimbly, I traced its origin.

Three buildings over, a few of the tenants were having a get-together that had just exploded out onto the balcony. I could detect the alcohol from here: Budweiser; Jägermeister; cheap, nondescript wine. They were a little rowdy, but nothing unacceptable.

Quickly, I realigned my senses. Distractions like that were always a major pain in my ass. With any luck, I wouldn’t be deterred again. Once in my realm, my body transformed into a finely tuned instrument with only one purpose—purification.

Stop.

I looked up and read the numbers on the door in front of me: 213.

A vibration wave radiated from somewhere behind it—definitely the low buzz of a