Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2)

by T Patrick Phelps

  But he felt that he was smarter and that he wouldn't let hubris introduce him to the promised vacancy. He decided, many years ago, to temper his advancement. He would take risks, certainly, not to experience a missing need for thrills, but instead to retain some resemblance of his "before." He was always patient, and this virtue could lead to his immortality.

  But then there was his friend. He knew the moment he first approached him that doing so was foolishness. It was a display of refutation that both terrified and intoxicated him. The more he contacted his friend, the more nervous he grew of discovery. And yet, each contact seemed to spur on an increase of strength. He felt connected to his "before," and he wondered if that connection was what fed his strengthening.

  He learned about setting markers in certain places. These markers would somehow alert him when someone disturbed a marked area. Over the past year, he had learned not only how to set up these markers, but also how to arrange them to create a web of safety for himself. No one taught him how to do the things he was doing and he was reluctant to teach others.

  "You need to figure things out for yourself," he told one who had sought out his advice. "Just because I can do certain things doesn't mean that you will be able to do them as well. And once you begin learning, you'll find things that only you can do."

  "Living in a different realm," he had told a newcomer, "has its challenges and rewards. The key, I've found, is to find the right rewards that solve the right challenges."

  Though the others like him, those "others of the margin," seldom sought each other out, most took comfort in recognizing another who shared the same affliction. At first, he had so many questions, and there were so few who would listen, and even fewer who could answer. Now, he could answer his own questions and was seen as a "knower" in the margin. Others who were told of him would often risk exposure to seek him out. Where he could be found was so ironic, that some would make the trip just to be able to tell others that they had walked beside him.

  But it wasn't fame he sought. It wasn't just immortality, either. What he sought required immense patience and more strength than he thought was possible. And when his voice raised to a level much greater than the whispers he had relied on, he knew his time had come.

  He was ready.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Maggie's anger competed with so many other emotions. She was embarrassed for not seeing Jack for what he really was years ago and for staying with him despite what she did learn. She was terrified about what Jack might do to Robby and even to his other son, though his very existence turned her stomach. She didn't want to feel contempt for Jack's other son, but still, the feelings were there. She knew that if things turned dangerous, that saving Robby would be her first goal. Once Robby was safe, then, and only then, would she try to get Jack's other son to safety.

  When she had snuck out of the St. Mark's rectory and had borrowed Father Flannigan's car, she didn't know where she was going. Her list of possible places was short. She knew Jack would avoid their home and would, in all likelihood, avoid his haunts in Portland as well. Since she didn't hear any traffic noises in the background when Jack had called her, she figured that he was someplace stationary. Some place that he felt safe and protected.

  Once she left the rectory, she headed north for 25 miles before turning west just beyond Kennebunkport. Though she had never been invited, Maggie knew that Jack owned a hunting cabin less than an hour's drive from Kennebunkport, located deep within a wildlife preserve, where only those willing to pay a substantial fee were allowed to lease land and to hunt the game that called the area their home.

  Though she'd never been there, Maggie had seen enough pictures of Jack's hunting trips to be able to identify the cabin. There were six cabins, grouped together to form somewhat of a hunting village. Jack's cabin, furthest to her left, looked empty, as did all but one of the other cabins. After parking her car in the designated parking area, Maggie moved swiftly to Jack's cabin. She pounded on the door repeatedly. Calling out "Robby," as loudly as her lungs would allow.

  When her calls and knocks went unanswered, Maggie grabbed a log from the neatly stacked pile of fire wood on the small porch, raised the log above her head and took aim at the only window on the front side of the cabin. Before she could set her arms into motion, she heard the rhythmic and metallic sound of a shotgun being loaded with a slug.

  "Not sure what the hell you think you're doing with that log, but, whatever it is, I am prepared to stop you from doing it."

  The man's voice was disturbingly calm. As she stood on the porch of her husband's cabin, holding a log above her head, Maggie was struck at how solemn the shotgun holder's voice was. After all, all she was planning on doing was to gain access to the cabin to look for any signs that Jack had been there recently.

  "This is my husband's cabin," Maggie said, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and anger. "My husband is Jack Bryant, and he's kidnapped my son and killed a man in a nursing home outside of Ogunquit."

  "You Maggie Bryant?" the man said.

  "Yes, I'm Maggie Bryant. Now can you please stop pointing that gun at me and let me put this log down?"

  "The gun isn't even loaded, Maggie. So how about you put that log down now?"

  Maggie sent the log crashing into the window, sending shards of glass flying into the cabin's front room.

  "I didn't say to throw the log through the window," the man said, a hint of a chuckle sounding in his voice. "If you wanted to get inside, I have a key."

  Maggie turned and faced the man. "I wish you told me that before. Please," she said, "I need to see if Jack has been here today."

  "I can let you in, but I can also tell you that he hasn't been up here in quite a long while. The name's Edwin Jupiter. I live here year round. Kind of look after things since no one else is here very often. I heard about Jack being wanted for questioning in a murder, but I didn't hear anything about him kidnapping any kid. Give me two minutes to get the key to his cabin, and I'll let you in."

  Maggie was waiting for Edwin on the porch, wracking her mind for where to continue her search, when her cell phone sounded. Without checking the caller ID, she answered, "Jack? Where are you?"

  "You think you have me all figured out, don't you Maggie?"

  "What are you talking about, Jack?"

  "My own wife is so quick to believe that I killed some old crazy man in a nursing home. That really hurts, Maggie." Jack's voice was soft, as if he needed to not be heard by others.

  "Jack, where is Robby?"

  "He's not with his mother, I can tell you that much. No, his mommy is too busy ghost hunting with her new boyfriend to be bothered by her son. You don't think Robby told me about your little get together at my house last night? You think I didn't notice the way you two were looking at each other in my living room that day I invited that son of a bitch into my home? Really nice, Maggie. Surprised Robby didn't walk in on you and your private dick boyfriend when you were rolling around together in my bed."

  Something snapped in Maggie's brain and told her to listen to what she could hear in the background. She wasn't allowing herself to be affected by what Jack was saying but instead just tried to keep him on the phone in hopes that she would hear something in the background that would reveal his location.

  "If Robby told you anything," she said, "then you know that not only did Derek and I only talk about the case that we hired him for, but that we were also with Father John Flannigan. Come on, Jack, tell me where you are so I can come and get Robby. I promise that I won't tell the police anything."

  "What do you know that you could tell them?" he said, his voice snapping through the phone in vicious bites.

  "Nothing, Jack," she said. "I don't know anything."

  She heard nothing on the line until she heard the background noise. Considering the area of the country she was in, the sound should have meant nothing. But for Maggie, it meant everything.

  "You're damn right about not knowing anything, little
Miss Maggie. You think you have all the answers, but you really have no idea."

  "Jack," Maggie said, "tell me the truth, and I will help you with the police."

  "The truth about what? You are actually expecting me to tell you that I killed Ron White? You know better than that, don't you? You want me to say that I killed my father? Yeah, I know what you and everyone else thinks, and I know that your boyfriend thinks he's figured it all out. I'll tell you the truth, Maggie: I didn't kill my father and I didn't kill Ron White."

  "Then why did you take Robby, and why are you running from the police?"

  "Are you seriously asking me that? Seriously, Maggie?"

  "Jack," Maggie said, "give me back my son, or by God I'll make you regret the day you were born."

  "You're never going to see Robby again. You don't deserve to have a son like him. Don't even try to find me. Wherever you look, we won't be there."

  "Jack," she said, desperate for time, "if you so much as touch Robby, I'll..."

  "You'll what?" Jack snapped back. "You'll get your boyfriend to beat me up? Forget about it, Maggie. You failed your only son, and I'll make damn sure he knows it."

  Edwin Jupiter stood next to Maggie, key in hand and a look of confusion in his eyes. There she was, screaming into her phone, tears dripping down her face as he stood, key held innocently in his extended hands. "Here's the key," he said, when Maggie realized that Jack was no longer hearing her words.

  She took the key, turned, and opened the cabin door. Knowing that she would find it empty, she gave only an obligatory look through the small cabin's two bedrooms, tiny bathroom, and kitchen, looking for anything that jumped out at her. A picture was all that captured her attention.

  At first, she struggled to understand why Jack would have this picture in a place that he used to "get away from it all." A place where worries and concerns were left at the front door. But then she thought about what this place, this 620 square foot cabin, may have been really built for. Though she didn't see anything that would indicate a feminine touch in the decorating scheme, nor did she see any clothing that would suggest that it wasn't only Jack and his hunting buddies who spent time in the cabin, Maggie suspected that Jack's "friend" from Portland might have been a frequent visitor. The picture, she supposed, was there to bring some touch of family to the cabin.

  "You said you live here year round?" she asked to Edwin who was standing tentatively behind Maggie.

  "Yes. Most of the cabin owners are only up here during the hunting seasons and on weekends, now and then."

  "I suppose that you take notice of people coming and going? You sure noticed me fairly quickly."

  "I don't spy on people, if that's what you're asking. But, yeah, I notice who's coming and going. Why?"

  "My husband, Jack," Maggie said, crossing her arms and turning to face Edwin. "You've probably seen him coming here with a woman every so often?"

  Edwin slowly shook his head and shuffled his stance. "Now, Mrs. Bryant, I'm a believer in not making assumptions about what other people are doing."

  "Have you seen Jack with a woman?" Maggie asked, walking closer to Edwin.

  "It's not any of my concern, but, considering everything that's happening, I guess it's not wrong to tell you. I don't know her name, and I have never said anything more than 'hello' to her, but, yes, Jack shares this cabin with a woman."

  "What do you mean he 'shares' this cabin with a woman?"

  "Meaning that she's here alone as much as she's here with him. Can't know for sure, but I think she comes here with her son." Edwin paused. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bryant. I don't know the situation behind her coming here and probably only told you because of my suspicions. You seem like a nice lady, and if what you say is the truth, and Jack did kill that man and did take your son, I figure you deserve to know what I've seen."

  Edwin's compassion was palpable. Though her first introduction to Edwin was at the sound of a .12-gauge shotgun pumping an assumed shell into its chamber, Maggie could sense that Edwin Jupiter was harmless, gentle, and would probably help her in any way that he could.

  "Thank you, Edwin. Thank you."

  Her attention returned to the framed picture that sat on a small, wooden folding table beside the double-sided bed in what Maggie assumed to be Jack's bedroom. The picture showed a man and a teenage boy, standing with their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, smiling back at the camera. There was no hint of what was to occur in the future for these two nor any visible malicious plans in the teenager's eyes. Just a father and son, standing near a rocky cliff, with the ocean in the background.

  "This is Jack and his father," she said.

  "I know," Edwin said. "He told me once after I asked him why he would always look at the picture. He told me an intruder killed his father, and that he and his mom went through hell afterwards. He said that the police accused him of the murder, but he swore he didn't do it."

  Maggie, who was holding the picture, gently tracing the frame with her finger, turned to Edwin as she returned the framed photo to its home. "He told you that an intruder killed his father?"

  "And that no one would believe his story. He also told me that the day he lost his dad, he lost his mom, too. Said she jumped in head first into the whacked-out religious pool after her husband was murdered. I think that was the expression he used. Maggie," Edwin paused, "do you think Jack killed his own father?"

  "I don't know," she said as she started walking towards the cabin's front door. "Did Jack ever say anything else about this 'intruder'?"

  "Not that I can recall," Edwin said. "Just one time I can remember. But the way he said 'intruder' was kind of weird."

  "How so?"

  "Can't really say. Just didn't sound like the way most people would say 'intruder' is all."

  "Thank you, Edwin. You've been more help to me than you can imagine."

  "Not sure how I helped, but, you're welcome."

  "I think I know where Jack is taking Robby. That's how much you helped."

  Though she had only been inside the cabin for five minutes, the weather had changed dramatically. As she walked out onto the porch, Maggie was met with a stiff, cold wind. Her vision was obstructed because of the heavy, falling snow. Her car was already turning white beneath the snow's cover.

  "Looks like we're in for an old-fashioned storm," Edwin said. "You may not be able to get too far in that car of yours."

  "I have to go," she said, pausing only to hand the key back to Edwin.

  "I really don't think you should try to make it out of here in your car," he called after her.

  "I have to go."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The upstairs of Maggie's home appeared to be seldomly used. A guest bedroom and attached bathroom were at one end of the hall, a playroom for Robby, filled with toys long since obsolete, and an office were all the rooms on the second story. The office was much too neat to indicate it was frequented by Jack or Maggie, and only a few, neatly stacked file folders, a turned-off computer screen and a few pencils sat on the office's desk.

  Derek spotted a four-drawer file cabinet in the corner. He raced his fingers through the contents of each drawer, but found only file after file of completed estimates of Jack's construction business, financial records dating back to 2002, an owner's manual for an LG refrigerator, and an entire drawer filled with Robby's art work, report cards and cards that he had made and given to either Jack or to Maggie.

  He rummaged through the small, walk-in closet but found only neatly stacked storage bins filled with summer clothes. Derek glanced at his watch. He wondered if Mark Irish would hold firm to his ten-minute time frame. He had five minutes left if Mark was a man who stuck to his word.

  Derek made his way back out into the hallway and soon spotted the rope that was used to pull down the retracting attic staircase. He pulled the rope much harder than it needed to be pulled, sending the telescoping stairs racing towards his head. Derek moved just before the solidly constructed wooden ladder raced
past his head.

  He pulled out his Maglite, climbed the stairs into the attic and looked for any box or storage container that resembled something that would be used to store pictures. The attic was as large as the second floor of the Bryant's home, but only a few feet of the middle of the attic allowed enough headspace for someone to stand, as the sloped roof claimed much of the potential headroom.

  He stepped around box after box labeled with "Beach Toys," "Old Records," and "Christmas Presents" before finding a clear, plastic container, filled with photographs and tucked at the far end of the attic. Derek kneeled in front of the container, pulled open the top, and with his teeth clinching his Maglite's beam onto the pictures, he quickly searched for what he was drawn to find.

  As he thumbed through the hundreds of pictures, Derek could hear the strengthening wind whipping through the eaves of the house. He could hear the snow and ice mix bouncing off the roof and could sense the sudden and dramatic rise in the humidity level. And as his hand reached deeper into the box, as if it were guided, he felt a bundle of pictures, bound together by a thick rubber band.

  He pulled the three-inch thick bundle out of the plastic tote and steadied his flashlight's beam onto the top photograph. It showed a young boy, no older than five, standing on a rocky coastline, proudly displaying the fish he had caught. The proud smile that creased across the young boy's face was forever locked in time. He would always be smiling, always standing, framed against the background of the ocean, proud of what he had accomplished in that brief moment.

  Derek was captivated by his thoughts about the boy in the picture. His father had taken pictures just like this one of him holding a caught fish, his face beaming with pride. He wondered if the boy in the picture was Jack and if Jack's father was the one capturing the moment with the camera.