Night Chill

by Jeff Gunhus

  So there was a Lonetree back in town. The game was suddenly more interesting. If it was true, Janney knew Deputy Sorenson was no match for the man, but that was all right. He was starting to think his overeager deputy was too emotional and took too many risks. Of course, the deputy had no idea what he was really involved in. He thought they were just doing drug protection and that his fortune would be made if he did his job right. He was a recent recruit and Janney had started to think him as more a liability than an asset. Lonetree might do him a favor if he killed him.

  Lonetree’s return wasn’t the only news that disturbed him. The message he delivered to Tremont was that Huckley was after him. He had learned better than to place limits on what was possible and impossible in the world. Every limit he had once believed in had since been broken by the strange path he now found himself. Nothing was off-limits. What was Huckley up to? There had to be something about the Tremont girl. But what?

  He rolled down the windows the entire way and the car filled with cold air. The hairs on his exposed skin stood on end. His cheeks stung from the chill. Still Janney felt sweat form in his armpits. He couldn’t decide if the complication was an opportunity or a threat. This kept churning through Janney’s head until he came to his exit and he forced himself to focus on the meeting coming up.

  The Boss wasn’t going to be happy about Lonetree being in town. Janney considered not telling him, but discounted the idea. The Boss had his own sources and nothing was kept a secret from him for long. Hell, Janney wouldn’t have been surprised to find out Sorenson was a plant, put there by the Boss to spy on him. Janney had always been a little suspicious of the way Sorenson appeared so conveniently after he got rid of the moralistic son-of-a-bitch who used to “help” him. The new deputy had been perfect for the job, but something still rubbed him wrong. Maybe there was—

  Janney made a fist and punched himself in the thigh. Shit, Sorenson’s not the problem. Where’s your concentration tonight?

  Janney considered that hearing about Lonetree might be enough to set the Boss over the edge. Janney slowed the car to a crawl. He needed more time to think. Maybe there was a chance for him to spin the events in his favor. Maybe it was the chance he’d been waiting for. A chance for him to take over Huckley’s position, maybe even get rid of the bastard completely. Janney put his fear of the Boss to the side and focused on how he could use what had happened to his advantage. He felt the possibility floating in the air, not the way that freak Huckley felt things with his voodoo hocus-pocus bullshit, but more in his gut. Good old fashioned instinct. It was out there, he just couldn’t put a finger on it.

  He was out of time. He pulled into the usual parking lot and spotted the dark shadow of the Boss’s car on the other side of the lot and rolled toward it, disgusted at himself for the way his sweaty palms slipped on the steering wheel, and the same nervous sweat that dripped from his armpits, dribbling over his rib cage and leaving a cold, moist trail. The physical reaction to the Boss’s presence only reminded Janney of the man he was instead of the man he imagined himself to be. The face in the rearview mirror was not a leader of men, but a mere child afraid of an angry and unpredictable parent. A parent to whom he had to deliver bad news.

  He pulled the Crown Vic even with the driver’s door of the Boss’s black sedan and rolled down his window. The Boss’s window was already down but the inside of the car was too dark for Janney to make out his face. Not that he needed to. He could feel the Boss in the car next to him, could feel the frustration and the anger pulsing through his bloodstream. The sensation was all the more horrible because he couldn’t see the man’s face, leaving the expression that accompanied the trembling fury up to his imagination. Janney wondered if the Boss had intentionally positioned his car in a deep shadow for this exact effect. Or maybe the Boss consumed light, like a black hole, and that was why the inside of the car was impossibly dark. The only illumination was a glowing tip of a lit cigarette.

  “And?”

  Janney cleared his throat. “I’m handling the situation. It will all be taken care of by tomorrow.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Janney swallowed hard. “It’s complicated. Huckley went too far this time. I mean, the Tremonts are too high profile. Too local. What about the rules?”

  “I’ve spoken with Huckley. He came to me,” the Boss said, trying to sound as if he were talking about a mutual friend who had stopped by for drinks. Janney wasn’t buying it. If Huckley had found a way to communicate with the Boss while he was in the coma, it was new ground for all of them. Even the phrase the Boss used, He came to me, sounded uncomfortable coming from his mouth.

  “Is he out of his coma?” Janney asked, just to be sure he wasn’t reading too much into things.

  “No, he’s still unconscious. But he found a way to…communicate.” The Boss paused and the cigarette tip turned a brighter orange as he drew the smoke into his lungs. In better times Janney might have asked more questions, but it didn’t take much to know this wasn’t a time for casual conversation. If the Boss said Huckley had communicated with him, Janney would leave it at that.

  He waited for the Boss to continue. “Huckley was a fool, but he had his reasons. Good reasons. The Tremont girl was worth the risk. Is worth the risk,” he corrected himself.

  “You can’t mean we’re still going after her.”

  “Yes. Huckley has convinced me it’s essential for the project.”

  “It’s too dangerous. There are already too many loose ends. Jack Tremont saw Huckley. The girl from his car is still missing. And you’ll never guess who just showed up at Tremont’s house tonight.”

  “Joseph Lonetree, I expect.”

  Son-of-a-bitch. How did he know? Maybe Sorenson is sneaking around behind my back. “Yes, Lonetree. So going after Sarah Tremont is out of the question.”

  “Out-of-the-question?” the Boss said. The words were mouthed in ice-cold syllables that hit Janney like hailstones. “I will decide what is and is not out of the question.”

  “Yes. I just meant—”

  “Sarah Tremont is a requirement, not an option. She may very well be what we’ve been waiting for. But Huckley and I will take care of her. You need to control the situation with the father and the accident. Now, if you can’t make it happen,” the Boss sucked back another lungful of smoke, held it and then exhaled slowly. Janney wondered which the Boss savored more, the drag on the cigarette or the waves of fear streaming toward him. “You just let me know and I’ll have someone else do it.”

  “I didn’t mean that. Of course I’ll—”

  But the Boss’s car was already moving forward. The meeting was over. Janney let his head fall to his chest and took several deep breaths. He recognized the ultimatum the Boss had given him and understood all too well the consequences of another failure.

  The relief that his reprimand with the Boss was over and the stress of the problems he faced was fast overridden by his all-consuming hatred of Nate Huckley. This whole situation was that freak’s fault to begin with and now he was the one taking the fall for it. He pulled up various fantasy killings that he had concocted over the years, all the painful ways to get rid of Nate Huckley forever, and let the best replay in his mind as he put the car into gear and looped around to exit the parking lot.

  He would do as the Boss asked, there was no question about that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that opportunity was not only knocking on his door, but beating on the damn thing. He felt like a foot soldier with a grudge against an officer, suddenly in a battlefield, armed, and with no one else looking. All he needed was the guts to act.

  Had he stopped to think clearly for a second, he might have wondered if this was exactly what the Boss had meant to achieve by the meeting. Might of wondered if his sudden urge to stand up to Huckley wasn’t just another form of manipulation. But he didn’t stop to think. He felt it was time to act. And that was enough for him.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The world glowed un
der the three quarters moon. Frozen air arrived without the fanfare of wind or storm, only a continual sigh as if in satisfaction for completing its long migration from the far northern reaches of Canada, content to settle into the shallow Appalachian valleys before continuing the journey on to the wide expanse of the Atlantic. The trees, attuned to the faded morning and evening light and aware that the Change was coming, communally bowed to the cold night with lowered branches and directed more of their life saving resources away from their leaves. The night’s chill signaled the end of a season and the beginning of the next. The season of survival had begun.

  The occupants at the end of Forest Glen Drive were finally asleep, warm under thick blankets and blissfully unaware of the dropping temperatures in the world outside. The house was quiet but not silent. No house is ever silent. Sharp creaks as wood adjusted to new temperature and pressure. The hum of the refrigerator and the clunky tumble of newly made ice. The click of the thermostat sparking the heater, beating back the stealthy outside air, the seeping icy intruder. A house comes alive at night with its own pace and rhythm; its own breath.

  Listening to the inhale and exhale of the dark structure was the one member of the Tremont family not able to sleep. Buddy remained by the front door as he had promised his master. He was not certain what was going on, but he had sensed fear in the people he wanted to protect from harm. The floor was not as comfortable as his usual cushioned bed in the corner of the room upstairs, but the discomfort helped him stay alert. Whatever threat was out there, whatever danger, he wanted to be ready to warn his master.

  The clock in the living room struck three muted tones, simultaneously marking the depth of the night and assuring that morning was close by. Buddy lifted his head at the sound. He was used to this noise and most nights it didn’t bother him. But this night was different. He didn’t understand why, but something was bothering the family, something that came from outside. So tonight the sound snapped him to full attention. He sniffed the air, testing for any unknown scent that might give away a potential threat in the dark. Nothing.

  Buddy turned to the front door and peered out of the windows. Even this late at night he could see the forest in great detail. The keen eyesight of his pedigree and the bright cast of moonlight brought the images of dark trees into sharp relief. Fingers of dark shadow extended from the tree line, across the driveway toward the front porch. The gentle wind rocked the smaller limbs back and forth, turning the shadows into flexing hands, creeping closer to the house as the moon descended.

  A small whine escaped from the dog’s throat. He felt the hackles rise on his neck. His nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he shifted weight from one paw to the other. He whined again, each breath ending with a low growl.

  Buddy looked over his shoulder up the stairs and considered barking. He stared back out of the window. There was nothing out there. Nothing he could see anyway. But his instincts told him a different story. His instincts told him something was there. Something dangerous. Something bad. And it was heading his way.

  THIRTY

  Sleep came in pitiful increments. It plagued Jack with short bursts of dark dreams before stealing away back into the night, leaving him to stare at the ceiling above his bed and wonder what the hell was going on with his family.

  Lauren twisted in the sheets next to him, fighting her own demons as she tried to get some rest. Jack reached out and placed his hand in the middle of her back, taking comfort in the gentle rise and fall of her body with each breath. Counting each inhalation, he closed his eyes and lured sleep back from its hiding place, welcoming the smooth comfort of drifting away from the world, away from his problems.

  He was back in the dark hallway; a place he recognized. It wasn’t a real place, just something from his dreams. And, like always, he held no misconceptions about the false reality. He knew he was asleep.

  It was dark, always dark. He thought of it as a hallway but it could have been anything. A tunnel. An open field. There were no walls that he could see, just a blurred edge of darkness, like a thousand layers of black veils, each one so shear that it would no more than tint the world grey on its own. But together, in so many layers, they created a shifting black barrier, impenetrable but with enough depth that one believed that intense concentration was all that was needed to see beyond the screen and view the truth. But that kind of focus required curiosity about what lay in the periphery and Jack lacked any such desire; the object in front of him, as always, consumed every bit of his attention.

  The thing at the end of the hallway was the only light in this nighttime world. It glowed and this luminescence filled out an evolving, indecipherable shape, like a human, but not. Like an animal, but not. It’s very indistinguishable nature was what made it impossible for Jack to tear his eyes away, as if fearing the second he did, the thing would reveal its true nature and he would miss it. Without anything to provide perspective, Jack could not tell if it were massive in size and a great distance away, or a thing in such miniature that a single step would put him in danger of crashing into it, perhaps making it spin out into the darkness to be lost forever. Not knowing filled him with trepidation and, like in every dream for the last two years, he stood paralyzed with fear.

  It was the same image as always but this time the object moved. Or he did. He couldn’t be sure. The thing grew brighter and larger, a soft breeze crossed his face giving him the sense of great speed.

  Then the voice. Coming from everywhere. And nowhere. Coming from inside his chest. Like wind transformed into speech. Whistling. Harsh.

  He’s here. He’s come for your daughter.

  “Who?” Jack cried out. “Who’s here?”

  You can’t beat the devil, Jack. You have to run!

  Jack turned around and saw his bedroom far behind him, like a photograph hung on the opposite side of the room. He turned back toward the glowing object. “Who are you?”

  RUN!

  Jack bolted up in bed, his shirt clung to his torso with cold sweat. There was a noise from downstairs. He threw off the covers and swung his legs around to the side of the bed. The burst of adrenaline in his system shocked him awake before his feet touched the ground. He pushed the dream aside, grabbed the Louisville Slugger and ran to the door. Downstairs, Buddy barked and snarled like a junkyard dog clawing at a chain fence. There was the noise again. A deep, bass sound beneath the dog’s high-pitched yelp.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  Buddy’s snarls broke into a new level of frenzy. Jack paused at the top of the stairs. The cold metal weight of the Louisville Slugger in his hands felt suddenly inadequate. As much as he was against guns, he cursed himself for not having a real weapon in the house.

  He looked to his left down the hall toward the girls’ rooms. He shook his head and tried to think through the options. The noise was downstairs. Buddy was downstairs. The threat had to be down there, probably still outside. And there was only one way up from the lower level. So whatever Buddy saw had to come through him first to get to the girls.

  Armed only with his home run swing, Jack stepped down the stairs.

  Halfway down, Jack could see into the great room. Though the lower windows of the room were curtained, the windows on the second story were uncovered. Enough moonlight filtered in so that he could make out the broad outlines of the room’s furnishings.

  Jack crouched on the steps and peered through the spindles of the stair rail. He mentally cataloged every dark shape, sure that one of them would move and charge toward him or rise up just as a telltale flash of light signaled a bullet was on its way. But all the shadows stayed in place. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

  Except Buddy’s relentless barking and snarling, almost insane now, like an animal caught in a trap.

  Jack wiped the sweat from his hands and regripped the bat. Buddy was by the front door. Whatever was going on had to be there. He didn’t like leaving the stairway unguarded. If someone was in the house, the stairway was the only way to get at his
family. As long as he stayed there no one could get by. But he had to find out what was going on at the front door.

  He moved off the stairs and crept through the hall leading to the entryway. Buddy raged at the front door, his barking echoing off the walls.

  Outside. It has to be outside.

  The entryway was dark but Jack could make out Buddy’s hulking shadow at the far end of the entryway. The dog was right next to the door, his tail tucked between his legs. Jack walked forward on the balls of his feet, the bat held in front of him. As he came closer to the door, the other sound he’d heard became clearer.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  The front door. Someone was outside trying to break it open. It sounded like a battering ram against the thick wood door. More than a fist. Or even a foot. Whoever was on the other side had to be throwing their whole body at the door to make it shake so hard. And they didn’t give a damn about the dog on the other side.

  Buddy leapt at the door, clawed at it, his paws churning the air.

  Again and again, the heavy wood door banged and shook in its frame.

  Jack reached out and flipped a switch. The entryway flooded with light, forcing Jack to cover his eyes until they corrected themselves. When he lowered his hand, he saw Buddy also frozen in place by the sudden swath of light. Dog and master met eye to eye. The communication was clear. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The door had stopped shaking.

  Buddy snarled and leapt toward Jack. With a jolt the dog was choked back and the door behind him shook from the force.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  Jack stared at the door. One end of a thick leather leash was tied to the door handle, the other end wrapped around the dog’s neck. The door had shaken because Buddy was tied to it. There wasn’t someone trying to break down the door. Someone was already in the house.

  THIRTY-ONE