The Warning
Page 1
THE WARNING
by
Jonas Saul
PUBLISHED BY:
Imagine Press
ISBN: 978-0-9869376-6-8
The Warning
Copyright © 2011 by Jonas Saul
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Beginning
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Part 2
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
The Crypt
About the Author
Jonas Saul Titles
The Sarah Roberts Series
1. Dark Visions
2. The Warning
3. The Crypt
4. The Hostage
The Kill Series
1. The Kill
2. The Blade (Summer 2012)
The Threat
The Shock
Short Stories
Visitations - A Book of Short Stories
The Burning
The Numbers Game
Trapped
The Witching Hour
The Elements
Hatred
The Reaper
The Ruse
Bound
Vengeance
For my wife
PART I
SARAH’S FIGHT
Chapter 1
The woods were darker and more ominous this time.
Jack Tate tightened his grip on the terrier’s leash, drawing him closer.
A breeze washed past his face. The darkening sky revealed a purple hue, offering no comfort.
Something about the woods bothered him. He slowed, watching the trees ahead, thinking with each step; should I turn around?
On one hand he wondered why he was making such a big deal about it. He’d done this walk hundreds of times. This wasn’t a high crime area. What could go wrong?
A sound came from the woods. It was a soft hum that could’ve been the trees billowing in the breeze.
He felt the leash loosen as Champ moved closer.
“Hello?”
Now he felt foolish, calling into the trees as if someone was there.
Champ tugged the leash, pulling toward the trees. Jack knelt down to touch the top of the dog’s head and offered calming words.
He scanned the area. No one was in sight. Champ tugged on the leash again.
Jack began walking toward the trees. A minute later he entered the woods.
“Hello?”
No answer. Foolish, stupid, dumb, he reminded himself.
Champ’s tugging was bothersome, but then Jack realized why. He always let Champ off the leash when they entered the woods.
He reached out and unclipped Champ’s collar. The terrier bolted down the path and around a corner and was gone from sight in seconds. Jack called after him, but to no avail.
His nerves were firing, hairs rising, stomach tilting.
Fully aware of his surroundings, Jack started after his dog. With each step trepidation grew.
The further he went into the woods the darker it got. He caught a glimpse of the sky. Dark purple clouds sat motionless. There was less than twenty minutes of light left in the day. Even though it was cool out, he started to sweat under the collar shirt he wore.
He placed his hand on the rip in his shirt and caressed it. The cut was made with scissors. It measured two inches long and sliced on an angle near the lowest button. He twirled the edges of the cut through his fingers, seeking a comfort that remained elusive.
Trees surrounded him on all sides. He called out to the terrier again. Nothing answered his shout. He was past the halfway mark. Continuing forward would be a quicker route home as the trail he walked led back to the corner of his street.
Movement caught his eye.
He stopped and stared.
Champ came into his view. The dog was digging in the dirt about twenty feet away.
“Champ, come here boy.”
He received no response from the dog as he continued to dig. From where Jack was standing it looked like Champ was on a mission. As if he was trying to uncover an old bone buried for later consumption.
With the light dimming fast, Jack started into the brush after his dog.
Champ didn’t look up once. He kept digging as Jack drew closer.
Jack stumbled through the thick foliage and almost fell twice. The leash clip was in his hand and attached to the dog’s collar with just enough light left for him to see what he was doing. Under the cover of the trees it was darker here than in the open. Jack looked around to make sure he was alone with his dog.
“Come on, Champ. Stop pulling on the leash so much.”
Jack bent to pick the dog up. He was dismayed by Champ’s behavior. He wasn’t usually like this.
He looked down to see what Champ had uncovered and then stumbled to the nearest tree. This time when Champ pulled on the leash, Jack tugged it back out of anger.
“Stop it. Now. That’s enough.”
Jack stumbled out of the woods. He had mentally marked the spot.
Fifteen minutes later he was on the phone reporting his find to the police.
Chapter 2
Jack sat on the trunk of a dead tree. A cop who identified himself as Winnfield stood over him, flipping a notebook page back and forth.
“You said you went to put him on his leash when you saw the body.”
Jack nodded.
“Let me get this straight,” the cop said, raising his pen in the air like a pointer. “You are out for a walk. You go into the woods and let your dog loose. Your dog runs off but then you find your dog. When you pick the terrier up, you see part of a decomposed face. Is that about it?”
Jack nodded and looked at his shoes. The lights on the three cruisers were still rotating about ten feet away, flashing in his eyes.
“There’s something that doesn’t fit.”
Jack looked up. He was tired of talking. He’d committed no crime, nor was he going to defend himself.
Champ lay asleep at his feet. He only wished his stomach was as calm as his dog.
The cop continued. “After last night and this morning’s rain, the ground holding the body is soft. That’s probably why, fifteen feet off the beaten path, your dog could be drawn over by the smell. Soil in the area has shifted.” Officer Winnfield paused and flipped another page in his notebook. “We found your footprint impressions in the dirt beside your dog’s paw prints. But we found
no other recent impressions in the soil.”
Jack made to get up. Officer Winnfield reached out and touched Jack’s shoulder to ease him back down. Jack almost asked what the hell was that for? but chose to keep quiet and stay sitting.
“So, explain it to me again.”
Jack felt increasingly frustrated. Next time he wouldn’t call the cops. Let some kids playing in the woods find a dead body. “I was walking my dog. He got away from me. When I found him, he’d dug up a surprise. Write it up that way. Now, I need to get home. Are we done here?”
Officer Winnfield folded the notebook and slid it into a breast pocket in his uniform.
“You’re sounding pissed off, Mr. Tate. Please understand, I’m only doing my job. I have one more question. Why is your shirt torn at the base?”
Jack looked down. He was fingering the rip. Ever since what happened almost twenty years ago he would only wear shirts with this exact tear. It was something he could never tell a cop. Partly because he wasn’t supposed to remember what really happened. And if he told him the truth he would be arrested.
“I cut it accidentally with scissors when removing the tags.” As soon as he said it, Jack felt his voice had betrayed him. It lacked confidence. “What has that got to do with anything?” he asked the cop, trying to put him off from asking more questions about the shirt.
“Stay right here. Don’t move until I come back,” Officer Winnfield said.
Jack watched the cop walk over to a man in a suit. The suit looked like he was in charge, motioning to numerous people, instructing them on what he wanted. People in white body fatigues were setting up lights and various apparatus around the makeshift grave. Other people were sifting dirt away to get to the rest of the body.
Jack bent and stroked Champ’s head. “This will all be over soon,” he said. The terrier lifted his head a notch and dropped it again, completely oblivious to the serious commotion going on around him.
Officer Winnfield started walking back.
“You’re going to have to come with us.”
Jack stood up as Winnfield got to him. “Why’s that?”
“Is there someone you could give your dog to?”
“Am I under arrest or something? What did I do?”
“Mr. Tate. Listen to me. Answer my questions or this could get bad real fast. Is there someone who can take your terrier?”
Jack sat back down. What’s going on? How serious was this? It could fuck everything up. He looked over at the spectators gathering around the yellow tape the police had sealed the area off with.
“Glenda over there,” he raised his arm and pointed. “She takes Champ when I’m away for any length of time. You can give my dog to her. She’s the one with the white housecoat.”
Winnfield took the leash and walked away with Champ.
Jack sat there, his knee bobbing. He had nothing to do with this. Why would they think otherwise? He’d just found the body.
The temperature had dropped leaving the evening with a subtle chill. Jack shivered under the assault of his own sweat.
Moments later officer Winnfield stood in front of him again. “Jack Tate, please stand up.”
“What’s going on here?” Jack asked.
“We’re going to continue our questioning at the police station.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Not at this time.”
“So I find this person buried in the ground while walking my dog, call you guys about it and you make me feel like I’m guilty of something. What’s really going on here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Officer Winnfield said as he put a hand on Jack’s arm and started guiding him to a cruiser.
“Why all the suspicion? Is it because I mentioned the girl I saw?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Then why are you taking me in for further questioning?”
“You know that rip on the bottom of your shirt?”
Jack looked down and nodded.
“There is an identical rip, in the exact same spot on the shirt the dead girl in the ground is wearing.”
Chapter 3
It took two hours before an officer opened the interrogation room door and offered Jack a bathroom break.
Minutes later he retook his seat behind a drab metal table on a hard steel chair. The room was classic crime movie stuff complete with the wall of glass and a solitary light hanging from the ceiling.
“Feeling better?” Officer Winnfield asked as he re-entered the room.
Jack noticed he looked refreshed like he’d taken a nap followed by a tasty coffee. Jack chose to not answer the cop’s stupid question as it was obvious to him who was feeling better.
Winnfield stood in front of the mirror, adjusted his shirt and turned back to Jack.
“What can you tell me about the girl?”
Jack looked up into the cop’s face. “She’s dead.”
Winnfield pulled back a little as if surprised. Then Jack figured it out. He’s new at this. Winnfield was being allowed to start the interrogation to see what he’s made of. The two hour wait was meant to rattle Jack. The swagger when he entered and the posturing in front of the mirror was an, I got this confidence.
“Okay, smart ass. Is that how you want to play it?”
“There’s no playing anything. I already told you everything I know at the crime scene. You’ve wasted both our time bringing me here.”
Winnfield leaned forward, dropping both hands on the table with a solid thump. “Start by telling me about the rip in the shirt. Why does the girl have the same one?”
Jack looked down at his hands in his lap. He’d been anticipating this question. He looked back up and said nothing.
Winnfield tried again. “Why does the girl’s shirt have the same rip?”
The officer stood up to his full height and began pacing in front of the mirror.
“Okay, here’s what I see happening,” Jack said. “You’ve held me here for over two hours and for what, to ask me the same question you already asked me back in the woods? I want to be released to go home or charged with something. I have no idea why the girl had a ripped shirt. So, release me or charge me.”
Winnfield stepped back and leaned against the mirror. “You’re in a lot of trouble Mr. Tate.”
A buzzer sounded twice. Winnfield walked over, opened the door and stepped out.
A few minutes later the door opened again and two men in suits entered.
“You’re free to go Mr. Tate. But stay local. We may want to be in touch.”
Jack stood up. One of the men held the door for him. “Someone gonna give me a ride back?”
“You’re free to go Mr. Tate. You’re on your own.”
Both men escorted Jack to the main door of the building and walked away.
He paid for a cab and got home after midnight. When the taxi pulled away he looked over at Glenda’s house debating if it was too late to get Champ.
The air was still, calm, and cool. Jack breathed in and sighed. He had some work ahead of him. The ripped shirt meant they fucked up. The fact that the body was found so close to his house was another message. It was so long ago. He couldn’t remember the details. The bullet had erased much of his memory. He was lucky to be alive.
He started up his walkway. A light flicked past an upstairs window. He stopped and stared. The windows stayed dark. Nothing moved.
He eased up to the porch and waited. With his breath under control he reached for his keys. He’d done this sort of thing before, years ago, when he was a cop. He didn’t need memory to use instinct.
From inside the house he heard a creaking noise. Someone was on the other side of the door.
He stepped aside. He would wait for whoever it was to come out.
Cold steel pressed against his neck.
“Don’t be stupid. Don’t say a word.”
Jack lifted his hands, the house keys falling to the porch. His stomach dropped with them. Calm breathing a moment be
fore had tripled.
“Move away from the door and keep your hands at the side. Don’t raise them high. It looks dumb and may alert a neighbor.”
Jack stepped down and onto the lawn. The man behind him stayed close. He could hear his front door opening and closing.
“Did you find anything?”
“No,” the new voice said.
“Okay, let’s move. Jack, do you see the red van on the other side of the street? That’s where we’re going. Has anyone seen any sign of that fucking girl?”