by Brandon Enns
The Night is Cold
Brandon Enns
Copyright © 2016 Brandon Enns
Registered with Writer’s Guild of Canada 2016
All rights reserved
Published by Brandon Enns 2018
No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Under no circumstances may any part of this book be photocopied for resale.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.
Cover Design by ebooklaunch.com
For Mom,
Add another one to the fridge.
1
January 2018. Ottawa.
Corporal Jennifer Allen sat at the far end of a boardroom table with her hands rested in her lap. At the other end sat three senior officers looking down at files. She reached into a Styrofoam cup and pulled out a red Smartie and popped it into her mouth. The candy coating cracked between her teeth, distracting her from split-polled stares of criticism and condemnation.
Her desire for something greater in the line of duty had been answered. The Satanist had entered her life and flipped it upside down. He had killed, and she had chased.
Jennifer surveyed the room, examining the provincial flags and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police plaques mounted on the east and west walls. The man at the head of the table stared at her with judgmental eyes. No matter what information she divulged, he would take a negative stance on it. She didn't blame him, given everything that actually happened.
She did her best to mask her intense nervousness.
"Corporal Allen, this should be our last session, and we have a lot of ground to cover. I would prefer that these matters be officially concluded by day’s end, and if we're going to do that, you need to give us concrete answers."
Jennifer nodded, anticipating a slew of questions she couldn't answer.
He continued, "I'll be frank. The disconnect between you and Sergeant Peters is concerning, to say the least."
"Staff Sergeant Peters." She wasn't sure why she was defending the man's credentials. After all, he wasn't the most inspiring and honorable leader she had come across. Far from it.
The man scowled and looked down at the file in front of him. "His early retirement after...The Satanist.” He huffed out the coined name with a sigh. Jennifer could tell he detested using it. We need you to help us fill in the blanks, Ms. Allen. Your full disclosure is required."
Ms. Allen. No Corporal. Nice jab, Mr. Asshole.
"Well, to touch on his departure from the RCMP...you're asking me to talk about something that is most likely personal. Maybe you should be asking his wife, Susan?"
Clearly displeased with the response, he carried on. "Did Sergeant Peters have knowledge directly applicable to Baker's case? And is it also true that this information was withheld from the RCMP for his own personal gain?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"You two had disagreements on the case?"
"He and I simply saw things differently. Obviously, he called the shots. I just did as I was told."
One of the other senior officers interjected. "Is that what happened when you were on full suspension? Did as you were told?"
Jennifer's mind traveled elsewhere. Her horrid experiences that had been following her grabbed hold and squeezed. The Satanist was there in her mind, and he was smiling.
2
Winter. 2006.
Tanner Pearson's flowing black hair and pretty-boy grin would place any young woman under his spell. Well, any woman adrift, pursuing a degree for reasons unknown, under the age of twenty-three, and attending Outlaws Country Bar Friday and Saturday, missing church on Sunday. In a hotel conference room flooded with Christmas decorations, everyone wore Christmas sweaters, except for Tanner. He wore a navy blue suit.
Tanner sat up at the bar looking over the shoulder of a nervous, cute blonde. The less attention he paid her, the more she played with her hair. His sights were set on the brunette standing over by the entrance and laughing with a couple of friends. Her smile provided the room with a comforting energy.
Finally, their eyes met. Tanner slammed back his drink and excused himself from the blonde’s company. His rude and aloof visit would presumably leave her wanting him even more.
He walked past the brunette, collected his coat from the rack, and headed outside into the Saskatchewan winter. The wind stung his face immediately. Tanner slid his hood up and pulled the drawstrings tight to shield himself. A car grumbled and barely started in the parking lot.
The sky was so damn clear. Ordinarily unobservant of such things, he was caught off guard by it. The stars shimmered
brightly, descending down upon him. He despised the cold weather. He had always had dreams of going to college in the States, maybe California, but given his last name, there was no chance that would happen.
Tanner's dad was Dwight Pearson, agriculture tycoon running for premier of Saskatchewan. He would bring an economy-first mentality that would get the province out of the hole and allow for immense prosperity by the end of his tenure. Or so thought most of the folks in those parts.
Tanner turned around to avoid the harsh wind and was startled by a smack on the ass. The brunette.
"Where you going?" she asked.
"I thought we were going."
She glanced behind herself.
"Come on. What's the problem?" he asked.
"I shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"You know why." She shook her head, looking down shamefully at the snow beneath her feet.
"Come on...let's go to your place then."
"We can't. My parents are up for the weekend."
"My place it is."
The problem with Tanner's place was that it was also Kyle's place-her boyfriend and Tanner's best friend.
"I shouldn't," she said halfheartedly, not at all committed to her rejection.
"I think we've already broken the rules."
"I know, but your place is Kyle's place."
"He's on a road swing. He plays all weekend. Not coming home until late tomorrow night."
She was denying him with more assertion than usual.
"I don't know. He's been weird lately. You think he knows something?"
"Not a chance. No one knows, seriously. Come on. My bed is expecting sex tonight."
"It feels really wrong now though."
She was toying with him, a subtle smirk hanging on the edge of formation. It was going to be a fun night.
"Wrong. Say that to me again."
"You're the worst." She tucked her hair behind her ear with a sexy smirk.
"It's so wrong. I've been bad. Have you been bad?" he pressed on.
The brunette looked back toward the hotel entrance again to see if anyone was looking. She sighed and laughed. The coast was clear, and she turned back to Tanner. "I've been bad."
They kissed there in the parking lot, the snowing wind blowing their hair around wildly, their promiscuous hearts hot with fire.
***
Eli Baker sat in his Buick LeSabre smoking a cigarette with the window cracked open. He looked out at a bungalow home and enjoyed another long drag from his cigarette. The tho
ught of doing what he was about to do was almost too exciting. He had to
remain calm.
He pulled focus from the house and examined the rest of the street. There was no activity, just him and the night. He liked it that way. The moon was full and this reconfirmed Eli's decision. He was one for serendipitous omens and
opened himself up to their suggestions. His fingertips tingled, as he felt a power greater than himself and welcomed it with open arms.
Finally, his desired package arrived on site. Tanner Pearson exited the driver side, a young woman from the other. This had been a concern. It would be simpler if she wasn't there. She made him sick to his stomach, a vile taste forming in his mouth. She was a disgusting whore that needed to be cleaned over and over again. A simple shower would not suffice. To rid her of all her indiscretions she would have to be scrubbed with hydrogen peroxide and a wire brush, peeling a layer of flesh. As strong as his disdain was for her, it was greater for Tanner Pearson. Much, much greater. He staggered out of his car, clearly drunk.
They both entered the house, but he had to remain seated for now. He dropped his cigarette butt and lit another. He sucked in the delicious poison while a hardening formation took place against his denim. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, the cold air still rushing to his face through the slightly rolled down window.
Eli awoke to the sound of an approaching vehicle. Shit. He jolted upright, causing the cigarette cherry to drop to his lap and burn him. After squirming around to avoid the burn, he checked his rearview mirror to find a car pulling a U-turn and peeling out, the back tires spinning on ice.
He was now alert. Eli watched another car pull up to Pearson's driveway. A yellow cab. Shortly after, the front door opened. Out came the demon brunette after her fill of adultery, her disgusting carnal desires satisfied. She hopped into the cab and off she went, leaving Eli, Tanner, and what was yet to come.
After ensuring the other vehicle had left, he grabbed a wooden unmarked baseball bat from the back seat. He reached into the glove box for baseball gloves and put them on. Eli stepped out of his car and did another double take down the street to ensure there were no late-night witnesses. He pulled a black ski mask over his head. He looked down at his hands, squeezing the gripless bat. Eli glanced into the rearview mirror to get a look at his face. No more fantasy.
Eli approached the house calmly. The front door was unlocked, no lockpick required. He turned the doorknob slowly, cracking the door open. He stepped inside and removed his shoes at the front mat. Footprints aside, the thought of dirty footwear on the carpet made him twitch, like nails on a chalkboard. He entered the living room and took notice of how disorganized it was, blankets and dishes were strewn about. He spotted a half-open door at the end of the hall. Each step toward it grew more surreal than the last. He cracked the door open slowly and found a snoring drunk.
I'm finally here. I'm here for you, Tanner Pearson.
He bent at the knees and arched his back to strike the young man down in his sleep. As he cocked the bat back for the kill, there was movement. Tanner lifted his head as Eli came down with the bat. Tanner rolled off the bed, dodging the strike.
Eli needed light now.
He closed the bedroom door and the blinds covering the bedroom window before flicking the light on. To his surprise, Tanner had not even gathered himself to his feet to fight back.
"Take whatever you want!" There was a stupidity in his eyes. Eli wanted to pluck them out with fish hooks. Tanner's
blanket was still wrapped around him. He looked like a child.
Eli crept in close, the sound of bargaining that followed was laughable. "Listen, listen. My dad is a powerful man. I know a lot of people say that in situations like this, but it's true! Please. Just tell me what you want."
"Your father is Dwight Pearson. Going for premier must be exciting for you and your family. It looks as though he will succeed."
The room fell silent as Tanner was not sure what to say, his dumbfounded face darkly comical. The thought of blood all over the white walls made Eli shudder, goosebumps crawling all over his hardened body.
Eli realized he hadn't said anything for quite a while, staring down at the helpless Tanner.
"I won't say anything about this, I swear. I won't tell my dad shit if you don't want. I can get money to you without anyone knowing. Seriously man, put the bat down. How much we talkin'?"
More bargaining. There was no monetary value that would provide him with the satisfaction he required. Pearson was such a fool. Not a thought of any importance in his simple head.
The anticipation of striking him had brought an unexpected smile to Eli's face as he continued creeping forward, cornering Tanner. His eyes widened. "Please."
Eli turned, pretending to leave. "Okay."
Eli turned back around and hit him in the arms that Tanner had thrown up to block his face. The crack of the blow still did significant damage. Another strike thudded against Tanner's shin bone, and he screamed in pain, reaching toward the injury. In doing so, he left himself exposed for a
bat swing to the face. Teeth folded outward like a split pomegranate, his mouth unhinged as he tried to mutter something, but there was no mouth left to speak. Eli reached back and clocked him one more time, Tanner’s teeth exploding out of his mouth, blood splattering against the wall just like he had imagined. He kept swinging. He couldn't stop. He hit and he hit. The thudding soon became a mushy splattering sound. His arms were on fire and his breath was hard and fast. Finally, he stopped.
Eli wiped away the blood from his eyes and released a euphoric sigh. He stared at Tanner's dead body, a jellied sponge substance leaking out of his skull.
He left.
It appeared there was not another soul in sight, so he crossed the street and climbed into his beloved Buick LeSabre.
As he drove away, he slid a cassette into the player. Patsy Cline's “Three Cigarette's in an Ash Tray” played. He lit a cigarette.
There was more work to be done and details to iron out. That bothered him. He had acted without a structured plan in place. It was unprofessional of him, but those urges...
The cigarette tasted better this time around.
3
October 2016.
Eli was thankful for his mattress. It's not that he had expected a soft memory foam, but he feared he'd lay on a concrete slab, causing his back all kinds of grief. His prison had it just right though. Firm.
The Saskatchewan Federal Penitentiary was located in Prince Albert. Maximum-medium security. It had been no cake walk. Since his conviction for the murder of Tanner Pearson, he’d had his fair share of pressure from gangs, the Native Syndicate in particular. With a life sentence on his ledger, Eli had to consider the possibility of spending the rest of his life there.
Standing alone, fighting in chaotic brawls, always proving himself, spending time in solitary, it all had him second-guessing his plan.
He hoped his scheme for escaping prison would materialize, but it looked as though his desired result may never come. It was difficult for him to cope with something that was no longer in his hands.
Eli's cell was excessively tidy, even on his cellmate's side.
Eli was reading a book titled, Crucial Conversations while making notes. It was interesting to learn how formulaic and simplistic dialog could be laid out. But Eli knew he could follow every guideline and still come up short in any encounter with another human being, no matter the situation. This particular book focused on high-stakes, pivotal, momentous moments in one's life. It didn't help that the
advice was more tailored toward business settings. What about the everyday skill-set of understanding and conversing with other people? He needed a formula for that and their library was somewhat limited. It was strange there was a book on business in the archives. There weren’t many corporate felons within those walls, if any.
His cellmate, Owen, frowned at him. He sat up and turned to face Eli. Owen looked six feet ta
ll when sitting.
"Hey, what's with that?" he asked.
Eli brushed his hand over his stubbled scalp.
"I like understanding things."
"Why you writing?"
"For analysis."
Owen squinted and read the title aloud. His flat eyes turned worried with the dip of an eyebrow. "You're not having a conversation with someone else though?"
"I don't intend to."
"Why are you reading that then?" Big Owen sounded like a panicked child.
Eli sighed. He had an important decision upcoming. He had hoped he could discover a way in which to survive on a third option, one that didn't involve joining the Native Syndicate. The book he was reading wouldn't translate over to his particular social setting. He had the wrong audience.
"We're okay still. Right?" asked Owen.
"Yes, we're okay."
"You're not just saying that though? You'd tell me if somethin' was up?"
Eli kept his eyes on his book.
"We make a good team. Don't you think? I think so. Don't you?"
"We do."
Owen stood and yanked the book out of Eli's hands. Eli stared into his massive chest. "You're not listening to me again," said Owen.
Eli rose and looked up, passed the mountainous muscle, up along a scarred chin, landing on Steve's desperate eyes. "Don’t worry yourself. You don't need another attack. You can relax."
He exhaled and shook his head. "Okay."
"I'm going to return to my book," said Eli.
"I liked it better when you read the Bible."
Eli glanced at the Bible on the foot of his bed. "Those that believe in servitude to an ancient deity in hopes of extending their spiritual existence...they're selfish and indecent. People's motivations...they never cease to amaze me. Eternity with a white-bearded man in the clouds is the only thing separating people from rape and pillage."
