Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

  Still, he pondered the issue and thought of the opportunity it might present. He had been in the office only once, and the interview with Deborah had taken all his attention. He had barely had a chance to look around Rachel Adams’ office properly, and the meeting tomorrow could prove a lot more beneficial than it sounded. Having taken note of the scant number of filing cabinets outside the principal’s office in the direct reach of her secretary, he could only assume there were more elsewhere, and he needed to get his hands on some of those.

  More breaking and entering, Alan? Fiona would love that.

  “You seem lost,” Deborah cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the task at hand as he picked up his cutting speed.

  “In my own little world,” Alan replied. “Being here has that effect on me. Memories and all that.”

  He looked at Deborah as she smiled sadly at him, the one person in Melington who knew how to read between the lines of what he had said. Alan realized then how much he had truly missed her.

  He could have used a friend like her in the past twenty years when everyone seemed to have been conspiring against him. He had desperately needed someone to talk to, and after his mother’s death, his father had been completely unavailable. Over time, Alan had learned how to bottle his emotions in and deal with them on his own, soon finding it almost impossible to share anything with anyone. He had been a loner through most of his college years, a few failed relationships here and there that had forced him deeper into his shell as he slowly realized that no one could truly comprehend what was going on in his mind.

  His wall decorating project had started during his final year, when he had come to the conclusion that, as much as he had lied to everyone around him, he had also been lying to himself. He hadn’t gotten closure after his sister’s disappearance, and he wouldn’t get it miles away from Melington.

  “Have you gone to see her?” Deborah asked.

  Alan shook his head. “I haven’t even been able to go into her room,” he said. “Besides, that grave is empty. What use would come from it?”

  “You never know,” Deborah ventured. “It might do you some good.”

  “No,” Alan said, his hands shaking slightly at where the conversation had turned to. “I’d rather remember her in my own way.”

  Deborah noticed his hands and moved closer to him, placing her own over his to stop the gentle tremors. Alan looked up at her, their eyes locking as he stared into the blues that gazed back at him. He had always loved how her eyes had contrasted with the brown waves that framed her face, and right now he felt that he could easily lose himself in them forever.

  “I can go with you if it’ll help,” Deborah suggested.

  Alan took a step back, detaching his hands from hers and burying them into his pockets. He could feel his heart beat quicken, and instantly tried to push the emotions welling up aside. He had to be more realistic about what he was suddenly feeling, quickly reminding himself that, at least for now, he had to keep people at an arm’s length.

  Deborah caught onto the awkwardness and looked down, quickly frowning as she rummaged her hair and tried to compose herself. When she looked back up, she was all uneasy smiles and sunshine.

  “You know what?” she chirped. “Let’s have dinner and watch a movie. I brought a few DVDs with me that I am sure will keep us entertained.”

  Alan smiled at how easily she had changed subjects and nodded. “Thanks, Debbie.”

  Deborah waved him off and went back to the stove, but he could clearly see the tension that had suddenly befallen her. He didn’t like doing this to her, but the reality was that he had not seen his childhood friend in twenty years. There was no telling how careful he needed to be around her, despite every inch of his being assuring him that he could easily confide in her and let her in.

  However, Alan had learned the hard way that confiding was not always the best option.

  ***

  Daniel Cole watched his son shuffle into his office, already annoyed at what Michael was wearing. The navy blazer over jeans look that he was accustomed to sporting was just one of the many things Daniel disapproved of. He pushed the irritation aside, though, knowing that more important matters were to be discussed other than his son’s attire.

  Daniel gestured to seat in front of him and Michael quickly slumped down, unbuttoning his blazer and angering Daniel even more with the AC/DC T-shirt underneath. Daniel Cole sighed as he readjusted himself.

  “You needed to see me?” Michael asked.

  Daniel nodded and folded his hands in front of him. “How’s the company?”

  Michael smiled widely, instantly pleased with the ability to share his newest achievements with his father. He began recounting a new app that his start-up was working on, something to do with the recent burst in social networking that was the craze of the decade.

  Daniel never really could understand the need for it all. All these websites and apps did was make it harder for the Council to cover up their actions. They had recently needed to hire a tech genius to hack into accounts and change information according to the Council’s needs, and try as he could, Daniel couldn’t stand the brat responsible for this. He had gladly passed on the supervision of this particular aspect to another Council member who had a better handle on the technicalities of it all.

  One less task Daniel had to worry about.

  “You sound like you’re keeping yourself busy,” Daniel interrupted his son as he began going into details of what his app could do. It was all gibberish to Daniel anyway, and he found it hard to even slightly care about Michael’s changing obsessions.

  “I try,” Michael said, falling back into a more defensive stance, knowing that his father’s irritation would slowly lead into more serious discussions about things he would not like.

  “I brought you here to discuss your current love interest,” Daniel started.

  “Her name’s Deborah,” Michael interrupted, much to his father’s frustration.

  “I know her name,” Daniel said as calmly as he could muster. “That’s beyond the point.”

  “Well, if we’re going to discuss Deborah,” Michael replied, “then we might as well use her name.”

  Daniel could feel the heat rise to his cheeks as he fought hard not to reach over his desk and slap his son across the face. “We have a few concerns about your relationship with Deborah,” Daniel said, hoping his tone was more level than his feelings.

  “We?”

  “Your mother and I.”

  Michael scoffed. “When was the last time you and mother actually talked?”

  “Shut up and listen to me,” Daniel spat, unable to hold back his anger any longer. Michael had always had a way of getting under his skin, and the angrier Daniel got, the more it satisfied the boy’s sick need to antagonize his father even more. Over the years, Daniel had learned to control his temper, but there were the occasional outbursts.

  “Fine,” Michael said, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’m listening.”

  “You remember Alan Carter?”

  Michael nodded. They had never been close before Alan had moved away, but Michael knew how important he had been for Deborah.

  “Well, as you probably know, he’s back,” Daniel continued.

  Michael frowned, and Daniel found his utter confusion amusing. His girlfriend had apparently failed to mention the news to Michael.

  “You didn’t know?” Daniel asked, adding salt to the wound. “I’m surprised since he’s now employed in the same school your girlfriend works.”

  “I’ve been busy lately,” Michael explained. “She might have said something and I missed it.”

  Daniel doubted that, the look on his son’s face one of someone trying to convince themselves of their argument rather than anyone else.

  “Well, Alan has just been through a bit of a rough situation with the law,” Daniel said. “Nothing serious, but enough to put him on the Sheriff’s radar. I know that he is close to Deborah, and there is no tel
ling what might happen in the future. I suggest you distance yourself from all this.”

  Michael frowned, his own cheeks turning a bright red. “Are you asking me to break up with her?” he asked. “Are you actually messing with my private life?”

  Daniel shook his head quickly, feigning concern. “I just don’t want you involved in any way, directly or indirectly, with Alan Carter.”

  “I’m not seven, dad,” Michael shot.

  “I sometimes fail to see that.”

  “Then that’s your problem.” Michael stood up, shaking with fury as he stared at his father behind the desk. “Thank you for your so-called concern, but what I do with my life is up to me. You have no say in any of it anymore.”

  Daniel gave his son a reassuring smile, but his eyes gave away the anger he was trying to quell. “Of course,” he said, his voice strained. “I never presumed to make decisions for you. I am only warning you.”

  Michael buttoned his blazer and gave his father one last look before storming out of the office. Daniel watched his son leave and felt a sudden sense of relief. He knew what would happen next. Michael had always been easy to manipulate, and if the boy needed to learn the realities of life the hard way, then so be it. It was depressing enough watching a thirty year-old still act like a teenager.

  Daniel needed his son to be ready for what was coming, and that meant breaking all ties with Deborah Adams.

  From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.

  Melington. October 2nd, 1826.

  Damn the Council members! Damn them to hell!

  Such ignorance! Such overwhelmingly infuriating blindness!

  I have given them the facts, supplied them with ample reason, and they still turn away from what is right there before their eyes! It is as if they do not want to bring my daughter’s murderer to justice!

  Chairman Cole is the worst of the lot. His condescending nature makes it impossible for anyone to reason or argue in favor of what he does not believe. I will make it my personal goal to see him removed as Chairman and replaced by a more capable mind.

  After I see Copper Tibet brought to justice!

  I have toyed with the notion of rising past and above the Council, of which I regret to even acknowledge I am a part of. The proper authorities could make better use of my findings, definitely more than this lot of fools! The Council wants to keep this a private matter, and I believe it is only to hide their ineptitude. It is as if they do not care anymore!

  I have reviewed the other interviews, and I have given them a fair judgment. No one has come close to a better case than mine. Copper Tibet’s guilt screams at them from the pits of hell, and they ignore it. Not enough to make a decision! The fools!

  I will see that man hung for his crimes. I will bring my daughter’s murderer to justice, even if it means working without the help of the Council!

  Chapter 9

  Alan dreamed.

  It was the usual dream, a vivid dream, one that had haunted him for years and still found a way to linger in his subconscious.

  He was eleven years old, scrawny with his blonde hair falling down across his eyes in a boyish cut that reflected his newfound admiration for grunge, much to his parents dismay. He was outside, running down the narrow path through the woods behind his house, chasing his younger sister but keeping a well enough distance behind her to keep her motivated.

  This was always the worst part of the dream, seeing his sister alive and well, giggling as he chased her, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and her clothes closely matching his own, a tomboy at heart. She was three years his junior, and he had taken it upon himself a long time before to protect her no matter what.

  The entire town had always commented on how inseparable the two of them were, the only other person allowed to share space in their little world being Deborah Adams. On that day, though, Deborah had been sick, and the three musketeers were down to two.

  Alan usually thought back to how different things would have been, had Deborah been around to witness what he had. Even then, she had believed him without a second guess, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. They were two minors with notoriously wild imaginations.

  The path widened as he watched his sister break out of the tree line and race towards their house, their home a small structure in the distance as they ran across the fields. A few yards in, though, she turned, and made way for the small playground that the houses on the street shared. It was nearly dusk, and Alan called after her, reminding her that they needed to get home and couldn’t be caught messing around after dark.

  His sister didn’t listen, though. She never did, and only laughed harder before jumping and rolling into the large sandbox. Alan could almost hear his mother’s cry of displeasure once she found the trail of sand his sister would be dragging in behind her later.

  “I win, you lose,” his sister cried out happily, obviously winded but far too happy to care. She did her little victory dance, something she had seen in one of her Calvin and Hobbes comics, and Alan couldn’t help but laugh.

  He watched his sister prance around the sandbox, kicking sand into the air as she danced, her arms flailing about as she sang a ludicrous tune about how awesome she was and how much Alan sucked.

  Alan couldn’t help but smile, faking an angry scowl as he raced towards the sandbox, shouting threats of how he would ‘pulverize her’. His sister only laughed and turned to run away, when she suddenly tripped and fell face first into the sand.

  Alan’s smile quickly disappeared, replaced by a look of concern as he picked up speed and raced to her to make sure she hadn’t hurt herself. He was barely six feet away when she began to scream.

  To this day, Alan could hear those screams. Those terrifying screams.

  He froze, his eyes wide as he watched his sister suddenly get pulled to one side of the sandbox, someone or something dragging her by the foot.

  “Alan, help!” she screamed, reaching out to him with one hand as she frantically clawed at the sand to slow down her retreat. “Please help me!”

  Alan’s shock broke, and he sprinted towards his sister, flying fast into the sandbox and grabbing her hand. He turned himself about, trying to pull her towards him as he set his foot in the sand, his fingers turning white as he held onto her for dear life. His sister screamed, her face stricken with tears as she tried to kick at whatever was holding her.

  Alan looked past her and almost let go when he saw the hand.

  It was a grotesque thing, fingers like claws burying into his sister’s leg as it tightened its hold on her. The skin was burnt almost completely off, loose flaps hanging around pinkish flesh that oozed with blisters. His sister kicked at it frantically, but there was no use. Whatever that hand belonged to, it was determined to take her with it, and it would not let go that easily.

  Alan screamed for help, yelling for his parents or anyone close enough to hear him and help. The sun had already begun to set, though, and he knew no one would be around. They were on their own, and Alan knew he was losing the tug-of-war battle he was fighting. He held on tighter, feeling the sweat build in his palms and his grasp slipping. He adjusted his hold, losing a few inches of distance as the hand pulling his sister took advantage of his discomfort. His sister screamed again.

  Suddenly, Alan found himself flying back as the pull on his sister slackened completely, and he rolled in the sandbox and onto his knees, looking to where the hand had been a moment ago. His sister scampered away, pushing against the sand until she was by her brother’s side, both children breathing heavily as they tried to make sense of what they had just seen.

  “Are you okay?” Alan asked, looking at his sister.

  She nodded quickly. “My leg,” she whimpered, and Alan could see the large stain of blood where the hand had been holding her.

  “It’s okay,” Alan whispered, more to himself than to her. “It’s gone.”

  Then, as suddenly as it had disappeared, the hand struck out from the sand, this time to hi
s left, now attached to an arm that reached out and struck at Alan’s face. Alan could feel the scratch of nails directly below his jaw, blood spurting out as skin broke. Alan fell to a side, hands automatically reaching for his wound as his sister’s scream pierced the darkening night. The hand and arm disappeared, and in a matter of seconds reappeared near his sister, grabbing her once more and forcefully pulling her out of Alan’s reach.

  Alan flew to her, but he was too late, his wound distracting him as he watched his sister slide away, hands stretched towards him, mouth open in a silent scream. He tried to get up again, but it was too late. He watched his sister disappear before his eyes, her legs first, then the rest of her as she was pulled down into the sand and away forever.

  ***

  Alan woke up with a start, heart pounding, gasping, and reaching for the pills by his bed almost as if by instinct. He clawed at his medications as he tried to fight back the recurring images of his sister screaming for help as he helplessly watched her disappear. He quickly uncapped one of the bottles and poured the pills into his hand, desperately trying to count them as they shook with the tremors that rocked his entire body.

  It was useless, though, and soon enough he dropped them all onto the bedroom floor, fell out of bed behind them and screamed at the top of his lungs at the empty room around him.

  He didn’t hear the closet door close with a soft click to a husky chuckle from within.

  From the Journal of Jeremiah Carter.

  Melington. October 4th, 1826.

  It is just as I had expected.

  I spent the day visiting the third name on my list, and as Abbey had assured me, the woman was lovely. She was warm, charming, a truly delightful person unlike anyone I have ever met before. It confuses me that I have not seen her more often in Melington, whether at church or elsewhere.

  It is not very surprising, though. She has a unique way of blending in with her surroundings, easily unnoticeable if one did not know she was there.