Heaven's Eyes

by Jason A Anderson

  The workshop door crashed open, startling Ron out of his thoughts.

  “Dude, you gotta see this,” the newcomer called and a moment later the whole room lit up as Jake Andrews flipped on the main lights. His four-year-old Golden Lab, Sunshine, padded along right behind him.

  Blinking against the harsh change in atmosphere, Ron glared at his business partner – and best friend – and growled, “Little warning next time, please.”

  Jake waved off Ron’s rebuke, crossing to the large room’s stereo to shut off the creepy Halloween music. “Remote?” he asked, absently scratching Sunny’s muzzle.

  With a patient sigh, Ron retrieved the remote control from the top of a nearby file cabinet and tossed it to Jake.

  Snatching the remote from the air, Jake faced the large plasma screen on the far wall and switched it on.

  The harsh light reflecting off of the workshop’s dull white walls finished ruining Ron’s concentration. Shaking his head, he walked over to the shop sink and ran his hands under the cool water, cleaning the stage blood from his arms. Pink water pooled and swirled down the stainless-steel drain.

  “I finished the second half of the Mangler display,” Ron announced, turning his attention back to the television. As he dried his hands on a pink-streaked terrycloth towel, he noticed a silent news report playing out on the screen. Silent, that is, until Jake cranked up the volume.

  “--asked the neighbors if they’d seen anyone suspicious in the area. We were told that the only indication they had that anything was wrong, Harvey, was the loud sound of an engine racing away from the park,” the off-camera newscaster explained. The camera panned across the late evening view of one of Shadow Valley’s more frequented teen hangouts, Andrews’ Field.

  “What’s going on?” Ron asked, approaching the television, his eyes glued to the park that Jake’s family had donated to the city many years before.

  Jake shushed him and said over the studio reporter, “Just watch.”

  “--witnesses see what kind of car it was, Michael?”

  The report cut back to the brushed and polished newscaster on the scene and the man replied, “At this time, Harvey and Janet, we’ve only talked to one person that says they saw the car as it was speeding away. The young man describes it as...” he paused and referred to the digital tablet display in his hand, “‘an old yellow four-door that his grandpa would drive, but really loud and fast.’”

  “Sounds like something maybe my own father would have owned,” Janet interjected.

  Harvey agreed.

  “Michael, do the investigating officers have anything to go on?” she continued.

  The newscast went to a voice-over shot of an area of the park, closed off with yellow “POLICE LINE – DO NOT CROSS” police tape.

  “Unfortunately, Janet, details are sparse at this early stage.”

  The camera panned across the forms of three bodies, covered with white, blood-stained sheets.

  “We’re told that two of the victims have been identified as eighteen year olds Marsha Stevens and her boyfriend Chad Phelps.”

  At this, Jake paused the DVR’s playback and turned attention to Ron. “Recognize the names?”

  Ron shook his head.

  “They both worked for Nightmare Manor,” Jake explained, his voice thick with implied meaning.

  “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, Jake resumed the news report playback, then advanced it quickly forward.

  Reaching for the remote, Ron protested, “Wait. The report’s not over.”

  Jake’s expression turned to a scowl as he carefully watched the silent, jerky movements on the screen. For a moment, they reminded him of the absurd motion of old silent films. “They only talk about them working at the Manor and speculate if the two events might be tied together... typical small town sensationalism. Here’s the part I wanted you to see...”

  When Jake resumed normal playback, it focused on the image of a local police officer in his dark blue uniform, wearing tan latex gloves. “--we found near the bodies. It appears to be one-half of a wedding announcement.” The camera zoomed in on the torn half of a color mailer, with a very familiar woman’s face on it. “At this time, we haven’t identified the woman in the picture, but we expect to shortly. We also encourage anyone with any information about her--”. The image paused, again, but this time on the close-up of the beautiful blond woman, presumably facing her intended, but now staring at a jagged vertical tear.

  Stunned at the revelation, Ron only gaped at the frozen image. “That’s Taya!” he exclaimed in a whisper.

  That’s when he noticed something in Jake’s hand that he hadn’t seen before. He accepted the proffered item: a torn half of the couple’s wedding announcement, this time of Jake, love in his eyes as he smiled at... nothing.

  Closing his left eye, Ron held the photo up in his left hand, placing it in his field of view, beside the frozen image on the screen. Even though they didn’t line up with exactness, due to the angle of the shot, they matched up enough to convince the effects man they were a set. “Where’d this come from?”

  More movement beside him drew Ron’s attention back to his best friend, who now held up an Express mailing envelope. “It showed up this morning. No return address.” From the somber tone in Jake’s voice, Ron knew this disturbed his friend as much as it did him.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the Northwest Coast autumn temperature sent a shiver of fear from the soles of his feet to the top of Ron’s head.

  “The way I see it, you really only have one option,” Ron decided. He turned and walked back to his workbench. After a quick visual spot-check, he turned off his work light, then turned back to his friend.

  Jake stood there, the TV off, waiting. “Let’s go,” he agreed, not quite so patient as Sunny.

  “I’ll drive.”

  Forcing a grin, Jake slapped Ron on the back as they vacated the studio.

  “Sunny,” Jake called the dog and her ears perked up at the sound of her name, “Go play.”

  Like a child set loose to play on a favorite playground, Sunny barked once, then charged off onto the estate grounds.

  “Can you drop me off at Sirius Sound on the way? The Raptor’s done,” Jake asked as they hurried down the walkway of paver stones to the multi-car garage.

  Ron took out his keys, leading Jake to the bright red Tesla roadster in the driveway. He had left the top down when he arrived this morning, but the sun hadn’t been up long enough to make the leather seats uncomfortable.

  “I think we should probably talk to the cops first, then decide what else to do later,” Ron replied, climbing in behind the wheel.

  “Fair enough,” Jake agreed, settling in beside him. “When was the last time you juiced this thing up?”

  Ron shook his head. He knew that Jake didn’t take the all-electric car seriously, but he was determined to one day change his friend’s mind.

  “Last night.”

  “‘Cuz the last thing I want is to have to get out and push,” Jake continued to heckle.

  Ron tapped the large “D” on the center console and flattened the accelerator pedal. The red two-seater leaped forward like a scalded cat, bringing a smile to its owner’s lips.

  “Think the killings will have any effect on the Centennial?” Ron asked.

  Jake shook his head. “Hope not,” he replied. “Lots of people have sunk lots of cash into it.”

  “What if this turns out to be a replay of Nightmare Manor? Can we afford to take that risk?”

  Scowling, Jake said, “I don’t know, but it’s not in our hands. If the county heads decide to cancel the Centennial, I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.”

  As they approached the local Police precinct office, Jake’s banter dried up and he grew silent. Wi
th a wordless grumble that sounded more like a grunt, he pulled himself out of the low-slung sports car. With envelope in hand, and joined by his best friend, the duo headed into the station, out of the blazing sun.

  Inside the building’s air conditioned walls, it took little effort to attract an intense amount of attention to them. Jake only had to flash the torn photo and mention the news report a couple of times and before he knew it he sat in an interview room, facing a pudgy detective and a massive mirror beyond him. The questioning started out simple enough, clarifications on who he was, why he was there, what the picture was of and how the torn piece came to him. The envelope and picture disappeared for a few minutes. When it returned, now bagged and tagged with an evidence barcode, Jake sat at a cold metal table. After a few minutes of question topics looping back on each other, the mood of the interview shifted without warning.

  “Tell me about,” the detective glanced at the folder of notes on the table, “Nightmare Manor.”

  Jake sighed and began a rehearsed explanation of the events that had transpired on Halloween night three years earlier.

  The detective waved him into silence. “That’s not what I mean. I’ve reviewed the file. I know what it says here, and apparently, so do you. What I want to know is how you managed to avoid any responsibility for what happened.”

  A scowl creased Jake’s brow.

  “I’m not sure what you mean. Trent and I were both found innocent of any crimes. Doesn’t it say that in your file, there?” he demanded.

  The detective closed the manila folder and then entwined his fingers together and rested his hands on it.

  “How does this have anything to do with me getting a torn up wedding invitation in the mail?” Jake couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the pale blue walls were closing in. The light above the table felt sharper, painful on the eyes. He could feel his face begin to flush with heat, despite the cool air pumping in.

  A smile that held no humor trickled onto the detective’s face.

  “Exactly what I was wondering.”

  Before more could be said, the digital lock for the interview room door bleeped.

  The detective straightened in astonishment as three men entered the room.

  “Jakob Andrews, don’t say another word.”

  Jake about fell over from a mix of astonishment and relief.

  Nicholas James, leading his ever-present shadow, Alexander, and another man Jake didn’t recognize, halted beside the metal table, all attention on the detective.

  The detective had to lean back to avoid being lorded over by the newcomers.

  “What’s going on here? You can’t come in here!”

  “My name is Nicholas James. I Chair the SIN organization. The man to my left is my personal assistant, Mr. Alexander and to my right is one of our corporate attorneys, Mr. Jackson. He’s here on behalf of Mr. Andrews.”

  Behind the trio, two more detectives entered the room. Jake recognized them as Detectives Taylor and Mendez, the two men who tried in vain to cut short the terror which had unfolded at Nightmare Manor.

  “Sorry, Vance. Your interview is over. He’s ‘lawyered up’,” the short, burly Detective Mendez growled from the back of the crowd.

  The arrival of four men that he had familiarity with went a long way to easing Jake’s anxiety.

  “Nick!” he exclaimed, “when did you get to town?”

  Nick nodded to Jake and said, “Come on, let’s go.”

  With a smug grin at Detective Vance, Jake stood and followed his three rescuers out of the interview room.

  Nick refused to talk until they had successfully wound their way through the halls to the lobby of the precinct building.

  “Jake!” Ron exclaimed and stood up from one of the rooms many padded benches. “I thought they’d decided to lock you up.”

  Taking a cleansing breath, Jake replied, “Not funny.”

  Ron’s teasing grin never wavered, but Jake sensed a tension behind his friend’s eyes.

  “I need you two to meet me back at my office,” Nick told them.

  Ron glanced at Nick as the five of them headed for the exit. “You still keeping that office open? I thought you’d closed up shop out here,” he said.

  They emerged into the glaring sun and Nick put on a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses. “The office is closed up, but we kept the lease open on it. The dust bunnies have been breeding madly, but once we get them all evicted and have the online services restarted, it’ll be like we never left.”

  “Cool,” said Ron.

  “Ron and I are gonna stop off at Sirius Sound to pick up my truck, then we’ll meet over there,” Jake said and followed Ron over to the roadster.

  With a wave, Nick agreed, “Don’t take too long. We’ve got a lot to discuss.” Then he, Alexander and Mr. Jackson walked over and climbed into a bright yellow stretched Hummer H1. A few moments later, the rig pulled out of the parking lot and crawled up the street.

  From behind the wheel, Ron said, “So, Nick James is back.”

  Jake nodded and climbed in beside Ron.

  “I guess so.”

  Chapter 7

  “Full Circle”

  The local office for the Special Investigations Network, or SIN, as those “in the know” referred to it, resided in a nondescript two-story space in the original Shadow Valley Towne Square. Renovated during the office’s down time, SIN also had run of the office spaces to each side. The ancillary offices remained empty.

  Standing in the main conference room, Nick James ran a well-used rag over the massive wood table that dominated the space. His mobile phone lay in one of the clean spots, set to ‘hands free’ mode.

  “OK, so you’re saying that you can’t restore service to this location for over a week?” he asked.

  “That is correct, sir,” said a female voice from the phone’s tiny speaker.

  Nick paused his cleaning and stared at the phone. “See, that’s absurd. You’re not running new lines or anything. I paid good money to have top-of-the-line hardware installed when I opened this office.”

  “I understand, sir, but your service has been off for more than a year. When that happens, our policy is that it needs to be reviewed by our Services Manager before access can be restored.” The woman sounded pained, like she’d had this conversation before and it never ended well.

  “Is the Services Manager there?” Nick asked.

  “No, the Services Manager is not at this office, sir.”

  “Is he, or she, even based out of your location?” A few seconds of silence passed, after which Nick began to nod. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered.

  “No, sir, the Services Manager is not located at this facility,” came the reluctant reply.

  “Miss, can I ask you a question?” Nick asked in his kindest voice.

  An audible sigh emitted from the device, then the woman replied, “Sure.”

  “Are you an actual employee of the company, or am I talking to a call center?”

  “I work for the company, sir,” came her quick reply.

  “That’s what I thought. So, bargaining with you does me no good,” said Nick.

  “Exactly, sir,” the woman agreed, relief evident in her voice.

  Nick took a few moments to stare out the conference room’s bay windows at the lush green mountains only a few miles away. Nestled in a mountain range, Shadow Valley had spectacular views every direction he looked.

  “So, about a week?” he asked at last.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In that case, discontinue this order. I’ll explore other options.”

  “Uh... are you sure, sir?” The woman didn’t sound like she believed him.

  “Thank you for your patience. Goodbye.” Before she replied, Nick reached over and d
isconnected the call. Absently, he fidgeted with the rag in his hands, then looked over at the hallway through the open door. “Amy!” he called.

  Before Nick’s executive assistant appeared, a streak of boundless energy in the form of a two-year-old boy careened into the room. His blond hair and tan skin reminded Nick of the boy’s mother, though his sneakers, denim overalls and red t-shirt seemed a little woodsy to Nick. He wasn’t sure what the boy’s father would say, when he saw him.

  Amy nimbly avoided a collision with the child at the conference room doorway.

  “You bellowed?” she asked.

  Nick shook his head as the little boy vanished up the hall. “If I could harness the energy in that kid’s little finger...” he muttered to himself, then said, “Can you please get Spencer in IT on the line. Tell him I need satellite access for this location as soon as possible. If he has any questions or concerns, let him know I’ll be available to talk to him in a couple hours.”

  With a nod, Amy left the room, pulling her mobile from her pocket as she went.

  “Anybody home?” Nick heard Jake’s voice echo from the front of the office.

  “Here we go,” Nick muttered to himself and followed the voice.

  Jake and Ron stood in the reception area, looking around at the scattered boxes cluttering the space. “Man, you weren’t kidding about the dust bunnies! Look at this place,” he said, pointing to the dirt-streaked windows facing the road.

  “Anything we can help you with?” Ron asked from where he leaned against the empty receptionist desk.

  Nick was able to say, “Actually–” before he was again interrupted by the small boy, who came bounding into the room.

  Jake saw the boy and froze.

  “Uncle Niiiick,” the child called in a singsong voice. Then he saw Jake. He peered at the man for a few breaths, then threw his arms wide. “Daddy!” he yelled and charged into Jake’s stunned grasp.