Bully Atonement

By C.M. Heil

What if something horrible happened? What if it happened to you? What if you did nothing? The would haves, could haves, and should haves consume you with regret. This festers in you for years. You could have gone on seething this way for the rest of your life, until... You are suddenly jolted into a shocking reminder. The reminder is as merciless as those involved and as unforgiving as the thoughts of revenge that have been smoldering inside you. But why are they just thoughts and not actions? Why not do now what you should have done then? Why not make them beg for your forgiveness? Of course, the police are not concerned with forgiveness, only justice. All that detectives Rochambault and Given know in the beginning is that there was a class reunion over the weekend and the alumni have been turning up brutally murdered ever since. The more questions they ask about the reunion the more they discover it may not have been about this weekend. What exactly happened and when? And who is killing because of it? These are the questions the detectives are quickly trying to answer before there is another murder. But will the police get their resolution before the killer gets closure? It is time to evoke the evil they created. It is time to retaliate. It is time to atone. Author Testimonial - CM Heil "This was so easy! I cannot thank Page Publishing enough for taking this idea of a book and making it a reality. I was so exhausted from years of creating it, I had no energy left for the process of publishing. Page got me through the necessary steps and handled everything. The art department deserves special recognition for the AMAZING cover they came up with. It's one of the best I've ever seen!! But, most of my gratitude goes to Publication Coordinator Ariel for being my touch point and answering all my questions expediently."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641381222

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Bully Atonement

C.M. Heil

Copyright © 2018 C.M. Heil

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64138-123-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64138-122-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Thank you to B, Jon, and my family for your support in everything I do, be it crazy or not. A special thanks to my cousin the Fat Man for his veteran, small-town New Hampshire police intelligence.

To my nonjudgmental, no-drama friends who provide that same support. You are lifers. Especially to my good friend Soph, for your input and inspiration on this project and for introducing me to Chris and Jim, who make me realize that real people are authors, real cool people.

To my amazing colleagues who work with me in the trenches of retail (my job that pays the bills), you have been a huge, unrelenting source of encouragement.

To Suzanne for your honesty, That’s what I deliver. Even though some of it may have been politely disregarded.

And regardless of how this, my first book, found you, I thank you the reader. I hope you are entertained and surprised by its contents. Welcome inside.

Part I

Awakening the Demon

Chapter 1

I could walk across the room right now and stab him in the eye with my steak knife. I could stab all of them, but none of them are worth spending the rest of my life in prison. They had already put me in the prison of my own mind over the last ten years, thinking of what I should have done; and it all started with him.

I knew that wouldn’t be in my best interest, not with all these witnesses. The sports bar was crowded. Whoever all the fans were watching must have been doing very well, judging by all cheering and high-fiving. I didn’t care. It was not why I was there. As it turned out, I was a spectator of another kind.

I understood what it was like being a fan, even a fanatic, like the people that found the urge to join the military, church, or enter any faith. It was being part of a family, brotherhood, or team. You all shared the same goal that brought you together and made you exclusive. What I couldn’t understand was that guy who had to rub the exclusivity in other people’s faces. He’d make you feel like an asshole for not being a member. Not only would you have to believe in his goals, but you’d have to attain them his way. You’d know the type—the popular quarterback hero and his clique who ran high school like it was a feudal society, with himself as the king. But this was America. There was no king. He was not born noble, and this wasn’t high school anymore. This was the real adult world, yet there he sat.

He might have had some actual football talent, but he was nothing without the team, yet he thought it was the other way around. We all knew the truth. He was nothing without the team behind him. He was really a coward—the bully on the playground who picked on the weak, ugly, or different kid to make himself feel better. But in fact, he was the weakest, ugliest, and most insecure even more so than those whom he picked on.

I’d been watching him casually for some time now. It was just what you’d expect—total cliché. He was surrounded by a group of his friends/subjects. I looked at them all. Each one was as expendable as the next. Every time the team scored, he led the high-fives and yells, so he was the loudest person in the room. He had a very pretty girl to his left who appeared to be quite high maintenance. No doubt, she was the queen or cheerleading captain. Strip away her designer products, and she’d be a troll. Within her own little group of beauty queens, they all knew her shit. They all knew she was shit. Every time her head was turned, it gave him an opportunity to hit on her friend or even the waitress, any pussy attached to a pulse. Queenie was either really too stupid to notice or a coward herself to not confront him about it. Either way, I hated her too.

There sat my prey. If I were to capture him—any one of them really—put him under a magnifying glass, and torment him. He’d plead for mercy in a second. He’d crack instantly and give up on everything and everyone he held dear to save himself. What a pussy. I hated him. I was trying not to stare. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself. What I would really like to do was bear down on him with all my hatred so the whole room could see him for what he truly was—nothing—then he would be forced to face the truth and see it too. They would all know, as I knew, he was the one.

Though almost all of them deserved to die, he was the one who started it. None of it would have happened if he had just left me alone that night, and the rest wouldn’t have followed. That night began a series of hellish events in what should have been the best times of my life.

It started with him.

I had to sit there all night, enduring every pitiful display of what was wrong with the human species. He embodied every negative aspect as to why people hated jocks, and women hated men. It took everything I had to not get out of my chair and kill him right then and there. I got so disgusted I had to leave the bar and wait for them outside. They were sitting near a window, so I could continue to watch from my car in the parking lot. The spectacle of watching them behind the glass and me, the spectator, behind mine—it felt like they were putting on a show. I didn’t know how many times I must have cursed out loud to myself, enraged by their actions. This persisted for several hours before the baseball game was over, and my game could begin.

They were finally collecting their bill and exiting. They had gotten here not too long after me. It had been early in the evening, so they must have gotten pretty good parking. Manchester, New Hampshire doesn’t have a subway system. The only public transportation was a taxi or a hired Uber car, which would mean he would have to relinquish control. Putting someone else in the driver’s seat was not acceptable and neither was parting with twenty bucks. That twenty-dollar cab ride could buy him a lap dance another night. There was also the bus, but he was way too cool for that. He’d rather get a DUI than be seen riding the bus.

Sure enough, I learned I was right. The group of seven left and split into three cars. Naturally, I followed my prey. He was in the car with the cheerleader, which I assumed was his current girlfriend. There was also another guy in the car, one of his subjects. They drove onto Timber Street and continued for a few blocks until making a pit stop at 7-Eleven. The guys got out of the car and went in while she waited. After a few minutes, they were back on the road. He made a quick left onto a road I didn’t catch the street sign for, but I could get it on the way out if I needed it. The car pulled over in front of a large house that was clearly divided into multifamily living. The insignificant guy got out, and we were on the move again. I didn’t bother to look at the street sign driving out of the neighborhood.

After driving for several minutes with a series of left- and right-hand turns, I followed them to Livingston Street. This neighborhood was on the east side of the city, almost in Goffstown. The houses were no longer on top of one another in this area, some quite remote in density of the woods that still remained. Hoping he would stop the car soon, I started to fantasize about how perfect this location would be for what I had planned. Sure enough, my wish came true as he turned into a driveway on the right.

I had kept a safe distance behind him, and I slowed down only slightly to get a look as I passed. The house was an oversize ranch with an attached garage. I could see another car parked in the driveway as they continued to a stop. I assumed that one was his, and one was hers; but why didn’t they pull into the garage? I would have to get to the bottom of that. When planning a murder, you should minimize your guesswork.

The house was set back from the road. There was a large hill to the left that was heavily wooded, perfect for a covert operation. I drove past the house and turned around. As luck would have it, there was a construction company farther down the road. The lot where they parked their equipment was poorly lit. I only saw a small trailer, which probably functioned as the office. There were no cars or pickup trucks, so hopefully no one lived in there. I pulled my car down past the construction vehicles, out of sight from the road. It wasn’t even a mile back to the house.

As I walked back, I didn’t pass a single car and only one dark house. I quietly stepped into the woods and noticed that the light to the left of the front door was on, but the interior of the house was dark. I would have to carefully make my way toward the back. It was a hot night, so they might have the windows open. Or on the other hand, they might have a fan or AC running, which would mask any noise I might be making. Also, I hadn’t gotten a look at the backyard yet.

It was important to check for any signs of a dog or a security system. I’d either read somewhere or seen in a movie that you should never break into a house where they owned a dog. They were right about that, and I had also made a few rules of my own. I called it the Killer’s Handbook. Some of the rules, for instance, included not carrying ID; keeping clothing and shoes simple, common, single color, generic fabric; gathering the most amount of information with minimal exposure; blending into any background whether it was a crowd or scene like a wooded lot.

As I thought of this list in my head, I realized how unprepared I was. I didn’t expect to start tonight. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself and start breaking my own rules. That was how you get caught. The smart thing to do was to leave tonight and return another night. I had gone over this a thousand times in my head; but if this was what I was really going to do, I’d better think it through. I needed to kill them like I had always planned—key word being planned. By the time I talked myself down, I could see the backyard from my vantage spot in the woods. The back of the house was only lit by an old light fixture with a dim bulb; and I didn’t see a doghouse, dog line, or a fenced-in area of any kind.

I saw a short window in the back of the middle of the house, the bathroom. Several feet away toward the corner of the house were two taller windows. One had thin curtains that parted in the center and draped over the AC unit that I could hear running. Right when I decided to leave, the bedroom light went out.

Chapter 2

Erin Fallon pulled her Jeep into her parking spot at work. This early on a Sunday morning, she was only one of two cars at the gym. Bill Cleary always beat her there, but she refused to arrive any earlier. If he was inconvenienced by her punctuality, then he would simply have to show up later. She slung her back pack over her shoulder, grabbed the box of pastries for her coworkers, and thermos with green tea.

Great day to have the top down. It’s going to be a scorcher, he said as he approached her, and they began their weekly dance. He would always hold the box and mug for her as she fumbled for the keys and opened the front door.

Erin now owned the gym that once belonged to her father. He had opened it after retiring from boxing. Upon his death, it was understood that she would run it. She had been an athlete all her life, which was still obvious in her physique.

I guess it is supposed to be that way all week, she said, opening the door and standing aside so he could enter.

We’re in for a heat wave.

I don’t think I’ll have the top on my car all week. I’ll just have to keep a hair brush handy, she said as she tried to fix her hair in her reflection on the glass door.

As always, my dear, you look radiant. If only I were thirty years younger.

Thanks, Mr. Cleary. You flatter me, she responded, blushing a little.

You know, you resemble my Claire, back when she was young.

She was tempted to respond but felt he had more to say.

But you are far too tall. She was only five foot four. What are you, six feet?

Spot on, she was trying to think of something to add to get her out of this awkward conversation. It was embarrassing her, and she didn’t care for attention, but didn’t want to be rude as he was reminiscing about his dead wife. I’ll bet she was a fine lady. She put her belongings on the front counter. He did the same.

Well, why don’t you get to work, and I’ll get to working out, he told her.

Sounds like a plan, she said, glad that was over.

Erin went through the entire building, turning on all the lights, making sure the AC was turned up enough, and returned to the desk in the main lobby. She hated leaving it unattended even for a minute. She was evenly balanced as a control freak and overachiever. She thought maybe that was why she had trouble staying in a relationship. She had no time to manage her own ego, let alone someone else’s. As a team player from so many different sports, she found it rather unsettling that she couldn’t make a team of two work. She thought maybe it would come with age. She was in no hurry to marry or have kids. If her biological clock was ticking, at twenty-eight, she couldn’t hear it just yet.

At six o’clock sharp, fifteen minutes after Erin and Bill arrived, her first two employees walked in.

Morning, Marci. Morning, Chris.

Morning, Marci said as she raised her coffee cup as a salutation.

Morning, boss, Chris practically grumbled at her. She had to remind herself he was only a few years younger than her. His youth was apparent every Sunday morning when he showed up for his shift, after a Saturday night of drinking, and who knows what else. Erin was much more grown up than those the same age around her.

You know, most people our age are still in bed, Chris said, seemingly reading her mind. They’re either sleeping it off or not sleeping, he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Most people our age don’t have a business to run, she quickly regretted her choice of words. She didn’t want to come off as a snob. She quickly added a boss-like remark. A business that pays its employees well, so they can go out and have fun on at night. She would rather be thought of as a tyrant at work than a spoiled brat.

After her father’s death, while Erin was a junior in college, the gym obviously went to her mother Elaine. Luckily, Jack Fallon had a couple of trusted staff members that managed the gym. Once Erin graduated college, with a bachelor’s in business management and several fitness and physical training certifications under her belt, she was groomed to take over the family business.

No complaints here, Marci chimed in.

I wasn’t saying anything about my treatment. It just annoys me that I’m surrounded by morning people. Just don’t start going all Bill Cleary on me, acting like a senior citizen.

What’s wrong with Mr. Cleary? I think he’s sweet, Marci inquired.

Yeah, I think he’s just lonely, Erin agreed, thinking of their conversation when the two of them arrived. Her heart went out to him.

Okay, okay! Forget I said anything about nice Mr. Cleary. I just don’t see myself ever getting up at the butt-crack of dawn every day to hang out at a gym until nap time.

What’s so bad about that? At least he’s in great shape, Erin said. That’s exactly how she saw herself in advanced years.

Now that her staff was arriving, she could get a workout in before starting her day. All day long, she would consult clients, teach classes, and supervise everything that went on at the gym. This had been her routine for a long time.

Then she remembered with surprise. Today would be a different Sunday. She had scheduled herself a short day to leave at one o’clock to meet Marc for a Fisher Cats baseball game, and then they would grab some dinner. This reminder cheered her up for the rest of the day.

Marc was in town on a sort of vacation. He had needed to come home for several months now, and a lapse in his schedule had provided a convenient window because his ulterior motive to make it this particular weekend was to attend their ten-year class reunion. Erin had told Marc she didn’t plan on going. He had been trying all night Friday when he arrived and most of the day Saturday to get her to change her mind.

It was different for the two of them after high school and college. He went off to New York for film school while she stayed close. In college, she was too busy being a good student and athlete to make any close friends. She had only one true friend from high school that she stayed in touch with, Veronica. She still lived in Manchester too.

She had crossed paths with many of her classmates over the years in town or at the gym but never really talked to them. They had all just pleasantly evaporated. The thought of intentionally going to some party and having cordial exchanges of résumés with people she didn’t really give a damn about did not sound like a good time to Erin. She would rather stay home with a good book and nurse a bottle of wine, and Marc could give her the highlights. This was exactly what she suspected he would do over the course of their afternoon and evening together.