Fatal Consequences

by JG Faherty

  “What the hell. Day’s ruined anyhow.” He knew he’d never recapture the serenity of the morning. Might as well head back, fix a snack and wait for the ballgame to start.

  He packed up his folding chair, rod and cooler and headed back down the trail toward his house. Something thumped on the beach just as he entered the woods but he ignored it. Let the little shits have their fun. Odds were good he’d catch them at something else sooner or later; kids like that usually ended up in the back of his car at some point.

  He’d only been walking a minute or two when another stone crashed into the dead leaves off to one side of the trail. Homer felt his anger returning.

  Damn punks are going to follow me all the way home? Who the hell do they think they are?

  He slowed down a bit and stepped carefully, doing his best not to make any noise. His thought was to draw them closer so he could get a glimpse of their faces. Or maybe even catch one of them. It would probably mean taking a direct hit or two from a rock, but then he could add assaulting a police officer to the other charges he planned to drop on the bastards.

  Sure enough, he’d only taken another step when a stone struck him right between the shoulder blades. He winced, not only from the pain but the dreaded anticipation of where the next one would hit. Back? Ass? Or maybe his head. That last one made him cringe a little more, because a head shot from even a small child could do some real damage.

  Pain blossomed in his right thigh, and then again in his lower back as two stony missiles hit in rapid sequence.

  “Screw this.” Homer dropped his gear and ducked behind an old pine, then peeked around to see where the miniature snipers were.

  Except there was nothing to see but trees.

  The back of his head exploded in agony and he fell to his knees. He put a hand to the already sizeable lump and it came away bloody.

  “Mother-fuckers!” Homer’s voice rose to a shout as he stood up. A terrible rage filled him, red as the blood trickling down his neck, powerful enough to force any considerations of public opinion out of his head.

  He pulled his gun, stepped onto the trail and fired four quick shots, two down each direction of the path.

  “You wanna play, you fucks? C’mon and play! I’ll blow your asses to kingdom come!”

  More of the creepy giggling drifted through the still air. Homer went to one knee, gun held in both hands, as if he were facing off against an armed felon. His anger was still burning bright but some of the earlier fear was returning. There was something decidedly not right about the situation and it had him reconsidering whether it really was just some jerk-off kids stalking him.

  A bug-shit crazy maniac could just as easily laugh like that. Just because we’re a small town and there’s never been any murders don’t mean there can’t be a first time.

  He thought about high school and college kids shooting up their classrooms. That could happen anywhere, too. When you really considered it, the odds were greater that he was dealing with a lunatic than some kids.

  More giggling. It seemed to come from his left and right at the same time.

  Maybe a whole group of psychos. Hopped up on drugs. Or one of them cults, out to kill a cop and get some publicity.

  The fear grew worse, growing over and around his anger like a vine strangling a tree.

  Shit. I’m a fucking sitting duck out here.

  Forgetting his fishing gear, Homer stood and slowly made his way down the trail toward his property, alternating between facing forward and walking backward. Sweat dripped down his neck in tiny rivulets, mixing with the blood from his scalp wound. His hand trembled in time with the rapid beating of his heart. He tried to take slow, easy breaths but his adrenaline was pumping too hard.

  Ten minutes of careful walking brought him to the end of the woods and the beginning of his wide backyard. A sense of relief filled him, so strong his knees almost buckled from it. His house, only fifty yards away now, was a beacon, a safe haven where he could finally take control of the situation again.

  Homer increased his pace, power-walking through the yellow, sun-roasted grass, glancing back occasionally to make sure his hidden enemies weren’t racing toward him.

  He was thirty feet from his house and already picturing calling in the entire police force when a sudden barrage of stones came out of nowhere, tiny meteors that struck him all over. He fell to the ground with a cry, covering his head with his arms while rocks hit him with enough force to bruise skin and draw blood even through his clothing.

  Something heavy pounded against his ankle and the crack of breaking bone reached his ears, accompanied by a burst of stomach-turning agony. This time his shout was more of a scream. He risked a glance and saw a rock the size of a softball near his leg.

  Terrified for his life, Homer scurried on his hands and knees toward the house, ignoring the hard ground tearing through his clothes and the continued onslaught of deadly rocks raining down on him. All his thoughts centered on getting inside.

  He made it to his back porch without any other serious injuries, and said a quick prayer of thanks as he grasped the wrought-iron railing and pulled himself up. Balancing on his one good foot and gritting his teeth against the pain, he reached for the door knob.

  And then screamed again as a fist-sized rock smashed against his other hand, the one still on the railing.

  This time the sound of bone being crushed was lost in the metallic ring of stone against metal. Cradling his mangled hand, he fell right through the screen door into the kitchen.

  Several stones banged against the door and on the stairs, but Homer paid them no mind. Unaware of the tears running down his cheeks, he pulled himself across the linoleum to the tiny decorative phone stand in one corner. With his one functioning hand he dialed the station house, leaving bloody smears on the keypad in the process.

  “Greene Police. How can I help you?” At that moment, the nasally voice of Mary Dennis, the day shift phone operator, was the most beautiful sound Homer had ever heard.

  “Mary, it’s Homer. I’ve got an emergency situation at my house. A bunch of teenagers bombing the place with rocks. Send every car, and an ambulance. They broke my goddamn foot and my hand!”

  “Jesus, Chief! Right away. Hang in there.”

  Homer hung up the phone and levered himself to a standing position. With only one foot and one hand there wasn’t much he could do, but by God he could at least watch the yard and try to get a positive ID on any of the little cocksuckers.

  He had time for one moment of confusion when it seemed there was an eclipse going on outside, a perfect circle of black blotting out the sun.

  Then the ten-pound rock came through the window, shattering glass and the bones of his face with equal ease. So painful were his injuries that he never even felt the shards that sank deep into his throat, cutting through flesh and blood vessels.

  Homer’s last thoughts weren’t of his wife, or his kids, or his job. They were about the pain.

  Then he died with a long, wet gasp.

  Childish giggling filled the silence that followed, until the first police cars arrived.

  For the second time in a week, a voice from his past ruined Alec’s breakfast. This time it was Terrance Bell, a person whose very name set Alec’s stomach churning.

  “Is there a problem?” Alec asked, as soon as the insurance investigator identified himself.

  A host of emotions sprang to life inside Alec, with rage, sorrow, disgust and fear all fighting each other for dominance. A sickening case of déjà vu struck Alec as he relived his previous encounters with Bell, none of which had been pleasant. He considered the man a prissy, egotistical jerkoff who had about as much compassion as the average scorpion.

  Rationally, he knew Bell wasn’t actually to blame; it wouldn’t have mattered who the insurance company sent to investigate Sue and Nick’s deaths, Alec would have hated
that person just as much. Bell had only done his job. But to Alec, and Casey as well, that job had been an insult. As if they’d somehow planned to have a bear attack their campsite and kill their children just so they could collect the meager life insurance policies they’d had on them. Policies Alec’s parents had purchased, as gifts, something they’d done for all their grandchildren, the idea being that in twenty years the policies could be cashed in and used to pay off college loans or put toward a wedding.

  Instead, they’d paid for two funerals.

  It hadn’t helped that the investigation only added fuel to the fire of Alec’s guilt, causing him to react to every one of Bell’s required questions as if they were overt accusations.

  “I believe so, although not the kind you’re probably thinking of,” the nasally voice on the other end of the phone replied. “This has nothing to do with your children’s case, and I’m not acting in an official capacity. But it does have something to do with the events of that day. Would it be possible for us to meet?”

  Alec’s stomach lurched and he fought down the urge to vomit. Something to do with the events of that day? Had Bell figured out the truth? What did he mean by he wasn’t acting in an official capacity? Did he have some kind of blackmail planned?

  Forcing a calmness he didn’t feel into his voice, he asked, “Where are you? Did you want to meet for lunch?”

  “Yes, lunch is fine,” Bell said, sounding relieved. “I only live twenty minutes from you. Just tell me when and where.”

  After arranging to meet at a diner on the edge of town, Alec played back the call in his mind. Something odd was going on, something that had Bell… Well, it almost seemed the diminutive investigator had been frightened of something.

  But what?

  Alec tossed his half-eaten breakfast into the trash and grabbed a handful of antacids from the cabinet. He grimaced as he washed them down with the last of his coffee.

  It looked like it was going to be one of those days.

  After grabbing his briefcase and jacket, he headed off to the first of his two morning appointments.

  Alec stared at Terrance Bell and wondered how quickly he could get away from him.

  Bell’s obvious insanity had made itself known within minutes of their sitting down at the table, but as he spoke, the depth of his delusions had grown to the point where Alec was beginning to fear for his own safety.

  The insurance investigator paused to take a breath and Alec took the opportunity to speak.

  “Um, seriously? You’re trying to tell me that all three of those people were killed because they were somehow involved in the deaths of my children?”

  “Yes.” Bell nodded, his head bouncing up and down on his lollipop-stick neck. “On the surface it doesn’t seem possible, I know. But in my business we’re trained to look at facts objectively. Without emotion. And then to take those facts and create an explanation or hypothesis where they all fit together. In this case, we have three deaths. What do they have in common? They all occurred in the same town. They were all people who were involved with saving the lives of you and your wife. They all occurred either on or soon after the one-year anniversary of your rescue. Therefore, it is logical to assume they have to be related to the events of that day in some manner.”

  “When you say it like that, it sounds like Casey or I should be a suspect in the murders,” Alec said, hoping his facetious answer would drive some sense into Bell’s insane theory.

  Instead, Bell gave him a ghastly smile and nodded, his pale face bobbing on his pencil neck like a grotesque mushroom grown too heavy for its stalk.

  “That’s quite right. In fact, I’d imagine you would be a suspect if the people had wronged you instead of saving you. It would take a true crazy person to murder the people he owed his life to. I would also guess you have a pretty good alibi for yourself regarding the times of the murders. However, the fact that you are likely innocent doesn’t mean someone else didn’t want those people dead.”

  Alec had reached the end of his patience.

  “Mr. Bell, I think it’s you who’s the crazy one.” He got up to leave, his hand dipping into his pocket for some dollar bills to pay for his coffee.

  “Wait!” Bell caught Alec’s hand in his own spider-like fingers. “I’m not through. There’s also the map.”

  “Map?” Alec retrieved his hand from Bell’s weak grasp but didn’t move away from the table.

  “Look.” Bell dug frantically into his briefcase and drew out a piece of paper that he placed on the table. From what Alec could tell, it was a printout from a Mapquest search. A series of red dots had been drawn on it, with red lines connecting the first four and then black dotted lines joining the first group to another group of two dots much farther down on the paper.

  “All I see are green squares and red dots,” Alec said. But inside he went a little cold. Something about the map was familiar…

  “This point represents the approximate location of your campsite.” Bell tapped the first red dot, then moved his finger along the red line, tapping each of the closely spaced points of red. “Here is where David Gregg’s body was found. Here is Dr. Eddie Trano’s house, in Greene. And here is Chief Watkins’ house. Notice anything about the pattern?”

  Despite his desire to leave, Alec sat down and took a closer look at the paper. Once he oriented the map so that north was at the top, he immediately saw what Bell was referring to.

  “The line goes from north to south.”

  “Actually, it heads southeast from Catskill Park,” Bell corrected. “And this point? Do you recognize it?” He tapped the final red dot.

  “That’s my house, isn’t it?” Alec said, recognizing the shape of Rockland County near the bottom of the page.

  “Yes. And the one just above it is mine. Whatever killed Gregg, Trano and Watkins is moving in a straight line towards us.”

  “Whatever”. Not “whoever”. The distinction wasn’t lost on Alec. More proof that this guy is nuttier than a peanut bar.

  Not that the whole thing wasn’t more than a little spooky. Alec was willing to consider there was some kind of link between the three deaths. After all, they’d been in the same town. A crazy person, perhaps. Someone with a grudge against rescue personnel.

  Maybe even Bell himself.

  That idea sent a major shiver up Alec’s back. After all, it was Bell who had decided to draw the line between the deaths upstate in Greene and his and Alec’s houses. It would have been just as easy to extend the line north instead of south. Or west, if you considered the town of Greene as one big point and Catskill Park as another.

  Alec decided it was time to make his exit.

  “Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about, Mr. Bell,” he said, getting up again and dropping his money on the table. “But I have to get back to work. Have a nice day.”

  “You don’t believe me.” Bell stood also, blocking Alec’s departure. “Don’t you get it? Our lives are in danger! Yours, mine, our families. Something’s out there and it’s coming for us. You can’t ignore the evidence.”

  “Actually, I can and I will.” Alec slid past the cadaverous-thin insurance inspector. “If you’re so sure about this, take it to the police. But don’t bother me again.”

  Alec headed for the exit, Bell’s protests diminishing in volume behind him until the closing door cut them off for good.

  Jesus, what a kook.

  Still, the uneasy feeling in his stomach stayed with him while he drove to his next appointment. It wasn’t until he got involved in negotiating his best sale of the month at a large medical practice that he finally forgot about his trepidations.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, Alec was more than ready to go home, fix a drink and celebrate the big bonus check he was going to get.

  Ten days after the death of Homer Watkins, Alec made a last minute executive deci
sion as he and Casey were getting ready for work.

  “Call in sick today. We’re taking Jennifer to the zoo.”

  “The what?” Casey’s sleep-crusted eyes opened in shock.

  “The zoo. You know, that big park filled with animals?”

  “Very funny. Now stop being a jerk and tell me what’s going on.” Casey went to her closet and began laying out her clothes for the day, a pair of black slacks that matched her panties and bra.

  “What’s going on is that we haven’t done anything fun as a family in ages, and they’re saying today is one of the top ten days of the summer—clear, sunny and only eighty. What do you say? It’s the middle of the week, so the place won’t be crowded. Then we can grab lunch somewhere afterwards.”

  Halfway to the bathroom, Casey paused and Alec knew he almost had her convinced. He’d been worried his comment about family time might have the wrong effect, but she hadn’t even flinched.

  Not waiting for her answer, and hoping to force her hand, he stepped past her and pulled a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of his dresser.

  “I’m going, and I’m taking Jennifer with me. Are you in, or are you gonna be a corporate drone today?”

  Alec really hoped she’d say yes. He’d tried to remember if she’d said anything about being especially busy this week. She was the office manager at a company that manufactured hand tools and construction supplies, and her workload went up and down based on the time of year and whether or not the company was running any specials. If she was slow, her boss, Abe Fishburn, wouldn’t have a problem with her calling in at the last minute.

  For Alec, taking off simply meant logging into his corporate portal and clicking “paperwork” on his daily log. As a pharmaceutical sales rep, he basically set his own hours and days, since he only had to spend four days a month in the actual office, except for special meetings.

  Casey chewed her lower lip, something she always did when she was having trouble making a decision. Alec already had his jeans and shirt on and was reaching for his sneakers when she relaxed into a smile.