by J. Thorn
John waited.
He sat on the top step, straining again to focus on the phone’s display. His eyes chased a floater from the edge of his vision as the letters on the screen materialized. He pushed the envelope button which retrieved the first three subject lines from the inbox.
whr r u
johncall
help
Chapter 2
Jana had typed the text messages the night of October thirty-first. The date on the main screen read November third. Had he been here three days? Fumbling, John pushed the wrong button, retrieving his sent texts folder.
wish u whre here
Sent at one in the morning on November first, John selected the message and noticed three phone pictures attached to it. The hourglass spun on the screen while retrieving the first picture. Although dark and grainy, he had no difficulty recognizing himself in the photo, lying on the couch in Reggie’s basement. John’s head tilted up at an angle, his mouth covered with a wide grin, and his eyes staring at a naked woman. Sarah stood to the side, one hand resting on his thigh and the other holding her right breast.
He gasped and scrolled down to the second picture. Long blonde hair fell down to the top of her waist. She sat astride him, looking back over her left shoulder at the phone which must have sat on a high stool. The third and final picture knocked the wind out of John. With the phone held above, two white breasts and strands of blonde hair enveloped John’s head while a look of stupidity plastered his face.
Using the phone as his flashlight, John staggered back down the steps. He collapsed onto the loveseat at the opposite wall to avoid the smell of his own vomit. John wiped tears from his cheeks and his thumbs moved across the keyboard before he recognized the “No Service” icon. He shut the phone off and back on again.
“No Service”. John walked back up to the top of the steps and held the phone high above his head.
“No Service”.
According to the phone, it was 5:06 a.m. If that were true, someone in the house would be waking soon. He would hear them and call out. They would hear him, find him, and everything would be fine. But John didn’t believe that lie even as his mind formed it. He tried to open both closet doors but the locks refused to give. John considered launching a shoulder into the door but knew his collarbone would snap before the wood budged.
John took a quick inventory of the room. He noted two couches, a treadmill, a T.V., a chair, and a stack of board games on a shelf. His stomach rumbled and grinded with a low moan and his lips began to crack from the corners.
The pictures and the text kept tumbling through his thoughts. Although the carrier delivered them to Jana, she did not reply. Her text messages arrived prior to his, with her cryptic desperate phrases. Without any bars, John succumbed to the confines of his new cell.
Reggie’s basement sat beneath the living room and masked any indication of the time of day. John looked at the top of the steps and saw a thin gray line appearing at the bottom of the door.
John opened his phone and pointed it at the chair, aware of one less bar on the battery indicator. He angled the screen to the floor in such a way as to provide enough light to get to work. John turned the chair over and unscrewed one of the legs. The wooden spindle gave way and he repeated the process with the other three legs.
He climbed the steps and tried to shove one of the legs under the door as a wedge. The tight gap kissed the ceramic tile, not allowing any leverage. John took one leg and brought it down hard on the glass doorknob. The handle shattered but the brass innards kept their composure, keeping the door locked. John climbed back down the stairs and decided to try his luck on one of the closet doors. If he could get into Reggie’s tool chest his chances of getting through the kitchen door would improve.
John brought the chair leg up and struck the door with it. Shards of wood shattered and flew across the room but the door held strong.
John slid down the wall, fighting a rush of sobs. He thought of Jana and reread her fleeting text messages. Visions of Sarah and their sexual depravity aroused John against his will, followed by bouts of vomiting.
Headaches pounded the inside of John’s skull while cramps wracked his stomach. He shivered from the cold damp rising out of the basement floor. The black shirt and collar provided meager protection from the unheated house. Dark, black circles formed on the edges of his vision and took John into the realm of the unconscious.
Chapter 3
“All clear!”
The shout woke John. Panic seized his heart as he lurched upright. Pain shot through his legs from cramps that imposed their will on his muscles.
“Sir, there appears to be a basement.”
“Then secure it, Private.”
The taste of danger sharpened John’s senses. His legs burning, he dragged himself behind the couch on the opposite wall. Within moments, he heard the crack of wood and saw the gray November light hit the landing near the kitchen. Gleaming black boots crushed the remains of the glass doorknob as they crept down the steps. John took a deep breath, inhaling as much of the renewed air as possible.
He watched as two sets of legs hit the bottom step. Beams of light raced around the room, chasing red pinpoints. They flashed over him a number of times but never remained long enough to reveal his position. John held his breath and bit into his tongue, trying to ignore the crippling leg cramps seizing the muscles.
“Clear.”
A sharp report rang through the air followed by the acrid taste of burning gunpowder. Before the reverberations faded, a second gunshot followed the first. John heard the boots smash each of the closet doors as the hinges protested with a whiny squeak.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
The two men kicked beer bottles around the floor, pointed their flashlights around the room one more time, and walked back up the steps towards the kitchen. John exhaled, watching tendrils of smoke dance across the clammy cement floor.
Chapter 4
The light pouring through the open kitchen door climbed high on the wall until it disappeared completely. John listened from behind the couch, still unwilling to chance exposing himself. When the light faded, he crawled out.
Two gaping black mouths yawned at him where closet doors had previously stood. He flipped the cell phone open but did not hear the customary startup chime. A ragged crack ran the length of the screen and the battery had come loose from the clip on the back. In his desperation to hide, he’d landed on top of the phone. John shoved it into a pocket and felt his way towards the nearest closet.
The intrusion had scattered the planks, and hinges sagged from the wall. With no light, John ventured inside the black canyon. A smeared glass block window provided enough of a glare for John to recognize the flashlights on the shelf. He grabbed one and flicked the switch. Nothing. He slammed it to the ground and grabbed another one. The torch blasted the room with blinding light. John stumbled over the shards of the door as his eyes burned and watered before becoming accustomed to the brightness. John swept the beam around the cramped work room until he noticed a wealth of tools. Grabbing the gym bag off a low shelf, he emptied its contents on the floor. Old baseballs and street hockey balls rolled under the shelves. John collected a hammer, screwdrivers, a hand axe, and plastic wrap and shoved them into the bag.
John turned off the flashlight and crept toward the steps. The house sighed with the setting of the November sun, as aged boards protested the temperature change with cracks and pops. Urine stench mingled with the greasy smell of heating oil. He shivered from the approaching chill of night, while climbing the first step towards the kitchen. The wooden plank sagged under his weight. John’s palm felt the ruddy surface of the textured wall, guiding the rest of his body upwards. He felt his heart slamming against his rib cage, threatening to burst from his chest. John mumbled, trying to ignore the pulse in his temple.
The door to the kitchen stood wide open. From his position on the steps, John saw broken glass scattered on the ceram
ic tile floor. The duffel bag on his shoulder swung with each movement, the contents poking into his ribs. He set the bag down on the top step and waited. He listened. Convinced of the emptiness, John stepped into the kitchen and out of his old life forever.
Available from J. Thorn
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Contemporary Fiction
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The Seventh Seal
John awakes from a Halloween party with a hangover and a dead cell phone, on the first day of the End of Days. He's desperate, on the run, and fighting for his life.
"A fast-paced thriller that feels like Hell on Earth." Mark Andrew Edwards
Any fan of "Mad Max", Cormac McCarthy, or David J. Moody will love The Seventh Seal!
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
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Preta's Realm
Fear blurs the lines between the living and the dead deep within Preta's Realm.
"This story reminds me of something that might come from a late night bull session between Stephen King and Edgar Allan Poe. Author J. Thorn weaves a tale that eases off the page only to punch you right in the gut." Adam Phillips
Any fan of Stephen King, Clive Barker, or Dean Koontz will love Preta's Realm!
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
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Epic Fantasy
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Gold Within
On the edge of a distant world cultures clash, violence erupts, and blood will flow.
"...different from any other book I've read and I can definitely see this one becoming my favorite of the year. 5 stars!" Jeff (from Amazon.com)
Any fan of "The New World", "The Black Robe", or Ken Follett will love Gold Within!
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
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Burden of Conquest
One world. One man. An epic battle for an empire.
"J. Thorn's gritty, edgy, writing style combined with his ability to develop stories rich in texture and depth make for an amazing reading experience. His books are not to be missed." SB Knight Author of Born of Blood
Any fan of "Lord of the Rings", "The Dark Tower" by Stephen King, or "Apocalypto" will love Burden of Conquest!
Burden of Conquest: The Arrival
Book I
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
Burden of Conquest: The Reckoning
Book II
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
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Short Story Collections
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Tales From a North Shore, Volume I
For the Kindle -- For Other Devices
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With Threefold Law
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Revenant
For The Kindle -- For Other Devices
About the Author
J. Thorn crafts stories for eyes and ears. He lives in the shadow of the Cuyahoga River which has not caught fire in over forty years and fronts the Cleveland band, Threefold Law.
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Official Website
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