FICTION
The Ballad of the Blue Denim Gang
The Vanished Child
Dust
RIG: A Novel of Terror
After the Snowfall
Sin-Eater: Book One
Sin-Eater: Book Two - Destiny
MYTHOS: A Thriller
The Dead Phone
One Against Many
Vicious
NON-FICTION
Ghosts of St. Louis: The Lemp Mansion and Other Eerie Tales
Chicago Crime Stories: Rich Gone Wrong
Chicago Disasters
Forgotten Tales of Illinois
Silas Jayne: Chicago’s Suburban Gangster
Sabotage: A Chronicle of the Chesterton Crash
Chicago’s Unsolved Crimes and Mysteries
COLLECTIONS
Why Hockey Sucks and Other Random Thoughts (collection of essays)
Stories (collection of short stories)
Flashpoint: A Curious Collection of Beginnings and Endings (flash fiction collection)
VICIOUS
The two dogs travelled day and night. They kept to the high grass away from the roads as much as possible. They encountered humans from time to time, but they hid from them and avoided confrontation. They survived by eating the various rodents and vermin unfortunate enough to cross their path through the woods.
Demon could sense shelter nearby. It had the faded scent of humans, but he could tell the humans were no longer there. The place smelled of wood and metal and a dampness that indicated there might be a spot they could use as their den.
When they reached the house, the third day after their escape, Demon dipped his nose to the ground and scouted the clearing. He eyed the house carefully and twitched his ears for sound. His nose confirmed that there was no one inside. There was high grass all around the house and a small, gravel driveway. It smelled to Demon like no one had been in the house for some time.
Demon moved forward, keeping his nose close to the ground and his ears up and alert for any noise. Delilah followed. They had eaten not long ago, finding a couple of unsuspecting squirrels frolicking beneath a tree. Blood stained their muzzles and their bellies were full. Now they wanted to rest.
Demon sniffed the house, the gravel driveway to his right. As he came to the front he noticed the opening beneath the front porch. It was dark, but warm; well-hidden and smelled like it was free of other animals. It would be a good place to establish their territory.
The two dogs crawled inside. Delilah found a spot toward the far side, away from the opening and the driveway. Demon took up a spot just inside the opening. He sniffed the air again. It smelled clear of humans. Eventually he would walk around the property, sniffing the ground and leaving his mark to indicate to all others that this property was his. This was now their home and he would defend it. He crouched near the edge of the property and used his sense of smell to check for any potential threats. All was quiet for the moment. Demon tilted his massive head back and howled, letting the world know that this place was his and he would defend it with his life.
* * *
Jeremy Liden awoke to a bright, sunshine-filled morning and blinked his eyes as the rays pierced his eyes. He yawned and listened to the sound of his wife, Amelia, showering and singing in the bathroom down the hall. She had a beautiful voice; it was something he’d grown accustomed to waking up to and he looked forward to the sound. It was certainly better than waking up to an alarm or some of the nonsense that passed for music on the radio these days.
When Jeremy had wasted what he felt was enough time he decided to crawl out of bed. He was very lucky in that he had a job which allowed him to work from home (although he kept a small office downtown that he used often just so he didn't go insane living and working in the same space all of the time). That was the luxury of being a writer. Jeremy’s wife, however, worked in an office down in the city. She had to get up early every morning to get on the road and promptly sit in traffic. Fortunately, she usually kept a positive attitude on life, which allowed her to deal with the traffic issues while continuing to sing and not killing anyone.
"Good morning!" Jeremy yelled as he walked past the bathroom on his way toward the kitchen where coffee awaited along with his morning bagel. He was still in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt.
"Hi, sweetie!" Amelia called back between verses.
"Should I join you?" Jeremy called with just a hint of naughtiness in his voice.
Amelia laughed in a way that indicated the naughtiness was appreciated. "If you had gotten up a little earlier, sleepy-head, then I would have said yes. I don't have time now, though. You know we rarely do any actual showering once you and I are both behind this curtain?"
Jeremy laughed. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"
"Are you going to call Mike this morning?" Amelia called out just as he shuffled into the kitchen and pushed the button on the toaster.
"Yes, dear," Jeremy answered. He rolled his eyes. She’d already reminded him to call Mike about a hundred times and that was just last night. "I was going to call him about nine o'clock. That should give him time to get up."
"Okay," Amelia called as she shut off the shower and pushed back the curtain.
By the time Amelia emerged from the bedroom in her work clothes and makeup, Jeremy was sitting in front of the television munching on his bagel. Jeremy looked up at her and smiled. Amelia never failed to impress him when she was fully dressed and ready to go to work. She also smelled fantastic. Her hair was long and blond, cascading down over her shoulders, almost to the middle of her back. Her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunshine.
"You look fantastic," Jeremy said.
"You always know just the right thing to say," she replied. She walked over and leaned in to kiss him. “What time are we leaving today?"
"You know what time," Jeremy said. "I've already told you."
"Indulge me," she said.
"Just after noon, so you better make sure you can disengage yourself from work, my dear."
"This shall not be a problem," Amelia said as she leaned in for another kiss. She let this one linger a bit longer.
"I really wish you could be late this morning," Jeremy murmured.
"Me too, but with my leaving early tomorrow..."
"Yeah," he said, "I get it."
Amelia stood up and gathered her purse and the small bag she used to carry her lunch in. "You behave."
"Don't I always?"
Amelia smiled and stepped out the door. As it closed behind her, Jeremy sighed and promised himself he would take a very cold shower. Right now, though, he was firmly in his morning ritual and there was nothing that could derail that.
Jeremy was a guy who always managed to fall into a pattern. When he liked a certain food, he would eat it regularly until he grew tired of it. When Jeremy found a show he liked to watch, he made sure to be in front of the television whenever that show was on. While some people thought this boring, he always found it comforting. He always knew where he was going to be, or hoped to be, nearly every night of the week.
Jeremy’s mornings were highly ritualized. The only variations involved his sex life with his wife. Some mornings he arose early and joined her in the shower, which was always a lot of fun and usually extended his mornings a bit. Other mornings Jeremy stayed in bed until Amelia was well on her way toward getting ready. Then it was out into the kitchen, making a bagel, making coffee, and sitting down in front of the television to watch the news or whatever program he found interesting on cable. There he would eat his bagel and drink two cups of coffee. Once the caffeine was in Jeremy’s stomach, he would start his own showering and getting dressed. By the time he was done he would be ready to spend the morning writing, contacting his agent, doing rewrites, or whatever was necessary.
However, this week was different. This week, Amelia and Jeremy were planning to meet up with their friends, Stephen and Veronica, who were headed in from out of town. The plan was for Jeremy to pick th
em up at the airport that morning. At that point, Amelia was to leave from work and meet them all back at the apartment. From there it was piling into Jeremy's car and driving up north, about four hours, into Wisconsin where Amelia and Jeremy owned a house on the lake.
The house was built from wood and resembled, in many ways, a log cabin, although it wasn’t entirely made out of logs. It was peaceful, though, and Jeremy always smiled when he saw it. It was two stories with a large wooden porch at the front. Inside were two bedrooms, a living room, a quaint kitchen and a dining room. There was no phone (nor decent cell phone service), television, or anything else that would distract from the peace and beauty of the woods and the lake visible from the front window. The only indulgence and intrusion from the outside world that Amelia and Jeremy allowed was a radio they kept in the kitchen. It was the perfect getaway for the two of them since they spent most of their time in the city.
Their friends, Stephen and Veronica, had been married for years. Stephen was Jeremy's friend from college and Veronica was the gorgeous blonde who’d managed to steal his heart and settle his wandering spirit. However, as of late, they’d been having trouble. Veronica wanted to go in different directions from Stephen. She wanted to focus on her career, and there were other times when she wondered if maybe Jeremy was not ‘father material’. She woke up one day and suddenly found that she no longer wanted to go the same way, on the same journey, that Stephen wanted, at least when it came to children. Jeremy and Amelia had the faint hope that maybe this weekend would somehow help them-- although neither of them held any illusions that they would be able to bridge the gaps that seemed to be forming between them with a simple trip to the lake.
One of the first things Jeremy had to do before he even got dressed or made his way to the airport, was call Mike Thurnbridge, who was the caretaker they’d hired to maintain the place on the lake during the winter. Outwardly, Mike was a nice, older man, but who, Jeremy suspected, secretly hated them. Jeremy guessed this was not because they had done anything in particular to Mike, but merely because they were from Illinois; and dyed-in-the-wool Wisconsiners hated Illinois people from birth. Still, Mike’s services weren’t too expensive and he always did a great job. He kept the place looking nice, mowing the lawn and trimming the bushes, making sure the house was presentable. Jeremy needed to let Mike know they were coming so that he could make sure the house was in order.
Jeremy managed to get a little work done before nine o'clock rolled around, which made him feel like he had accomplished something. At that point he picked up his phone, wandered onto the little, screened-in front porch area of their second-floor apartment and made his call to Mike. Mike was a man just old enough to still have an answering machine rather than voicemail and he liked to wait until about seven rings before picking up.
"Hello there," Mike said.
"Hi there, Mike," Jeremy replied. "It's Jeremy Liden. How are you?"
"Oh, hey there, Jeremy. Things are doing just fine here. How's by you?"
"Not too bad, Mike," Jeremy said. "Amelia and I were going to come up to the cottage this weekend. We're going to bring a couple of friends, too. Is that too much of a problem?"
"Oh no, jeez," Mike replied. "Things are still pretty slow around here right now, Mr. Liden. I can have the place ready with no problem. It’s a little overgrown at the moment, but it shouldn’t take me too long to get it trimmed up nice."
"You're a saint," Jeremy said.
Mike laughed. "Yeah, well, tell my wife that."
"Thanks again." Jeremy hung up the phone, sat back in his chair and threaded his fingers together behind his neck. He shook his head and resumed work. With his major task for the day out of the way, he was able to get several chapters of his latest novel done. It was going to be a great weekend, he just knew it.
* * *
"Oh, that goddamn flatlander!" Mike Thurnbridge cursed into the air as he slammed the phone down.
"What's wrong now?" His wife called from the kitchen.
"That damn Jeremy Liden," Mike yelled back. "He calls to tell me now that he's coming down this weekend. Like I’m just sitting up here on my ass waiting for him to call. Asshole!"
"Calm down,” she said. "He pays well."
"Well, you'd think he'd give a man a little time. I had plans for this afternoon."
"What plans?" she asked.
"Well," Mike said sheepishly. "I was going to watch the Brewers."
"I thought that might be the case." She sighed. "Mike, just get your ass out there and do your job and stop complaining. You just love to complain about those people because they're from Illinois."
"Damn flatlanders!" Mike cursed again.
Mike looked around for his shoes and took great care to act like putting them on was the most difficult thing he could possibly do. He then made a great show of looking for his car keys. After that he stormed around until he found his hat and tromped out of the house. Mike paused just long enough to kiss his wife. Naturally, she failed to appreciate his show of pain and agony and just rolled her eyes at him.
"I'll be back in a few hours," Mike said in the saddest tone he could muster.
"The Brewers will still be there when you get back," his wife replied. "You can always listen to the game on the radio."
Mike frowned. "It's not the same."
“Right,” she replied. “There’s nothing better than seeing grown men spitting and grabbing themselves.”
Mike sighed and stepped out of the house. His beat-up pickup truck was stationed in the driveway. In the back, his tools were scattered. Mike prayed the damn thing would start, since it had been giving him trouble lately. It was yet another thing Mike had been planning to take care of and just never had the chance.
"Damn those flatlanders," Mike muttered again as he stepped into his truck.
Mike twisted the key in the ignition and the engine ground and whined. He pushed on the gas, cursed under his breath, and turned the key again, harder this time, as if the truck could feel his determination. This time the engine caught, sputtered, and died.
Mike turned the key again and pushed in on the gas. Whether or not he flooded the engine was not a concern at this point, he just wanted to take out his frustrations on the gas pedal. This time the engine coughed and started to life. Mike cursed this, too, just to remain consistent.
He pulled the gear shift and put the truck into reverse. The truck bumped its way over the driveway. He pulled out onto the gravel road and spewed dust into the air from his tires. Mike stepped on the gas and the engine promptly quit again.
"God damn it!" Mike screamed, his voice already raw from yelling.
He turned the key and started the engine again. He stomped down on the gas, swerved a bit and then roared down the last stretch of the short road. He hurled curses out the window as he went just because he felt like it.
* * *
Stephen Bishop stood in front of an open suitcase and did not move. His eyes stared into the bag, but his mind was not seeing what was in front of him. Inside, Stephen was a seething cauldron of anger, sadness, frustration, and disappointment. He was supposed to be packing; instead, he felt unable to move. He just wanted to sit on the end of the bed and scream, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw colors.
"Why are we doing this, again?" Veronica said from the bathroom just off of the master bedroom.
"We promised," Stephen said quietly.
"Do you really think it's a good idea?"
Stephen sighed. "I have no idea at this point."
He looked up at his reflection in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. He was a handsome man with thick dark hair and hazel eyes. He’d put on some weight since marrying Veronica, but the part of him that had been an athlete was still there beneath the pot-belly. He wore a goatee which he kept meticulously groomed. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, which he now adjusted absently as he stared. He didn't want to go back into the world of dating again, and he wonder
ed if he could get himself back into shape if he had to do that. He looked alright, he guessed, but he’d thought that all of those concerns were behind him. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Now, nothing he’d been sure about before seemed stable or consistent or real.
Veronica sat behind him in front of a different mirror, putting on makeup while packing up her other toiletries to take on the trip. Stephen paused to look at her. His heart beat faster. He still loved her, but they just couldn't seem to agree on anything these days. Veronica was beautiful with long, golden hair, aqua-blue eyes, and a body any man would have killed for. Her face was one that belonged in magazines or on movie screens, not with him. Instead, she was down-to-earth and had no pretentions about her looks. Veronica did have one flaw, though, as far as Stephen could see, and that was her stubbornness.
"Why don't we just call this off?" Veronica suggested, her face a frown and her eyes narrowing in a way that indicated to Stephen that she knew she was starting to get on his nerves.
"Because Jeremy is one of my oldest friends," Stephen replied. "I don't want him to have to cancel or change his plans."
"Then tell him I'm sick," Veronica said, "because I don't think I can do this."
"Damn it!" Stephen cursed. "Let's just do this one thing for us. Let's have one more weekend where we try to be what we were to each other. Don’t wreck this. Maybe we can still manage to have a good time."
"You sound like a bad soap opera," she said.
"Don't make fun of me," he snapped back.
"If this is what the weekend is going to be like, you can count me out."
"Let's try not to fight then."
"I don't know why we're fighting anyway."
Stephen sighed. "You know why."
"I know why, but I don't understand it."
"Yes, you do," Stephen said quietly.
Veronica threw down the lipstick she was applying and put her head between her hands. She bit her lip, chewing off most of the lipstick she had just put on and fought back the tears; but one slipped out and ran down her cheek. She fought her emotions for a long moment. Stephen watched her reflection in the mirror as her shoulders hitched. Then she regained control of herself and returned to finishing her makeup.
Sapphire: A Paranormal Romance Page 31