A Witch and Her Man (Jeff and Gail)

by Stills, G. E.

  He speculated out loud while he watched. "Are you the alpha dog in this pack of wolves or is there someone you answer to? I guess I'll find out when I ask you. You may not want to tell me but rest assured, you will in the end. Whatever I discover, I must be headed down the right path. There haven't been any attempts on Gail's life or even any phone calls. Just as in football, sometimes the best defense is a good offense. I intend to be as offensive as possible."

  ****

  Using the tracing abilities of the police department, Tom discovered the disconnected phone call had originated from Felix's house. Repeated attempts to call Felix on his cell and his ground line had gone unanswered.

  He knows better than to call me at the station. Then when I call the fuck on his cell, he won't answer. Unless he can give me a damn good reason, I'm gonna ream his ass this afternoon when I see him.

  When Felix and Al failed to show for their meeting, Tom was livid. He went to Felix's house and saw Al's car in the driveway. After his knocking went unanswered, he let himself in.

  The scene on the living room floor turned his blood to ice. Felix and Al were sprawled out there, both very dead. Tom drew his gun and carefully searched the house to confirm there was no one else present. When he was satisfied he was alone, he returned to the living room and the two bodies. He examined the scene and came to the conclusion that the two had killed each other.

  "Fucking idiots. I wonder what their argument was about this time. I'll let my men find this on their own so no one will ever be able to trace our relationship," he whispered under his breath while carefully removing any fingerprints he might have left behind.

  I hope the two new guys I hired are better than these bozos, he thought as he drove away.

  Tom drove back to the police headquarters in McManville. He went to his office and closed the door. Opening his cell phone, he made a call. He waited for Fred to answer.

  "Fred?" he inquired when the phone was answered.

  "Yes."

  "I just came from Felix's place. Looks like he and Al got into an argument and shot each other. Both of them are dead. We already had to dispose of two bodies, thanks to the private dick that Sweet woman hired. The one he shot in the chest bled out. We got rid of the other one just in case the dick could identify him. Had to get rid of the car too since it was full of holes…"

  "What about the other two?" Fred interrupted.

  "They'll never find the car or the bodies. They're all at the bottom of a deep lake. Good thing we hired two more men though, I'm running thin on troops over here. I'll be glad when they get here."

  Fred asked him if his identity had been compromised or if he needed additional help.

  "No. I may have to do some of the legwork myself, but I won't have to get my hands dirty doing any actual killings. I'm being very careful to hide my involvement and identity."

  "What about the witches?"

  "As we ferret them out and expose them, we'll get rid of them," he finished.

  Late that night, Tom left the police station and drove home.

  ****

  Jeff followed Tom, careful to avoid detection. He observed the neighborhood and watched for any other activity. When the lights went out in Tom's house, he waited until he was fairly certain Tom had retired for the night. While he drove home, he mentally went over his plans.

  The next day, Jeff changed into a pair of blue jeans and polo shirt then packed a fanny pack. He placed several items in it including his holstered gun. He did a final check to determine he was prepared for the long, round about journey to Tom's house. Satisfied, he called a cab. While he waited, he mentally went over the information he had obtained.

  The cab picked him up about a block away from his place where he pretended to walk out of a vacant house and took him to the bus station where he bought a ticket. When the bus arrived, he boarded it and rode to the next small town. He purchased another ticket and rode the bus to McManville, Gail's town. There he took another cab, which let him off in front of another house that he pretended was his destination.

  Jeff looked at his watch and saw he was right on schedule. It was early evening and dark outside. When the cab vanished around the corner, he walked ten blocks to his true destination. Casually, he strolled along the sidewalk while surreptitiously checking the neighborhood to make sure no one was watching. Satisfied he was unobserved, he ducked into Tom's back yard.

  In a matter of moments, he disabled the alarm, picked the lock on the back door and let himself into Tom's house. Using a flashlight covered with his hand, he made his way into the living room and settled into a chair to wait. He did not turn on any of the lights so as not to alert anyone to his presence in the house. He was very cautious, perhaps overly so. He killed people. Enemy soldiers when he was in the Army, dictators and other dangerous men in his CIA days and now, criminals. He was not proud of this but he had no desire to get caught, either.

  ****

  Tom spent the day on paperwork and phone calls. When his shift was over that evening, he went to a local restaurant for dinner. His wife had divorced him and taken the two kids so there was no one at home to cook. He missed the meals but not her, so eating out was a small price to pay. After he had eaten, he stopped at his new girlfriend's for a little slap-and-tickle and then around ten went home.

  Tom drove into the garage and shut the door behind him. He refrained from wiping his feet at the kitchen door. His ex-wife had always insisted he do that. A smile of satisfaction stretched across his lips. Fuck you, bitch.

  Flipping on the light switch and canceling the alarm, he paced across the floor and opened the refrigerator. The beer he grabbed dropped to the floor from his nerveless fingers when a cold gun barrel pressed against the back of his skull.

  "Hello, Tom," said a man. "No, don't turn around, just walk over to the table and be seated."

  Tom did as he was told, being careful to not look behind him and make the gunman shoot. He knew that as long as he did not see the man's face, he had a better chance of living.

  "So, what do you want?" he asked. "I'm not wealthy. I don't have much of anything valuable. Do you realize you're robbing a police chief?"

  "I want some answers, Tom, and you're going to give them to me." There was a steely edge to the man's voice.

  "What kind of answers?" Tom asked.

  "How about you just shut up and listen. I'll ask the questions." The pressure of the gun barrel eased. "Don't make any sudden moves. I have the gun ready and I'll shoot you dead if need be," the stranger warned.

  The man secured his hands to the spokes of the chair back with plastic ties and used the same type of ties to fasten his feet to the chair legs.

  Tom felt a slight prick in the side of his neck.

  "The syringe I just stuck in your neck is filled with a deadly poison. Now, I doubt that a small amount would be deadly, but the entire contents would be for certain. I'm going to ask you some questions to which I want truthful answers. If I get an answer I suspect is less than truthful, I'm going to inject some of the contents and we'll try again. Don't jerk, Tom, because my thumb is on the plunger and if you do, it might slip. If we're clear we'll begin with the questioning. Say yes if you understand, but don't nod your head."

  "Yes," Tom managed to squeak.

  The man began to ask questions he definitely did not like.

  "Were Felix and Al hired by you?"

  "No... Yes, yes…" he cried as he felt a burning on the side of his neck.

  "Trick question, Tom, I already knew they were, but you see the consequence of telling me a lie.

  "I won't lie again," he said.

  "Why are you killing people, Tom, or why are you having people killed? I think someone higher than you is calling the shots. Give me a name. Tell me the whole story as if your life depended on it, because it does," the stranger said in a quiet, deadly voice.

  Tom spilled his guts. "I sent two men out to kill the witch Marla and make it look like an accident. I sent the same two men
to break into that witch Gail's house. They failed in their mission to kill her and one of them was in turn killed by that private dick she hired. I had Felix and Al get rid of both of them. They're at the bottom of the lake so no one will find them. Then Felix and Al got into an argument and killed each other. I called Fred and with his advice, I hired two more men. Tim and Mike."

  The man stopped him. "Who's Fred? Tell me everything you know about him."

  "Fred is the TV evangelist who hired me to get rid of the witches. Fredrick Collins is his full name. I did a lot of digging to find out about him. He's a monster pretending to be a dedicated TV evangelist. During his rise, Fred did not hesitate to trample anyone who stood in his way. He started as a preacher at a small southern church, but had much bigger ideas. He ruthlessly destroyed those who sought to compete with him or stand in his way, either by exposing skeletons in their closets or inventing them if none could be found." He paused.

  "Go on."

  "Anyone in the media who sought to expose him became a victim of intimidation and their career was destroyed at best, or they simply vanished never to be heard from again. Fred has been implicated in numerous crimes but somehow none of them led to an indictment. His TV evangelism is simply a front to raise more millions for himself. He preaches hatred of anything that is against his beliefs. His passionate speeches have gained him many supporters. His followers watch, spellbound, as he pounds the pulpit and screams. They're afraid that failure to adhere to the ideas he teaches will condemn them to the fires of hell and he tells them that in so many words."

  "What about the witches?" the man asked.

  "He told me he hates their kind and to get rid of any I locate in the area. I don't really care as long as the money keeps rolling in. Especially since I'm not actually pulling the trigger myself. I just get a lot of money and hire disposable shits like Al and Felix to do the dirty work and derail any investigation that takes place." He fell silent.

  "Is that all, Tom? Is that the whole story?" the man asked.

  "That's it, I swear as God is my witness," Tom replied.

  Tom sensed lips press close to his ear. "As a friend of mine would say, Tom, I don't think God has anything to do with this."

  The man whispered further in his ear. "This is not easy for me. You may not have pulled the trigger yourself but you're responsible nonetheless. You had a very good friend of mine killed. You tried to have a lady who is very special to me killed and you did have two of her friends killed. I promised her and myself that those responsible would pay. Still I was hesitant, but then I saw the photos Felix took. I can't in clear conscience let a piece of shit like you go on living. You'll never hurt another child, Tom." The stranger's voice was both deadly and cold.

  Tom felt the contents of the syringe flood into his neck. The stranger held his chair in place with one hand as he struggled futilely. Another hand cupped itself over his mouth so his screams and cries would not be heard. Tom felt the poison making its way through his system and his heart raced. It thudded in his chest as he panicked and it skipped a beat. Then several beats.

  ****

  Jeff checked carefully for a pulse and found none. He untied Tom and placed his hands on the table. Going to the fridge, he picked up the can of beer Tom had dropped on the floor, replaced it in the refrigerator and removed another one. He placed the beer in Tom's hand, popped the top and using Tom's dead hand, tipped it over letting the contents spill out across the table. It looked like Tom had spilled it when his heart attack hit.

  The fast acting poison he had injected would dissipate quickly, leaving no trace. It would appear Tom had suffered a massive coronary. He had obtained this exotic poison along with some exotic truth serum from a friend of his in the CIA. The small traces it left behind were very hard to detect. Normally, he would be a little worried that the puncture wound left by the syringe would be spotted. If the medical examiner of the town was anything like the police force, he felt he had nothing to worry about. The ME probably would not even do an autopsy on Tom and if he did, he would never find the traces of poison left in him.

  Jeff made sure there was no hint of his presence. He let himself out the back door and removed his latex gloves. Placing them in the fanny pack with his other things, he cautiously snuck into the front yard and after making sure no one was watching, strolled silently down the sidewalk. When he was ten blocks away, he flipped open his phone and called a cab. From there, he retraced his steps with slight variations back to his home.

  He spoke with Gail the following day and then again the day after. On the second day, she was even more anxious to talk to him.

  "Have you heard the news from around here? The Assistant Chief of Police was found dead at his home. According to what I've heard, he died of a massive heart attack. That's who my calls were referred to when I made my statements."

  "I'm sorry to hear that he died. I guess you'll just have to find someone else to help you," he said, pretending to be completely ignorant.

  "I think I already have," she replied.

  "I won't be able to come over for a couple of days. Things around here are pretty hectic, but I'll see you soon and that is a promise. Keep your alarms set. Remember the self-defense we worked on while we were exercising. Greta will take care of you and you'll be fine. I wish I could be there with you all the time, but I just can't. There are too many things happening. Things I don't care to talk about at the present time. Now, I gotta run," he finished and hung up.

  Chapter 5

  Jeff pulled onto Gail's block just in time to see her car speed away. "Where is she going at this time of night?" he asked himself as he consulted his wristwatch and saw it was a little before midnight. He followed her car at a discrete distance so she remained unaware of his presence.

  Her car headed out of town and turned onto Highway 74. After going about five miles, she turned onto a narrow road. He turned off and followed, lengthening the distance so his headlights would not attract her attention. They had gone almost a mile when Gail's car turned again, this time onto a narrow dirt road that was not much more than a path through the grasses and barely wide enough for a single car. He fell back to an even greater distance and turned his headlights off. Luckily, the full moon above provided enough illumination for him to proceed.

  Where the hell is she going?

  Her car pulled into a large clearing and stopped. He let his roll to a halt on the road before entering. She parked her car beside other dark and silent autos. The dome light came on as the driver's door opened. The illumination was bright enough for him to confirm it was indeed Gail driving, but where was Greta?

  She slid out of the car and bent over to retrieve a package from the passenger's seat. He licked his lips at her beauty. She was wearing white short-shorts and a blue halter-top. Her shapely legs and flat stomach were delicious to view, even from this distance in the moonlight. Gail locked the door and walked up a dirt path into the woods, carrying the package.

  After she disappeared up the trail, he pulled into the clearing and parked his car as far away from the others as possible under some trees. He checked to ascertain the dome light was shut off and quietly opened the car door. When he stepped outside, he removed his sport jacket and laid it over the seat.

  It's far too warm to go hiking wearing this.

  He checked his shoulder rig, made sure the pistol nestled under his left arm was secured and walked across the clearing to follow Gail. He had followed the path about a hundred yards when he froze at the sound of voices. He crept forward silently until he was at the edge of a large meadow. Quietly, he moved to one side of the path when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. When he was about ten yards from the path, he crept forward again and knelt down to watch.

  The newcomer joined the ones already assembled in the center of the clearing.

  "Good, we're all here now," said one of the men.

  Because of their many conversations during the previous weeks concerning her religion, he was not wh
olly in the dark as to what was going on. They had even discussed the possibility of him becoming Wiccan. He knew she belonged to a group known as a coven that consisted of males and females. He knew there was a High Priest named Omar and a High Priestess named Stella in this group.

  Gail had shown him her double-edged knife with a black handle and told him it was called an athame. She had explained it was used for ritualistic purposes and described how the magick circle was formed. He thought the circle was largely symbolic, but Gail swore it indeed existed.

  There were ten in the group, five men and five women. The clearing was lit by two large bonfires. They were separated a short distance apart by gender and to his astonishment, they began to disrobe. Four of the women formed a line with their backs to him while one woman stood before them, facing him. He was sure she was the High Priestess, Stella. Stella stood in front of each woman in turn and did something he could not see. When she finished, each woman bent down and removed a robe from a package at her feet while Stella moved to the next in line. When Stella finished with the last woman, she stepped back in place facing all of them. All four women were garbed in black robes. One of the women knelt down in front of Stella and began to do something. When the kneeling woman finished what she was doing, Stella put on a snow-white robe.