Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection

by Gordon Kessler

  The phone rang. One, two, three rings.

  Oh, please be home!

  Someone picked up the phone. Tricia was surprised by what sounded like crying from the other end. Are they there, too? Have all the dogs in the world gone crazy and they’re at Tony Parker’s house too?

  “Hello,” Tony Parker’s voice answered the phone.

  Tricia raked in an excited breath, preparing to spill her guts, as Grandy would have said—oh, poor Grandy, who had spilled his guts all over the living room—about what had happened. But then she noticed Little Pussy stiffen up and spit while looking, over Tricia’s shoulder. Tricia glanced to the picture on the wall again. Her own reflection was still there, but now there was a new image, imposed phantom-like over the dog in the picture. It was large and hulking, and its eyes glowed an evil amber. She turned her head slowly and looked over her shoulder. Dawg’s body filled the open window. He stood with his front paws on the torn out screen frame only three feet away, glaring at Tricia with lip curled and huge teeth bared.

  She gasped.

  “Who is this?” Tony Parker asked.

  Tricia couldn’t speak. She stared into Dawg’s evil, vicious eyes. He hadn’t budged, still glaring as if he wanted her to make the first move.

  Finally, Tricia found enough breath to whisper, “Dawg!”

  CHAPTER 22

  The workout helped Julie get the troubles between her and Tony off her mind, and she began to worry about Tony. He’d never acted like this. She knew Sarah was a threat, but she really never believed Tony would ever give in to the little flirt. She hated him for backing her into a corner, forcing her to make a decision. She hated him for lusting for Sarah, young desirable Sarah, instead of her. She hated him for screwing her, if he had. She hated him, yet she loved him dearly. At times she felt she was too much like her mother, who had remained married to her father for more than forty years now, all the time knowing he continuously had affairs.

  It’s a man’s world. She shook her head.

  Maybe there was a logical explanation for what she’d seen. She didn’t know how, but maybe. But why wouldn’t he tell her if there was? Make her listen to his explanation, no matter how many times she turned away. It just wasn’t like him.

  She hadn’t seen him drink like tonight since his wild days, before they were married. This Jezebel thing seemed to be eating him up inside. It was making him do and say things he normally wouldn’t. And now it was eating on Nick and even her.

  It was ten o’clock and the class was finally over. It had seemed like she’d been there all day, instead of just an hour. Julie’s class was the last of the evening, and she rushed the few remaining stragglers out the door, anxious to get home to her family.

  “Julie, are you going to be teaching the late class again this fall?” one of the ladies asked as she dried the sweat from her face with a towel.

  “No, not this time,” Julie said, holding the door open for the last three women to leave. “I have to get ready to teach third grade again. I’ll be teaching at Lincoln, starting the second semester. My husband’s going back to vet school.”

  “We’ll sure miss you,” another of the ladies said, walking out the door.

  “And I’ll miss all of you, too,” she said smiling as she patted the last girl on the back.

  “Bye,” they all three said in unison while walking to their cars.

  “Bye-bye,” she said back and pulled the door shut behind her as she stepped out.

  The door locked as intended. She had left her key inside in the manager’s desk, since it was the last night she’d need it. She began walking to her minivan, which sat alone in the parking lot. The misty night had just a bit of a chill in the air, but it was calm, no wind. No noise except the distant sound of traffic and car horns on Douglas Avenue a couple of blocks away.

  As Julie walked up to her white Ford minivan, a strange feeling came over her, and she shivered. A feeling that someone was watching her. She felt uneasy as she dug in her purse for the key to unlock the minivan door. When she brought the keys out, she noticed the window was down an inch and the lock button on the inside was up. She tried the handle, and the door came open.

  “Hmmm,” she said out loud, “must have forgotten to lock it.”

  After checking inside to insure she had no unwanted passengers, she slipped in quickly, slammed the door and shoved the lock down. She peered out as she found the ignition and turned the key. The engine turned over nicely, but it wouldn’t start. She tried again and pumped the accelerator. Still, no positive response.

  “Oh, damn it!” she cursed aloud. “I keep telling him to get this damned thing fixed.”

  Julie tried the ignition again and began pumping the accelerator frantically until she could smell gas. The engine turned ever slower. She paused for a moment and scanned the parking lot.

  What would she do if it wouldn’t start? She couldn’t get back into the building to call Tony. He’d have to get the kids up to come get her, and he probably wasn’t in any shape to drive, anyway. She could call a cab, or Jack and Sadie, if there were a phone. But there wasn’t a phone for blocks. She couldn’t remember one any closer than a Quick Trip several blocks away. She might as well jog home. It wasn’t much more than a mile.

  Something about this night, though, bothered her: the talk of this giant killer dog, the harsh words spoken, the night itself. Lonely, eerie, spooky.

  She tried the switch again. This time, nothing but clicks. The battery was dead.

  “Damn, damn, damn!” she said and hit the steering wheel.

  She’d have to look under the hood. She didn’t know why. Everyone does that when they have car trouble. She popped the hood release and reached for the door handle and began to pull it, watching diligently through the front windshield. The dismal setting made Julie feel more isolated than ever before.

  Crack! Something hit her driver’s side window. She turned quickly. A slobbering, dirty face pressed up against the window next to her.

  She screamed.

  The atrocious face looked back at her and smiled. Black and gray teeth. Scraggly beard. Long stringy hair. He clutched a wine bottle in one hand with the index finger of the same hand over the top of the narrowly opened window.

  “Car trouble, lady?” the wino asked, slurring.

  She could smell the wine, thick on his breath, through the opening.

  “No, no, leave me alone!” Julie demanded.

  “Come on Lady, I can help you. I’m good with my hands,” he said, still smiling, showing only a few sparse teeth, and wiggling his nasty, filthy fingers.

  “I said no! Leave me alone!” she demanded once more and rolled the window up on his finger.

  “Ow! Damn!” the wino said and snatched his finger out, dropping the wine to the pavement with a crash. He looked down at the broken bottle with anger, holding his injured digit. “Bitch!” he yelled out and slugged the driver’s side window with the side of his fist. “Stupid Bitch!” he yelled again and kicked the door.

  “Get away from me! Leave me alone!” Julie yelled back nearly in tears.

  The wino stood six feet away and wiped his nose. With a disgusting snort, he spat and began staggering away. Julie watched him until he had gone around a dark building almost a block down. Her hands shook and teeth chattered. She felt like a scared rabbit, drawing short breaths. She scanned the parking lot once again. Nothing else out there. The coast was clear this time. She made sure. She pushed out of the minivan cautiously, leaving the door open, and found the hood latch.

  After lifting the hood, she looked down at the big greasy mass of metal and wires. It was an engine, she knew that. The round thing in the middle. That’s what they always mess with first, when they work on cars. They take it off and fool around with the—carburetor! She proudly remembered this much. She stepped back from the minivan and gave a slow and cautious 360-degree scan. Satisfied she was alone, she looked back under the hood. She reached for the wing nut in the center of the air
cleaner and tried turning it. It was tight, and when she broke it loose, her fingers slipped off, and she broke a fingernail.

  “Ow!” she said, “Ewww, are you gonna’ get it, Tony Parker!”

  Julie stood back for a moment and looked at her vehicle.

  “What’s the use!” she said and slammed the hood. She went back over to the open door, reached in and got the keys and her purse. She threw the door shut and looked out determinedly in the direction of home.

  It wasn’t a bad jog to the house. A bike path went most of the way. A couple of blocks down to the river and onto the jogging path, then along the river and under a couple of bridges, then back up onto the sidewalk, and in a couple of more blocks, she’d be home. She’d jogged it in daylight many times before, a number of times with Tony. She wished Tony jogged it with her now, even if something had happened between him and Sarah. Even if he had been unfaithful, she wished he were with her now.

  Julie drew a deep breath, tucked her purse under one arm and started running fast. Finding it impossible to maintain the sprinting pace and feeling a bit more relaxed, she slowed down within a block and began singing, “Julie, Julie, Julie, Do You Love Me?” It came to her lips almost involuntarily, and it seemed to help take her mind off her predicament. Tony would sing this song when he was in a playful mood and make her laugh. Sometimes, he’d use it to help mend an argument. Maybe he would sing it when she got home, and she’d laugh, and everything would be all right.

  Julie made it to the jogging path without incident. She felt a bit more confident until she looked down at the river. The same feeling of being watched came over her. Another chill scampered like a mouse up her spine and made her shrug her shoulders. She paused, jogging in place. The river lay before her, black and still. Like death. Fog was slowly building on it.

  A hoarse howl broke the stillness, echoing eerily, reverberating long and low.

  Julie shook all over. The howl came from a ways off. She couldn’t tell how far, but it was—a ways. It could have come from any dog. This dog, Jezebel, was surely dead by now. Tony had said it. It was probably dead. She would be all right. She just had to get this done and over with. She’d be home soon.

  Julie shook once more, this time purposely, trying to shake off the apprehension, and started down the path.

  “Julie, Julie, Julie, do you care?” she sang a little louder this time. She kept her eyes straight ahead, afraid to look around. She would just jog as fast as she could and not think about anything but getting home.

  The fog became thicker. Her shoes made hollow, ricocheting echoes down the path. The thick damp fog labored her breathing, and she felt as if it closed in to suffocate her. The path was only visible thirty feet in front of her. The few lights along the path only made things worse, causing bright patches of nothingness fog. Up ahead, she could see the top of a bridge. As she neared, she strained her eyes to insure nothing lurked underneath.

  Movement. Her fears came true. Something moved under the bridge. She came to a fork in the path. She could either go under the bridge on the level she was on now, or go up hill and around the bridge and cross the street.

  She paused once more and jogged in place, squinting down the path. It could be a goose or a duck. Or another wino, probably harmless. Or a rapist. Or a dog.

  It moved again. No shape. Dark. Black—like Jezebel.

  Julie’s entire body shuddered, and she shot up the path to the street above. She didn’t look down the other path. She just ran. She made it to the empty street and looked back, gasping for air. Nothing had followed her.

  It was nothing. Just the fog. Imagination. Paranoia, like Tony had said. The quickest way home was still down the jogging path. She crossed the street and went down the other side onto the path again. Once again she ran without looking back. Her jog had turned into a flat out run. She perked her ears to hear what her eyes were afraid to see, but could discern only the echoes of her own footsteps.

  Suddenly, she came to the next bridge. It caught her off guard. She had been running much faster than usual and had never reached it this soon before. By the time she realized it, it was too late to take the high path to the street. She didn’t want to run back. Julie feared what might be following her, but also what might be waiting for her under the bridge.

  With all the energy she had, she flew under the bridge and sprinted out the other side. Nothing lurked under the dark gloomy overpass, and she chuckled to herself.

  Her toe kicked something and fear came over her again. She heard a telltale, tink, tonk, tonk of an empty bottle, probably a wine bottle, followed by a splash as it fell into the river.

  “Damn winos!” she cursed, relieved.

  Julie smiled as she approached the last street before the turn off to home. She could see the top of Blackbear Bosin’s Keeper Of The Plains statue across the river. The huge statue of an Indian chief looking up to the heavens somehow comforted her. She thought of their good friends, Doc and Patsy White Cloud. She felt safe now. She had her second wind, and it didn’t seem as hard to breathe. She jogged on, almost enjoying the night.

  “Julie, Julie,” she began singing again, then louder, with a laugh, “Are you thinkin’ of me?”

  The hoarse howl, this time not far off, ended her gaiety.

  “Oh she-it!”

  Something ominous about it this time. In the dense fog, Julie felt trapped. The prey waiting for the predator, without chance of survival. She sprinted once again. The haloed streetlights became glistening blurs in her tear-filled eyes, making it difficult for her to see. She strained her ears and turned back to look down the path.

  Nothing but fog. But now, a noise. Something getting louder. Something coming closer. The pounding of her own heart made it difficult, but she could hear it. Getting closer. Closer. A rapid tapping sound, like sticks on a rock.

  Julie turned and ran frantically, nearly out of control. Her arms flung around her without coordination, and she gasped for air between nervous, whimpering sobs.

  She made it to the last bridge and ran up to the street without looking back. Only two more blocks and she’d be home, but her feet were lead weights, and her lungs were ripping apart in her chest. The tapping still approached from behind her as she cut across a yard and onto her street.

  She wasn’t going to make it. The thing, whatever it was, was directly behind. She could hear its panting and its footsteps on the sidewalk, closing on her. She had to do something quick. She spotted a house across the street with the front door open. A light from a television showed through the screen door. The only obstacle between her and safety was a row of four-foot tall bushes. She ran to them in a race for her survival.

  Julie tried to smash through the thick branches of the bushes but something caught her by the arm. She tripped and fell into them. A piercing pain ripped across her shoulder. A sharp branch? A fang? She tumbled and rolled out, groping to regain her balance and get back to her feet. The terrible thing behind her had fallen, also. A dark shape struggled to get free of the bushes. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening to her. It was her imagination.

  Julie groaned as she stumbled to her feet and realized the pain screaming from the gash on her shoulder.

  She sprinted to the porch of the house with the open front door. Her pursuer was sure to tackle her at any second. She leaped over the steps, causing a loud bang when she landed, slammed against the door hard and yanked on it. It was locked.

  “Let me in. Help!”

  Vicious barking erupted as a large brown pit bull hit the screen door on the other side.

  A man inside the house jumped up from his living room chair and threw the newspaper he read to the floor. “Holy Jerusalem!” he shouted, “What do you want?”

  Julie turned away from the man and looked behind, feeling safer. The predator that chased her had vanished. She turned back, panting heavy, and saw a young woman clutching two frightened children at her side, but the man had left.

  The dog
barked again viciously, jumping on the screen.

  “It,” she said between breaths, “it’s after me.”

  Behind the woman and children, the man reappeared with a shotgun.

  “You’d better just get your crack-cocaine ass out of here before I call the police!” he shouted, advancing to the door, pointing the gun at her head. “What’s wrong with you fools anymore. Get all hyped up on drugs and go and scare the shit out of people.”

  “Shoot her, Dad!” the oldest child, a boy Nick’s age, yelled.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Julie said softly, holding her hands up in front of her.

  She didn’t feel like explaining, especially to a shotgun. She ran off the porch, looked up and down the street, and sprinted for home.

  CHAPTER 23

  Tony Parker’s phone rang.

  He awoke, startled, and pushed from his chair as Yankee sprang up. When he realized what had awakened him, he shook his head, took a deep breath and walked toward the thing. After the third ring, he picked the phone up, wondering if it might be Julie.

  “Yeeaaahh!” Nick cried out, halfway down the stairs, holding a stuffed toy St. Bernard. The phone must have awakened him, too.

  He looked at Nick to see that he was all right as he answered the phone.

  “Hello.”

  No answer but breathing. Someone took a deep breath.

  “Hello. Who is this?” he asked.

  After a pause, a tiny voice whispered, “Dog.” The line went dead.

  “What the devil?” he asked aloud. He looked at the caller ID on the phone’s LED. Unavailable, it said.

  “Jezebel’s got Mommy! Daddy, Jezebel’s got Mommy!” Nicholas screamed out.

  “No, Mommy’s all right. You just had a bad dream,” Parker said, hanging up the phone. He walked to Nick.

  Nick ran down the stairs and met his father at the foot, crying hard.

  “Then, where is Mommy?”