Still no answer from him. No candle or flashlight filled the living room to her left where thick drapes were drawn on the windows on either side of a fireplace, and no exterior street or moonlight could penetrate that darkness. But both sources allowed a small amount of light to shine through the sliding doors leading to the terrace, located beyond the dining area. She heard the ding of the elevator as it arrived at their floor, and heard its door open and close. She stepped backwards and peered in that direction. “Anybody there? The hall lights are out,” she remarked unnecessarily.
No one responded. Strange. If the electricity was off, how were the garage lights on and the elevators working? Had someone sneaked past her to leave or to return home and refused to speak to her, or had someone simply pushed the wrong floor’s button? Since the electricity was on elsewhere in the converted warehouse, that meant only their floor was having problems. Had anyone reported the trouble to the power company? Maybe all of her neighbors were gone for the evening and did not know about the power failure. But what about Jack? Where was he? She trembled. Why were chill bumps running over her body?
Jennifer closed and locked the door behind her. To check if the problem was only in the corridor, her shaky hand fumbled on the wall for the switch plate. She pressed a control and a single overhead light came on, a sort of nightlight similar to those some hotels used at the entry. The dim pinkish bulb cast a soft glow over her, illuminating only the area closest to her. She placed her keys and purse atop the painted Bombe chest beside the door, Jack’s one concession to her decorating preferences, the remainder of her possessions locked away in storage. Possessions she would soon need when they ended their relationship, as she had moved in with him. Yes, it was time to go.
Even in the darkness, she knew how the apartment looked. Beige carpet. Beige walls. Minimal but oversized beige furniture, all in wood and leather. Only a few pictures and personal items that were located on a plain odd-shaped bookcase indicated that anyone really lived there. The settings always made her feel and think: bare, stark, empty. Now, an added thought joined those old ones: Like our lives have become... Amber was right: she lived “in a beige world.”
Suddenly vexed with herself for allowing her existence to become so sad and lacking, she called out louder, “Jack? Are you in your study? Dammit, can’t you hear Baby barking?” The open entry door explained why she had heard the animal’s sounds so easily, as the apartments were supposed to have soundproofing features. She also was annoyed with herself for taking so long to relieve their pet’s misery and agitation. Out on the walled terrace, Baby was barking so frantically and probably for so long that she sounded almost hoarse. No doubt the dog had heard and seen her return home and was seeking escape from her seclusion by increasing her barks and actions.
After Jennifer—her eyes partially adjusted to the low lighting—walked through the dining area to the sliding doors and opened them, Baby bounded inside and circled her rapidly, whining. She knelt and attempted to soothe the animal by ruffling its blond hair with one hand, but Baby shoved past her into the apartment. “That’s it, girl, go find Jack.” She whispered, “And bite him.”
She glanced at the slobber smeared and nail scratched glass doors, and knew both Jack and the manager were going to be angry with the animal for that damage, as Baby normally did not attack the glass sliding doors. She stepped outside as something caught her gaze: an empty wine glass was on the glass-top table. So, Jack had been outside with Baby and drinking wine, perhaps escaping the horrid smell indoors. Where was he now and why had the dog been left outside? The stench?
Tension throbbed at the back of her neck and up the back of her head. She moved to the wall and peered over its edge. Traffic flowed smoothly, a steady stream of headlights and gleaming metal. Beyond the bluffs, the mighty Mississippi River undulated past in a shimmering reflection of lights from the M-shaped bridge and slow-moving barges. Relief swamped her. What had she expected? To see his crumpled and bloody body lying on the sidewalk or in the street below?
That was the trouble with a vivid imagination: it always conjured up problems and fears where there should be none. But if that were true, why did Baby also feel agitated? She was accustomed to being alone when they were gone or while Jack was at work, since she worked at home. The golden retriever sent forth a mixture of whines and howls and muffled growls, so unlike her nature, even after being confined to the terrace for a while. Maybe the smell upset her.
Where was Jack? If he was home, why did he not answer her or join her? Was he lost in his own world in his study while pouring over legal briefs? Wearing ear buds with music or an audio book blocking out her voice? Intentionally ignoring her? Asleep? Gone? If he had left due to an emergency, why had he not called her on her cell phone? Why had he carelessly left the door open, and left Baby outside? Something was wrong; she felt it in her bones. Should she call the police? And tell them what? I pissed off my boyfriend, went out with my girlfriends, and now he isn’t home so we can settle an argument? Should she leave the apartment in case there had been a burglar inside? No, that meant going back into the dark corridor where evil could be lurking. She should not be afraid now, as she had a big dog to protect her. And the garage attendant would not have allowed anyone who did not live there or have permission to come inside get past him.
Jennifer went inside, leaving open the sliding door to bring in fresh air and to expel the bad odor. She felt her way along and flipped on one of the kitchen switches that controlled fluorescent tubes under the cabinets. Her eyes adjusted to the soft lighting of the one nearest to the sink as she realized the stench was almost overpowering to her senses. It burned the back of her throat; yet, she saw no cause for it. No fire. No smoke. The stovetop was clear. No bowls or dishes with sticky food were left on the granite counters. No “accident” by Baby on the floor.
There was only a clean wine glass in the wooden dish drainer. She had picked up the other wine glass from the terrace table, brought it inside and placed it in the sink. Strange that Jack would use two glasses in the same evening. Or maybe someone had dropped by after her departure, and they had gone somewhere after having a drink there. But why wash only one glass?
Jennifer put her hand to her nose as the horrid odor almost sickened her. The new chemical the pest control company had used after she left could not be safe if it smelled this bad, and why had the sprayer come by at night, and why had fussy Jack allowed the man to do his job so late? If he was home and just not responding for some reason, she would go find him so they could have a serious talk about their problems. No, break up. They shared the same apartment; yet, they were miles apart lately. As soon as she gave Baby some water to soothe her dry throat, she—
Strange sounds came from the animal and halted Jennifer’s actions. Her scalp tightened. Chills raced over her body again. She tensed. Something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. Baby knew it, and she knew it, too. She reached inside a drawer to find something to use as a weapon of defense. Her shaky fingers found and clutched a heaving wooden meat tenderizer. She turned and forced herself to head toward the dark living room, beyond the L-shaped kitchen and dining area. That’s where Baby was, but the beloved pet was obscured in shadows and by large pieces of furniture and their arrangements in the spacious room. She did not know why she did not run into the bedroom or her studio or Jack’s study or the bathroom or the guest room and bolt the door against whatever lurked in the darkness ahead. She certainly should not entrap herself on the terrace or in the corridor. Besides, if a burglar was in there, Baby would be attacking him loudly.
Compelling herself onward, Jennifer slowly but helplessly navigated the dining room and reached an end table next to the oversized sofa. She wished she had turned on all of the kitchen lights and the dining room chandelier, as the one fluorescent tube and small pink entry light gave off little illumination to expose whatever was upsetting Baby so badly. Her hand tapped the base of a brass lamp with a touch sensor, causing instant light to come forth. As i
f some unknown force controlled her shaky hand, she immediately gave it two more taps for the brightest level.
Her reaction happened fast and simultaneous but seemed as if it took forever and in slow motion. Her gaze widened in horror. Her breath caught in her throat. She went pale and cold. She felt frozen to that spot on the floor. Baby crouched at Jack’s feet, whining and swaying as if beside herself with anguish. Yet, the animal was intelligent enough to stay clear of the peril nearby.
Jennifer unknowingly moved closer to the grisly situation. Her shocked gaze locked on the gory sight before her. The stench almost choked her as she gagged, her hands overlapping her mouth. Her green eyes watered. Tears ran down her cheeks, over her hands where some rolled down her forearms and others dropped onto her new blue blouse. Her rapid respiration caused her lips and throat to dry. She found it difficult to swallow, to breathe, to believe what she was viewing. Yet, she could not move, could not look away, could not escape this horror.
Jack was sitting—if one could call his uncontrollable position that—on the floor with his buttocks against the raised stone hearth of the gas fireplace. To keep him in place, his legs were splayed on the floor and his elbows were propped awkwardly at his sides on the rough stones. Even with his head cocked backward slightly, from her higher position she could see his face, or what was left of it, which was not much. From singed eyebrows to mutilated chin, there was white, bleached bone showing. His eyes were no longer blue, just two frightful orbs in destroyed sockets. Exposed white teeth—with remains of raw flesh at the cheekbones and jawline—created an eternal grimace of someone who had died a painful and horrible death. He looked like some sort of a rag doll on a macabre poster for a horror film. The words Batman and The Joker shot through her dazed mind.
Jennifer felt weak, nauseous, paralyzed, mesmerized by evil and disbelief.
It must be Jack, her muddled mind decided, as he wore the same sweater—a gift from her last Christmas—the same sweater he had on when she left earlier. He was Jack’s size. He had Jack’s hair. Those were Jack’s slacks. His shoes. In his home. With their dog whining at his feet.
Baby threw back her head and howled like a wild thing, like a beast in a nightmare.
Jennifer was startled to awareness. She screamed, and screamed again, sounds torn from her aching throat and belly as reality slapped her forcefully in the face: Jack had been brutally murdered in their home while she was out partying, plotting a break-up. And from the still wet blood on his slit throat and sweater, the torture and slaying had happened not very long ago. Could his killer be lurking nearby? Was this the grisly act of a new or the old Beast? Was it watching . . . Waiting . . .
Coming soon: Dangerous Deceptions
from
New York Times Bestselling Author – Janelle Taylor
Catherine James veered her Ford Focus off the two-lane highway and jammed on its brakes, abruptly stopping on a grassy edge of the snaking Georgia blacktop. Her blue eyes squinted and stared at the radio. Damn, she needed a replay option like her DVR had! Before saying “unseasonably warm temperatures will continue throughout the weekend”, the announcer had—almost casually—reported a murder. Her ex-husband’s. The Athens reporter had revealed “homicide detectives are still on the crime scene”. From habit, she finger-combed shoulder-length brown hair as she tried to compose herself. She needed a clear head and steady nerves to best handle the shocking situation. What to do first?
Catherine retrieved her cell phone, took a deep breath, and called her sister’s house. So much for notifying family before you publicly expose such tragic news. She fumed and grimaced. Her ex-husband’s death did not evoke any instant tears, and with just reason. Yet, she prayed their son had not heard or been told about a similar broadcast. That would be a horrific way for a ten year old boy to discover his father is dead. No, far worse, was murdered. A gory word, a heinous misdeed no child should be forced to endure. She had thought, hoped, prayed that she could shield Matthew from the harsh cruelties of life for a while longer. How wrong she had been.
Before her sister could complete a greeting, Catherine spewed forth questions. “Missy, do you know what the hell is going on? I just heard on the radio that Adam was killed last night! How? Where? By whom? Does Matt know?” It wasn’t necessary to identify herself to a younger sister who was keeping Matthew while she was in Atlanta on business.
“Cath! Thank God you called. I don’t know what’s going on. We were outside washing the cars when a news bulletin broke in over the radio. Matt’s next door at the Griffins playing in their swimming pool. I doubt they’re paying any attention. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to hear much over all that racket. Where are you?”
“Right outside town. I should be at your house in about fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”
“Dan tried to call you. Either your cell wasn’t turned on or you were in a dead zone. He called a friend at the police department, but we haven’t heard from him yet. Anyway, I have no idea what happened. No one has been by here or called looking for you or Matt. Did anyone try to contact you in Atlanta?”
“No. I can’t believe what’s happened. I admit, I had daydreams when we were divorcing that somehow Adam would be taken out of our lives permanently. But I never imagined he would be killed. It seems so unreal.”
“It’s gonna be real enough when you tell Matt about his father.” Missy sighed. “I hope he can handle it. With all of the publicity that’ll surely surround Adam’s death, Matt will have a lot to deal with for such a young kid.”
Catherine winced as she thought about her son and this new threat to the peaceful existence she had tried to create since the divorce. Why—she fretted—was this happening now that they’d finally managed to get on with their lives?
“I should arrive soon, Missy. Keep Matt away from the radio and TV until I can get there, okay?”
“We’ll do our best, Sis. This is probably the last warm weekend, so he’s not getting out of that pool until he’s dragged anyway. Drive carefully, and we’ll see you when you get here.”
Catherine murmured, “Bye, Missy, and thanks.” Why hasn’t anyone tried to contact me? Maybe because we’re divorced and I’m no longer next of kin. Shaky hands tried to keep the small SUV in between the yellow and white lines, as Catherine’s mind ran in a myriad of directions. She envisioned the last time she had seen Adam glaring at her from his favorite black leather chair, drinking a scotch and nearly daring her to refuse to buckle under his new, unacceptable demands. Darker thoughts caused Catherine’s breath to come in short, quick gasps: Who had killed Adam and why? Was she or Matt in danger? The police could be at or calling her house right now!
Catherine knew she should not call or text while driving, but there was no place to pull over again. She punched the speed dial number for her home phone and the button for the speaker. As soon as she heard Matthew’s voice on the answering machine explaining they weren’t available to take the call, additional numbers were sent over the airwaves to replay any messages left since last night. “You have five new messages,” the mechanical voice intoned. Her hands trembled on the wheel and she held her breath expectantly as the beeps seemingly reverberated throughout her storm gray vehicle.
The first one was from her best friend, Amy. “Hey, Cath! I got the tickets for the STOMP production playing at the Fox. We’ve got orchestra seats! I’m so excited! The show is at eight next Friday. Do you think Matt can stay with your sister? Call me when you get home, and we can make definite plans. Hope you passed your test with flying colors. Call me.” Tears welled in Catherine’s eyes. She blinked several times to clear her vision, causing several drops to roll down her flushed face. Amy’s voice seemed so normal, but her own life was suddenly turned upside down. Again. She briefly wondered if Amy had heard the bad news by now, until a deep masculine voice grabbed her attention.
“This is Detective Stephen Moore. I need to speak with Catherine James as soon as possible in regards to her husband. Excuse me, ex
-husband. Please call my office the minute you get this message.” Chills coursed through her body, as her mind played a multitude of channels at once.
Amy’s voice filled her ears again. This time, however, the cheerfulness was gone. “Cath! I just saw the morning news. They said Adam was found dead this morning. Cops are all over the place in the videos. Somebody finally took out the loser. One less deadbeat dad on the streets of America, is what I have to say. Thank God you were out of town last night. You know they always try to pin it on the spouse. At least you have an airtight alibi, so they won’t come looking your way. Oh, geez, here I am rambling on when Matt could get this message or be listening with you. Sorry, I went brain dead, girlfriend. I’m here when you need me, okay? I love ya, Cath.”
Numerous thoughts and feelings ravaged Catherine’s mind as the remaining messages played. Another one from the detective requesting she return his call. Followed by the coach reminding Matthew of soccer practice the next afternoon.
Catherine tapped numbers the deep voice had emblazoned upon her brain, and waited while the phone rang twice.
“Detective Moore’s desk,” said a pleasant male voice.
“Is . . . Detective Moore in?”
“He’s on another line. Can I take a message?”
“This is Catherine James. He left several messages for me to call him. I’m on my cell. I just got his messages as I was returning to town. Would you let him know I returned his call, and I’ll try again after I’ve gotten home?”
“Hold on a minute, Ms. James. I know Detective Moore has been trying to reach you. Let me put a note under his nose. I know you’re on a cell, but please wait for just a second.” Rick had been assigned to follow Moore around to learn procedures from the lead detective, as he had just passed his detective’s exam and was now partnered with one of the city’s best investigators. He knew that Moore had been trying to reach the ex-wife in the latest homicide, and wouldn’t be pleased if he let her off the phone. Waving his arm to get his superior’s attention, Rick motioned to the receiver and mouthed Catherine’s name. Moore ended his call and almost snatched the phone from him. He watched and listened as his new mentor began speaking.
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