THE ALEX FLETCHER BOXSET: Books 1-5

by Steven Konkoly

  Alex stepped closer, the intensity of the nauseating smell causing him to gag. Voided excrement now overpowered the acrid smell of gunpowder. By looking at the shape under the blanket, he concluded that the body was on its back. The shotgun blast lined up with the chest. Small blood-speckled feathers lay diffusely scattered on the comforter and nightstand. He saw long, dark brown hair, matted with thick blood, falling down the side of a crimson-stained pillow. A blanket covered the face, but he didn’t need to see Nancy’s face to know it was Nancy. She was shot at point-blank range, while hiding under the blankets.

  He checked the left side of the bed and found a small pool of blood on the floor just under the bed.

  Jesus, the mattress must be drenched.

  Suddenly realizing he was holding the pistol in a death grip, he eased off the handle, took a few steps back and turned around. Max’s cage was tucked into one of the bump outs facing the street, pushed all the way back under the window, covered with a dark green comforter. Max began to whine and bark frantically, scraping the cage with his paws as Alex approached.

  He looked around for a dog leash, or anything he could use to lead Max out of the room and hoped that Max was at least wearing a collar. Getting him out of the room could be very difficult without one. He remembered seeing several leashes and dog collars in the mudroom, along with the dog food.

  He tucked the pistol into his jeans and knelt down by the front of the cage, where Max was scratching frantically at the cage door.

  “Hey, Max. Good boy,” he said in a gentle, soothing voice. “Oh yes, you are a good boy. I’m going to open up your cage, buddy. Good boy.”

  He removed the comforter from the cage, and Max sat attentively, looking up at him. He couldn’t tell if Max’s tail was wagging, but the dog seemed calm.

  “Good boy,” he said again, and Max cocked his head.

  Alex slid open the latch and slowly opened the cage, afraid of Max’s reaction, given the circumstances.

  “Come here boy,” he urged.

  Max bounded forward with his tail wagging, nuzzling him and licking his face, then turned and moved toward the bed. Relieved to see Max was wearing a dark purple collar, he dragged the dog out of the room. Max continued to tug in the opposite direction, with his tail wagging, but soon looked back at Alex and gave up.

  “You want a treat, boy?” he asked, hoping to distract the dog.

  Max’s ears perked up, and Alex led him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the stairs. Max frequently stopped to smell the carpet and walls on the way down to the mudroom. Once there, Alex grabbed one of the thick black nylon leashes and attached it to Max’s collar. He slipped two large choke chains and another red collar into his jacket pocket. Finding a box of dog treats in the closet next to a bag of dog food, he fished one out for Max, who followed him closely. Alex heaved the bag of dog food over his left shoulder, holding the leash and dog treat box in his right hand, and walked out of the mudroom into the garage. He sat the dog food and treats just inside the back door and stepped outside with Max. While Max urinated on the grey siding, Alex took the walkie out of his pocket.

  “Hey, honey, you there,” he asked.

  “Yep. Nothing’s moving out there. What did you find?”

  “You really don’t want to know. We have a very big problem here on Durham Road. I’m headed over to the Hayes’ to check out the situation there,” he said and started to walk across the snow toward the Hayes’ house.

  “What happened to the Coopers?” she insisted.

  “Are the kids listening?”

  “Hold on,” she said. A few seconds later she was back on the radio. “Okay, I’m in the bathroom. They’re still crashed out.”

  “They were killed in the bedroom. Looks like shotgun blasts. One took off the top of Paul’s head, and the other…”

  “That’s enough…I get it. Why are you going to the Hayes’? I think we know what you’ll find there.”

  Alex considered her argument, which sounded reasonable, but didn’t satisfy him.

  “I have to be sure. Charlie heard more shooting the other night. Someone might still be alive, though I seriously doubt it. I’ll take a quick look and scoot back home. I have Max with me. He’s fine.”

  “Don’t take him over there. Why don’t you come home? Bring Max back. He must be scared out of his mind.”

  “He’s a dog. A few treats and he’s fine. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Plus, I feel better having him with me. Nothing can sneak up on us. I’ll be home in less than ten minutes.”

  “Can you find any food for Max at their house? I know you probably don’t want to go back in there.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you. I have a thirty-pound bag waiting for the return trip. I’m almost at the house. Call you in a few.” He put the walkie away.

  He reached the corner of the Hayes’ garage and looked across the street at Charlie Thorntons’ house. Alex had crossed between the two houses and couldn’t remember if the Murrays’ house had come into view. He’d been talking to Kate and not paying attention.

  “Damn it. I can’t believe I did that,” he said aloud.

  He decided to try the back door first and moved along the back of the garage, staying as close to the wall as possible. Although he couldn’t see the Murrays’ house, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

  Brown cardboard on the inside of the Hayes’ garage door completely blocked his view into the garage. The door opened with little effort, and Max unexpectedly pulled them both into the dark space. The smell of concentrated garbage overwhelmed him, as he regained control of the dog and quickly scanned the garage.

  With the door closed behind him, the garage was plunged into complete darkness. Alex waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust and slowly walked forward, moving past the neatly stacked firewood against the far wall. He stumbled through several plastic trash bags trying to slide along a minivan to get to the mudroom door.

  The door opened effortlessly, having been forced open just like the Coopers’. He took in the slack on Max’s leash and stepped in the house. A fine layer of white dust blanketed the mudroom floor and a dark pine bench. He didn’t see any footprints in the powder, or anything else out of order in the mudroom.

  Strange.

  A sickening odor begged him to turn around and leave. Evidence of a gun battle combined with the stench to confirm his suspicion. Visible shotgun blast damage existed on the half-wall between the eat-in kitchen area and the family room. Like the Coopers’ house, the Hayes’ kitchen was ransacked.

  Direct sunlight poured into the kitchen through the uncovered windows over the sink, fading beyond the kitchen and making it difficult to see into the family room, where all of the shades were closed. The dust was thicker in the kitchen and covered every horizontal surface. Max kept quiet, with his tail between his legs. He looked up at Alex and trembled nervously.

  Alex edged forward, careful to navigate Max around any broken glass. He wanted to get a closer look at the shotgun damage. The shotgun blasts were concentrated on the corner of the half-wall near the opening to the family room, punching holes clear through the wall and shredding the wooden trim cap. Surprisingly, the decorative pillar on the ends of the half-wall were mostly intact, with only superficial damage around the base. The concentration of multiple blasts focused on the corner of the wall perplexed Alex. The intensity of the gunfire was at odds with what he’d seen in the Coopers’ bedroom, where each shot appeared to have had its own deadly purpose.

  Bullet holes riddled the white trim around the doorway leading into the mudroom. Three more holes appeared in the light blue mudroom wall just beyond the kitchen entrance.

  There was another bullet hole in the refrigerator and one more in the cherry wood cabinet above the stove. The holes appeared to be from a small caliber weapon. Likely the pistol shots Charlie heard before the shotgun blasts.

  He shook his head and turned back around to face the half-wall. The shotgun blasts and b
ullet holes told him everything he really needed to know about what had happened to the Hayes’. He crept forward, mentally fortifying himself for the scene beyond the half-wall.

  The smell intensified and became excruciating as he approached the family room, so he breathed shallowly through his mouth; a trick he’d learned in Iraq. The carnage was visible through one of the holes in the wall. Alex fought the urge to turn around, knowing what he’d find.

  Pressing forward with Max on an extremely short lead, the entire family room came into view. Alex stood frozen. An intense anger and hatred arose in him as he stared at the twisted sight in the family room.

  The entire room was blanketed in the same dust he’d found throughout the house, but it appeared thicker. The dust come from the blasted drywall.

  A light blue slip-cover couch sat against the half-wall a few feet down from the blasted corner; a rectangular oak coffee table sat a few feet in front of it. Paper plates and cups littered the table along with chunks of drywall. One of the plates held several pieces of thick tubular pasta, partially buried under white powder. Several pistol caliber shell casings lay covered with powder on the floor near the obliterated corner.

  Without actually stepping into the room, Alex leaned in and saw that the back of the corner wall had been vaporized by the blasts, creating the thick layer of drywall dust.

  A useless large flat-screen TV sat atop an entertainment center in the corner of the room, nest to a fireplace, appearing undamaged. A small stack of wood sat silently in a black wrought iron wood carrier. A giant family portrait, taken at one of the local beaches, dominated the wall above the fireplace mantel. The Hayes’ smiling faces stood over the room in sharp contrast to death all around him. Three rolled up sleeping bags were stuffed behind the chair closest to the fireplace.

  Kenneth Hayes was not right behind the wall where Alex had expected to find him. A wide reddish-brown stain, thick and pasty from the drywall powder, extended from the hardwood floor near the corner of the wall to his body lying in front of the coffee table several feet away. A thicker pool of dried blood extended from his torso toward a window-height bookcase underneath the rear picture window. Like everything else, it was sheathed in fine powder. Kenneth lay on his stomach, a gaping hole in the middle of his upper back, squarely hit by at least one blast at close range. He was shot in the back while crawling away.

  He glanced again at the bloody trail in front of him, assuming that Ken was also hit somewhere in the chest or stomach as he crouched to fire at his attackers. Alex knew he needed to confirm the fate of the rest of the family. If any of the kids were still alive, they needed to be taken out of here immediately.

  He was pretty sure that Michelle Hayes was still in the hospital. Ken took her to the emergency room a few weeks ago, and then returned with only the kids.

  His attention was drawn to the two-tiered bookcase extending the entire length of the back picture window. The end of the bookcase almost reached the far end of the couch, creating an open space in the corner of the room. He walked a few more feet into the room.

  The smell of decomposition and feces immediately overwhelmed his shallow breathing trick, forcing him to raise his left arm and breathe into his Gore-Tex jacket sleeve, which did little to help. Max had no problem with the horrifying odor, pulling on the end of the leash. Convinced that the dog would try to lick the blood-paste mixture on the floor, he kept a constant tension on the leash to prevent Max’s muzzle from reaching the floor.

  Alex stepped toward the fireplace to put a little more space between Max and the body. As he moved forward, he caught sight of a tiny foot protruding from the small gap between the bookcase and the corner of the couch. His chest tightened, and he started grinding his teeth—immediately fighting back tears.

  No, no, no…this…is not happening. This did not happen.

  Holding Max’s leash tightly, he edged forward with the knowledge that he was about to see something would stay with him forever.

  He tried to rationalize leaving, but concluded that he had to be sure, he knew he would want his neighbor to check on his own children. If there was any possible way to save their child, he would do it. Switching the leash in his hands, Alex edged forward until he could see small quarter-sized splotches on the wall just below the arm of the couch. A few more steps, and he saw a small foot protruding from the gap between the couch and bookcase. It lay in a separate pool of blood that extended from the bookcase and reached the coffee table, stopping short of joining the pool of blood spilled from Ken’s body. Poor kid was trying to hide behind the bookcase when they shot her too.

  I will kill every single one of them for this.

  Alex processed the scene from a distance. He saw the top of a head behind the couch and the foot. Not enough to determine the fate of both children.

  I can’t leave until I know what happened to all of them.

  He carefully stepped backward and tied Max to the leg of the oak table between the oversized chairs on the other side of the room. Swallowing hard, Alex walked angrily past Ken’s body toward the dark corner of the room. Both children lied in twisted bullet riddled piles. Their tiny innocent bodies brutalized by desperate people in search of food. The sheer waste and horror of the Hayes’ situation weighed heavily on Alex, as he struggled to remain focused. A swirl of images ran through his mind of his own family lying dead, shot by Manson and his team.

  Alex quickly moved through the house. Standing in the mudroom, trying to force back tears and vomit. They Hayes’ were his neighbors. He watched the kids grow from babies to lively, playful children, no different than his own. Mentally, he knew that what he saw in the corner of that room would follow him for the rest of his life.

  He spit a few more small chucks of vomit onto the gray tile floor and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes. The rest of the vomit was sprayed on the couch and coffee table in the family room, some of it ending up on Ken’s body. Strangely, Alex felt terrible about that.

  “You ready, buddy?” he asked Max in a normal tone.

  Max looked up at him and yawned.

  “I don’t blame you, Max. Let’s get out of here. I know some people who can’t wait to see you.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the darkened garage. The smell of rotting garbage was a welcome relief to both Alex and Max, who immediately started pulling to get at the trash. Alex fought his way through the debris, pulling Max along with him. Max nearly tripped him getting out the door. Both were eager to leave the macabre scene behind.

  Dammit, Max.

  Max started barking and straining against the leash.

  “Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly reaching for the pistol behind his back.

  A man stood close to the border of the Murrays’ property, still on the Hayes’ side. Alex’s hand remained behind his back, gripping the pistol and trembling slightly.

  If I had opened that door one minute earlier.

  The man’s body pointed toward the Murrays’ yard, but his head was turned toward Alex. He wore faded jeans and a brown leather jacket; a black winter cap stretched tightly over his head. Matted, shoulder-length brown hair protruded from the sides of the hat, splayed on the shoulders of the jacket. The goatee unmistakably identified him as Daryll. He held an oversized load of firewood in front of him and sneered at Alex, clearly contemplating his options. Deciding whether to keep walking or go for it. A hunting shotgun was slung over his right shoulder.

  Alex calculated the range between them to be about forty yards, which was too far for him to guarantee a hit with his pistol; forty yards for a shotgun was similarly less than optimal. The shotgun blasts in the house indicated that these guys were using “double ought” buckshot, which could certainly reach Alex at forty yards, but would require a proficient shooter.

  He hoped that the man kept walking. As much as Alex would like a chance to kill the man in his tracks, he knew that a gun battle outcome couldn’t be guaranteed, especially with Max in the middle of the fight.


  Did Charlie have a shot? Probably not. He was pretty sure the man’s position was still obscured from Charlie by the Hayes’ blue colonial, plus Charlie had never called to warn him. The thought of Daryll’s head exploding from a high-caliber hollow-point bullet was too much to ask at this point. Alex nodded at the man and moved his hand around the front of his jacket, making it clear that this was not the chosen time or place for a shootout. The man turned his head and walked hurriedly in the direction of the Murrays’.

  Alex turned and ran through the snow with Max, who sprinted ahead of him in delight—oblivious to the human drama playing out around him. He kept checking over his shoulder as Max strained at the end of the leash. Alex had a lot of distance to cover, and he was worried that one of the Mansons might try to shoot him as he dashed home. If he died outside, his family would be alone to fend for themselves. As he passed the Coopers’ house, he thought about grabbing the bag of dog food but kept running instead.

  He heard Kate’s voice on the radio as he lumbered through the snow and reached into his pocket and removed the walkie.

  “Kate? Hey, I can’t talk. I ran into one of them…I need to keep moving,” he huffed into the radio.

  “What? Who did you run into? The Hayes? Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked frantically.

  “No, not the Hayes. They’re dead. I ran into one of the Mansons. Hon, I can’t talk and run here. I don’t want them to take a shot at me. Open the back door,” he yelled.

  “Okay…okay, I’m headed down now. Where are you?”

  “Just past the Coopers’. Gotta go!”

  He stuffed the walkie in his jacket pocket and pulled his pistol out of the back of his pants, then tucked it into the other jacket pocket, making sure the velcro caught on the pocket.

  Alex stayed close to the houses, hugging the decks and ducking behind corners on this trip back. Physically wiped out by the time he reached his garage, he stopped a few feet from the door and knelt, laboring to breathe. Max moved in and started licking his face. Alex pushed him away and continued to take deep breaths. The door opened, and Kate appeared, still dressed in her pink flannel pajamas. Max immediately ran over to Kate, who bent down to hug him.