“I’ll see you dead, too, you bastard.”
“Maybe you will.” The stranger nodded his head. “You’ll get your chance. Hide the body of your wife or call the police. It won’t matter in the long run.” He looked at Mark with a fury of his own, a dark rage that wanted to come to the surface. “By now your children are gone. If you’re smart, you won’t warn your friends. You might need them. Like I said, I’m going to give you a chance. If you behave, you and your friends will get your children back. If not, I’ll kill them all and then I’ll come back for you. Do you understand me?”
What could he do? Mark nodded.
“I already have your name and number. I’ll call you sometime soon. Once we’re ready for you. Don’t be stupid. Don’t try to find us before it’s time. I crossed over five hundred miles of this country to get to you, to track you down. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”
The stranger turned and moved toward the open front door with the grace of a gymnast, and headed back into the storm.
Moments later the house was silent except for the movie that was playing in the living room and the sound of the wind howling out its cold dismay.
For a time, Mark Loman joined in its song.
* * *
Scott Lassiter was in a good mood for the first time in weeks, right before the phone rang. The business deal he’d been trying to work out finally went through, his commission on the sale of all the equipment needed for a national chain of discount warehouse stores was now a reality instead of a pipe dream, and his commission was enough to add two zeroes to his yearly income.
So he was just as happy as he could be when he reached over, grabbed his cell from its holder and answered the phone.
His joy lasted exactly seven seconds.
“Hello?”
“Scott!?!” He recognized Allison’s voice instantly. His wife of two years and the girl he’d dreamed of being with for as long as he could remember. Her voice was ripe with fear and his heart almost froze inside his chest.
The road around him was spilling over with cars all heading away from Atlanta’s busy traffic flow and toward the suburbs to the north. He turned on his flashers and pulled to the side of the road, moving on autopilot. He’d always been a very cautious man.
“Allison? What’s wrong, honey? Is it the baby?”
Her pregnancy had been touch and go from the very beginning, and much as they both wanted children, the little one growing inside of her seemed almost determined not to survive.
“Scott! Scott!”
He gripped the phone so hard he thought for sure he was going to shatter it, but he couldn’t make himself stop. “Allison! Listen to me, honey, calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
The voice on the other end of the phone was sedate and cold. “Hello, Scott. This is a kidnapping call. Listen very carefully if you ever want to see your wife again.”
“What?” His pulse slammed into overdrive and he looked around as if he might, somehow, see the man speaking to him past the traffic and the fourteen miles he still had to travel in order to get back to his house.
“You don’t have time for questions. You don’t have time for anything. Pay careful attention. Your wife is in my custody. If you attempt to call the police or interfere, I’ll kill her. Wait for a phone call. I’ll use your cell phone number. Oh, and make absolutely sure you act like everything is just fine. You have a little boy on the way and the only way he’s going to make it is if you do as I say.”
The click of the phone on the other end terminating the call was loud and made him flinch.
Scott stared off into the distance, seeing nothing as the heavy traffic moved past him.
“Allison?” He spoke only to himself, knowing full well she couldn’t possibly answer him.
* * *
George Heatherly walked into his house at the usual time, his car keys bouncing in his hand. Coming home meant a lot more to him these days than it had in the past. These days he had company waiting for him when he stepped through the door and dinner either waiting, or almost prepared. Cheryl was good to him like that.
He’d never expected to find anyone who could fill the void left in his world when Amy passed away, but after years of being alone, Cheryl was there to make him feel complete again.
If it wasn’t actually love, it was a damned fine substitute.
He ran across Cheryl when he was waiting at the doctor’s office for his yearly check up. The red head was waiting too, and despite the fact the place looked deserted except for the two of them, there didn’t seem to be anyone who was in a hurry to see them.
She was the one who started the conversation, displaying a razor sharp wit and damned fine looks to boot. Somehow, six months later, she moved into his house and sort of took over. Most of the time he was too dazed to question it, and even when he did decide to sit down and assess the situation, he fully acknowledged that he was better with her in his world than without her. Also, the sex was amazing and her cooking beat all hell out of another take-out pizza.
All of that and more flashed through his mind as he moved inside and carefully took off his coat, placing it in the small closet just inside. That was one of the rules he’d gladly accepted when she took over: coats were to be put away immediately and shoes were to follow them into the closet.
He put away the coat and slid his shoes where they belonged and then moved into his house.
And stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the devastation. The black leather couch had been thrown across the room and shattered the TV set. The long sheet of glass from the coffee table was now scattered across the plush carpet, a sea of shimmering reflections.
George stared at the scene with a blank expression on his face as he tried to absorb the damage. “Cheryl? Hon, are you here?”
No one answered him at first. But he heard a floorboard creak in the direction of the kitchen and felt his mouth go dry and his bladder threaten a revolt.
Some of his friends liked to keep a dozen or so firearms in the house, liked to go on talking for hours about how good they were with their weapons and how much fun it was to blow away a hundred or so Osama Bin Laden faces on the targets at the local range.
George didn’t give a good damn about weapons. He went hunting with the guys because it was fun to get together with his old high school chums once in a while.
Oh, Lord in Heaven, how he wished he had their obsession on his side tonight. He didn’t even own a gun. He borrowed one of Mark’s every year when they got together.
George looked around for anything that would make a suitable weapon and found nothing.
In the hallway, he heard a footstep hit another of the loose floorboards, this one several feet closer to where he was standing.
“Cheryl?” He could barely manage a whisper. The chill from outside was still sticking to his body, but a sheen of sweat seeped from his pores just the same.
“She’s not here.” The voice was deep and bordered on a growl. The man who walked into view was a complete stranger as best he knew, but looked like he should have been locked away on general principles. He stood six feet, four inches in height. His broad shoulders threatened to split the seams of the dark blue flannel shirt he wore along with dark jeans, dark boots and a black leather belt that was cracking from age. The man had a mane of golden brown hair with a blend of silvery and reddish highlights and the clearest blue eyes George had ever seen. His face was wind burned, a little weathered, and broad.
“Who are you?”
Blue Eyes looked at him for a moment and shook his head. “You really don’t remember me?”
“No.” George was unsettled, but doing his best to keep a level head. It didn’t pay to jump to conclusions. The man might be an ex-lover of Cheryl’s, he might be an old high school buddy who hadn’t aged well, or he could even be a cop. Not every person he encountered had to be somebody sinister, even if the man in question had no reason at all to be in his house.
“Well, that’s
a peach, isn’t it?” The man stepped closer and his eyes narrowed. “I remember you, George. I remember you very well. You were the one who told them to stop.”
He looked at the stranger and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea in hell what you’re talking about. Why are you in my house and where is Cheryl?”
“Cheryl has taken a vacation, George. She didn’t want to go without leaving you a message, but I convinced her that I would explain everything to you.”
George felt his calm exterior starting to crack. “What have you done to her?”
“Not a blessed thing.” The man crossed his thick arms and looked down at George. “And I won’t do anything to her, either, as long as you follow a few simple rules.”
He’d tried so hard, been so good about not losing his temper, and he wanted to keep that inner peace, but the man standing in front of him was making it very difficult. “Listen to me. Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t want any part of it. Bring Cheryl back here, now, and this doesn’t have to get ugly.”
The man smiled — smiled, like they were having a smoke break together — and shook his head. “That’s not the way this works, George. You have to play by the rules, my rules, or the only way you’ll ever see Cheryl again is in a morgue.”
“You miserable fuck.” His vision went red and the muscles in his body tensed. Adrenaline kicked into George’s body like an old familiar friend, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed the bigger man by the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. George slammed the man into the wall, his teeth bared, his breaths coming in hard fast gasps, and he snarled as he spoke. “You don’t want to fuck with me! Where is Cheryl?”
The knee that hit him in the solar plexus hurt, but George was almost beyond feeling anything. He grunted but didn’t let go of the man he held against the wall.
“You’re about to get me angry, George. Don’t do that.” The broad, almost brutal face looked different, but he barely noticed the transformation. George was too busy losing his ability to stay calm.
“Where is she!?!”
The man sighed and slammed his knee into George a second time with far more effect. George let go of him and staggered back, his body bent over on itself and he fell against the far wall, gasping for air.
The stranger jumped as he landed on his feet and in the space of a heartbeat, he had his hands on George’s lapels and was returning the favor. George was not a small man, he was taller than average and a little heavier than was healthy, but the man shook him like a temperamental toddler and slammed him into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster.
“You’re not listening to me, George! I said if you don’t behave yourself you’ll never see Cheryl alive again! Pay attention!” The voice was deeper than before and rumbled; the blue eyes had gone so dark they looked almost black, and when the man spoke his lips peeled away from teeth that barely seemed to fit inside his mouth.
“You don’t get to hit me, George. You don’t get to threaten me. The only reason you’re even alive is because I’m nicer than most of my kind and I decided to let you have a fighting chance.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” George struggled, even with the wind knocked out of his body and the giant of a man — six foot four? Hardly, closer to six foot eight! —holding him off the ground it was hard for him to listen to the words and make himself calm down.
“You told them to stop, George. I’m giving you points for that. But you didn’t even try to make them stop. You just watched.”
The Incredible Growing Man spun George in a half-circle and threw him toward the distant kitchen. George was reunited with the floor in a painful collision that left his arms tangled with a chair from the dining room set and eyes that refused to focus.
Before he could get to his feet, or even to his knees, the man was back again and this time he took the offensive, pushing one foot against George’s neck and pinning him in place. “Keep it up, George, and I’ll tear Cheryl’s heart from her body. Do you understand me?”
George stopped struggling and took several deep breaths, focusing himself, pulling back from the anger that still threatened to erupt. Finally he nodded, knowing that all the rage in the world wouldn’t help him right now.
The man nodded and stepped back, his face still locked into a snarl. “Good. Listen to me and listen carefully. Go about your life like nothing is out of the ordinary. I’ll be in contact with you in a few days.” He moved toward the front door. “Don’t get stupid, George. You do anything you shouldn’t, and Cheryl will be the one who pays for it. Oh, and keep that temper of yours at the ready.” He paused and looked back at George, still on the ground. “You’re going to need it.”
* * *
Cullie Landers didn’t have a family. He was alone in the world and that suited him just fine. He tended to think of himself as a man without a care in the world, and most of the time he was right. His parents had left him a fortune when they died, and he’d been wise in how he spent it. The house was bought and paid for, the cars in the driveway all belonged to him and he was cautious about going crazy with the spending. He didn’t live beyond his means and with a little careful financial maneuvering he’d managed to set most of his assets aside and still give himself a spending allowance of almost three thousand dollars a month. When it came to living on Easy Street, Cullie was an old pro.
When it came to having a good time, he was even more of a seasoned veteran. So it wouldn’t have surprised anyone who knew him to hear that he staggered into his house at just after two in the morning, wise enough at least to have taken a cab home. He could always pick up his Bronco in the morning.
Cullie opened the door and stumbled through the threshold as the room did a small spin to the left. He reached back to close the door and encountered a very warm fur coat instead.
He turned back with unfocused eyes and looked at the thickly muscled torso he was touching, felt the flesh move as the thing standing in his doorway breathed, and then looked up at the face.
He meant to scream “bear!” but never had the chance. The fist that clocked him was as big as his face, and drove him to his knees. He was unconscious when he was lifted from the ground and carried out into the cold night air.
* * *
Captain Eric Fulford was not happy. He was, in fact, absolutely miserable. The diner in front of him looked perfectly comfortable, but he sat in his car anyway, smoking a Pall Mall and trying to keep calm.
Four days earlier his wife Sarah’s car had been found abandoned on the side of the road. Foul play was suspected. Two days later, he was home on emergency leave, trying to figure out exactly what had happened to Sarah and the boys. Lance and Tyler were good kids, but too young to do much if something had happened. He took out the last picture taken of the whole family together and stared at each of his loved ones’ faces, memorizing them.
The phone call had come just after two in the morning, and he’d answered it quickly, praying it was Sarah. No, instead it was a stranger’s voice.
“Captain, we have Sarah and your twins. Lovely boys they are, too. They’re all fine and they miss you horribly.”
“Who is this?”
“Don’t concern yourself with that. Right now what you need to worry about is getting your family back. So here’s the deal. I want you to go to the Wilmont Diner on White Horse Pike, do you remember the place?”
How could he ever forget? “Yes, yes I do.”
“Excellent. I want you to meet me in there at seven pm on Friday night. The place will be crowded, but I’ve arranged for a very large table. You’ll find several of your hunting buddies waiting for you there. Like you, they have family members to consider. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His heart felt like it was going to explode, but he made himself as calm as he could manage.
“Do I have to explain what happens if you’re late? Or if you bring reinforcements with you? I know what you do for a living. I know you’ve been out o
f country, dealing with a few problems in the Middle East, and I have to be honest here, I’m sorry it’s had to come to this.”
“I won’t be bringing anyone with me.”
“Excellent.” The voice was pleasant enough, but there was a sarcastic tone that grated on his nerves. “We all want this resolved, Captain. One serviceman to another, I hope we can bring about a painless resolution to the problem at hand.”
“What is this all about?”
“Murder, Captain. It’s about the people you and your friends murdered.”
The phone cut off before he could respond.
He’d had to drive most of the last day to get here, but he’d managed it, juiced on more coffee than he ever thought it possible for one man to drink and enough roadside burgers to feed his full battalion.
Now the only problem was getting motivated enough to leave the relative safety of his car. The diner was a brick affair, with chrome around the widows and doors and enough neon to light up a city block in Las Vegas. He could see through the windows, and he knew several of the men sitting at three tables that had been put together. Of course he knew them; they were his buds from all the way back in high school and, in a couple of cases, even earlier.
He saw Mark and Scott and Cullie and George. The only person who wasn’t there yet besides himself was Tony, and Tony hadn’t been with them when everything went down.
So maybe they were just waiting for him. Maybe Tony wasn’t a part of it.
“Let’s just get this done. I can’t sit here all night.” Eric climbed out of his Ford and locked the doors before heading into the diner. He walked slowly, despite his own admonitions. Fear can do that to a person.
* * *
The three tables were joined in a larger block, a chunk of the room that dwarfed everything else. When Eric sat down the total number of people became an even dozen. He didn’t nod or do anything but sit. Cullie was next to him, his eyes blackened and his nose swollen to the point where he barely looked like himself.
The strangers at the table were, as a whole, quiet, giving off a calm that was unsettling under the circumstances.
SNAFU: Wolves at the Door: An Anthology of Military Horror Page 18