Dear Tragedy: A Dark Supernatural Thriller (House of Sand Book 2)

by Michael J Sanford

  The man opposing Aza stared back as she wormed her way in. It was difficult at such a distance. Touching was far more conducive to her task, but it didn’t hurt to try. She couldn’t taste much of the man, just bits and pieces. Too far, too unfamiliar.

  The man broke his stare with Aza and turned back to the conversation with his lunch date. But then he laughed. It was just a short outburst at first, but soon the man fell out of his chair, onto the sticky diner floor, roaring with merriment.

  Aza grinned and clapped her hands. What fun the man was having!

  “Don, what are you doing?” his date asked.

  Even without trying, Aza could feel the woman’s embarrassment, causing Aza’s cheeks to burn.

  Everyone else in the diner took notice as well as the man slapped at the floor, laughing himself to tears, shrieking with such volume that nothing else could be heard. Nothing but the sheer joy that laughter can bring one. Aza danced in her seat. It was really quite something. What a nice change from the gloom of the hospital and its overworked staff closer to crying than laughing at any given moment.

  The woman knelt next to Don and grabbed him. “Don! Stop it! Stop it! What is the matter with you?”

  The woman’s dark cloud must have been enough to douse Don’s fervor, for in a moment, he quieted. No more joy. Just heavy breathing as he fought to find his bearings.

  Helped to his feet, Don surveyed the diner as everyone continued to look on. His face was red, awash in tears, but wrinkled in confusion.

  Aza jutted out a finger and yelled, “Ha! You pissed yourself, silly man!”

  All eyes followed Aza’s gesture to the wide, dark stain at the crotch of Don’s jeans. He muttered something incoherent, but his companion was already dragging him out of the diner. She paused only long enough to throw a fistful of cash at the nearest waitress. In a flash, they were gone. Aza watched the other patrons exchange glances as they tried to puzzle out exactly what they’d just witnessed.

  Joy, Aza thought. That’s what it was. And you’re all welcome.

  After a few minutes, the diner resumed its previous din of conversations and noisy chewing as if nothing strange had occurred. If there was one thing Aza had learned, it was that it took a lot to snap adults out of their own self-centered view of the world.

  Grace returned with Aza’s meal. She set down a plate of chocolate chip pancakes, steaming hot, and a bottle of syrup.

  Aza closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent. “No cookie?”

  “Uh, well, we don’t have any cookies. Just pie.”

  “Apple?”

  Grace sat down next to Aza. “We can talk about pie later, dear. I’d like to call your—”

  Aza thrust a finger against Grace’s lips, silencing her. “Food first. Talk later.”

  Aza pulled her finger back and attacked the stack of pancakes with an enthusiasm that would have shamed any predator.

  “Okay. Is it all right if I sit with you? Keep you company?” Grace asked.

  Aza shrugged and upended an obscene amount of syrup onto her pancakes.

  “You know my name,” Grace said. “What’s yours?”

  Aza swallowed a bite, sighed with pleasure, and reloaded her fork. “You can call me Tragedy.”

  “Oh. Is that your name? Tragedy? It’s very unusual.”

  Aza chewed wildly, languishing in the simple pleasure that was her first true meal of freedom. She didn’t count the cereal at the old man’s place, and she hadn’t eaten anything while at Daphne’s. Aza had been too…busy.

  “Where are you from, Tragedy?” Grace asked after Aza had eaten half the stack.

  “Everywhere.”

  “Where did you come from? Before I found you outside earlier?”

  Aza set aside her fork and took a long swill from a glass of water that Grace had brought with her meal. She sighed and wiped her mouth on the back of her arm. “I took a cab,” Aza said.

  “From?”

  Aza glared at Grace. “What does it matter? You want to protect me, don’t you?”

  Grace’s gaze never left Aza’s and Aza could feel the woman’s leg tremble slightly. Aza couldn’t be sure what emotion most dominated Grace, but it seemed protective. Motherly, even. Aza couldn’t remember what that felt like, but it seemed useful.

  Grace nodded. “Of course, dear. You’re just a little girl. A lost lamb.”

  Satisfied, Aza continued eating.

  “Do you have any family nearby? Someone must be worried about you. And, my dear, the clothes your wearing… Were you in a hospital?”

  Aza pounded her fist on the table. “No!” she shouted.

  Half the room turned to look at Aza. Emotions were such turbulent things.

  “That is no way to speak to me, young lady!” Grace shouted, sliding out of the booth and standing. “I only wanted to help you, but now, I am just going to have to call the police and child services. Let them deal with you!”

  Aza abandoned her unfinished pancakes and scrambled out of the booth. Snagging Grace’s arm, she wrenched the woman around to look at her. When their eyes met, Aza whispered with every ounce of venom she had, “You stupid, selfish bitch.” Grace’s eyes widened, but Aza only held her arm tighter. She had thought the woman motherly, but that had been a lie. It was a cover for a darkness within. The deeper Aza dug into people’s minds, the more of the same she found. Rage, anger, regret, jealousy. Filthy, fucking misery. Everyone. A single step from death.

  A middle-aged woman approached Aza and Grace. “What’s going on out here?” she demanded.

  Aza yanked one more time on Grace’s arm before releasing it, using her own rage to fuel Grace’s.

  “Hey, I asked you a question. What is the commo—”

  Grace spun and punched the woman in the face, toppling her over backwards. She landed on a table, sending all matter of cheap diner food in all directions.

  “You can’t talk to me that way! You can’t talk to me that way!” Grace screamed.

  From Grace, Aza could sense the darkness spreading. It pulsed outward from the quivering waitress to infect everyone else around her. Before true pandemonium could envelop the tiny dining room, Aza ducked outside, reveling in the growing chaos in her wake. She only allowed people to act on their own emotions. Grace wasn’t doing anything she hadn’t thought about a million times. Aza had merely set her free.

  An older man, stooped and gray, walking a small dog, stopped in front of the diner and Aza. The sound of bedlam was growing. Aza knelt on the sidewalk and extended her hand toward the dog. It snapped at her and backed away to hide behind its owner’s leg.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, young lady,” the man said. “Misty is usually much nicer. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” His eyes touched on Aza for a moment before moving to the diner.

  “Big fight between the workers, I guess,” Aza said with a shrug. She stood and extended a hand. “What’s your name, mister?”

  The man turned back and Aza locked him in her gaze. “Oh, you can call me Walt, if you like. And you already met Misty, though she’s being a right rascal at the moment. Really quite unusual for her.”

  Aza reached over and grabbed his hand. She shook it fiercely. “Nice to meet you, Walt. You can call me Tragedy.”

  Chapter Six

  Friday 5:56 p.m.

  Jake walked into his house to find Jaina in the middle of cooking what looked like a four-course meal. Near everything had been pulled from his cupboards to line the kitchen counter, and Jaina stood in the middle of it, holding a spatula, looking rather sheepish.

  “Like I said, it was going to be a surprise,” Jaina said.

  Jake stared at her, unmoving.

  Jaina looked around her. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean everything up when I’m done.”

  Jake never understood what had ever possessed him to give Jaina a key to his place. He understood even less their relationship from day to day. What he did understand, however, was that seeing her standing in his kitchen, covered in fl
our, her hair in a messy bun, she was the only person in the world at that moment he’d allow to be in such a position. That was about as far as he’d let his emotions go.

  “Don’t just stare at me,” Jaina said. “Come, sit, have some wine, keep me company while I slave away for you, furthering the patriarch’s grip on the world.”

  Jake shook his head and alighted on a bar stool at the kitchen island. “I’ve cooked for you more often than you for me.”

  Jaina poured a glass of wine. Handing it to Jake, she smiled and said, “I know. But I’ve done far more for you in other ways.”

  Jake accepted the glass, but didn’t drink. Instead, he set it down and leaned against the counter. “Shit, I know. You’ve risked your job and—”

  “That’s true,” Jaina said. “But not what I was referring to.”

  Jake straightened up. “Oh,” he said. Jaina may have had a key to his place, but she didn’t live with him. Though she did spend an awful lot of time hanging around, more and more as time had gone on. Jake had hardly noticed until now. And when you spend that much time with a woman as beautiful and capable as Jaina…

  “Are you blushing?” Jaina asked with a grin.

  Jake scratched as his beard. “Of course not. Your cheeks are almost on fire, though.”

  Jaina shrugged and turned back to her cooking. “I’ve had nearly a bottle of wine already. What’s your excuse?”

  Jake stood and started pacing. He had to get his mind off Jaina for a moment. It was muddying the waters.

  “Switzer is dead,” Jake said.

  Something clattered to the floor as Jaina whirled around. “What?”

  “Gerry Switzer, your missing staff member, he’s dead.”

  “How?”

  Jake hesitated, knowing full well what Jaina’s response was going to be. But in the end, he knew he needed her on his side, no matter what crackpot theories she held in regard to Aza. “Suicide,” Jake said. “Cut his wrists.”

  Jaina crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, facing Jake. “Aza did it, didn’t she?”

  Jake held up a hand toward her. “I just said he killed himself.”

  “I know what you said and you know what I mean. She may not have actually done it, but she made him do it.”

  Jake didn’t answer.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” Jaina asked, pointing a finger at him.

  Jake rocked his head from side to side. “Maybe.”

  Jaina clapped her hands together. “That bitch! I knew it. I knew she wasn’t human. She—”

  “Jae!” Jake shouted, stepping up to her and grabbing her shoulders. “She’s not a monster.”

  “But…”

  “But there are some things I should probably share with you. If you promise to help me find her.”

  “Find her? That is not my job. And, frankly, it’s not yours, either. There’s always an official investigation when one of our patients escapes. And they’re always found.”

  Jake stooped to stare intently into Jaina’s eyes. She was beautiful when Jake took the time to actually look at her. “They won’t find her.”

  Jaina shrugged out of his grasp and moved to a mixing bowl, taking to stirring its contents with a vengeance. “First off,” she said without turning from her work, “they will find her. And secondly, what makes you think you can find her if they don’t?”

  “Stubbornness, I guess.”

  Jaina slapped both hands on the counter. “I told you in the diner, no more shady bullshit from you. I won’t be your patsy anymore. And I won’t be kept in the dark when that monster is out there. Shit, poor Gerry. He was real fucking weird, but he didn’t deserve this.”

  Jake gripped the back of a stool and took a deep breath.

  Before he could muster a response, the front door swung wide open. Jake jumped, spun, and drew his pistol from his waistband.

  Peter froze in the open doorway and thrust his hands in the air. “Jesus, Dad, it’s me.”

  “Ah, shit,” Jake said, lowering his aim. His hand was shaking. He used to be so steady. “I really got to stop giving people my house key.”

  Jaina exited the kitchen and put a hand to Jake’s arm, steadying it.

  “Oh, I didn’t— I—” Peter said, shuffling awkwardly.

  “Come on in,” Jaina said with a wave of her hand. “No need to let the night air in.”

  Peter hastily shut the door, but remained near it. “Sorry, Dad, I didn’t know… Uh, maybe I missed a text or something. I’ll just go.”

  Jake looked from Jaina to Peter and sighed. He set his pistol down on the counter. “Shit. Well, you might as well come in now.”

  Jaina wiped her hands on her pants and practically skipped over to Peter. She embraced him hard enough that he came up onto his toes. Peter eyed Jake over Jaina’s shoulder, mouth hanging open. Jake just stared back. They were two separate pieces of his world, now quite literally colliding before his eyes. Jake allowed Peter to know what he needed to know. And that didn’t include Jaina. Or Aza. Or damn near anything.

  “God, Jaina, let him breathe,” Jake said. “As if this weren’t awkward enough.”

  “What’s so awkward about it?” Jaina asked, extricating herself and walking back toward the kitchen. “We’ll have plenty of food. The more the merrier.”

  Peter slowly walked over to Jake. “You should have told me you made other plans for dinner,” he whispered.

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jake said.

  “I’m Jaina, by the way,” Jaina said as she opened the oven and slid in a loaded dish that looked like lasagna. “Probably should have introduced myself before hugging you. Here, have a drink.” Jaina slammed the oven shut and poured a glass of wine for Peter.

  “Oh, uh, no thanks,” Peter said. “I guess you know who I am?”

  Jaina gestured between Peter and Jake. “You’re practically twins, albeit one of you has aged a bit more than the other.”

  Jake grabbed his glass of wine and downed it. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and cleared his throat. “Right, so, Jaina, this is Peter, my son. Peter, this is Jaina, my…friend.”

  Jaina scowled at him, but said nothing.

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jaina,” Peter said, seeming to have collected himself. “I’ve heard…well, not much at all. I actually didn’t know my dad had any…friends.” Peter elbowed Jake as he sat on a barstool.

  “He’s a bit secretive, your father, yeah?” Jaina asked. She leaned on her elbows, facing Peter directly. “He thinks it makes him mysterious and sexy, but really it’s just kind of creepy, isn’t it?”

  Peter laughed.

  “All right, enough of that,” Jake said, waving his hands in the air. “Forgive me for not running my social life by you, Peter.”

  “Hey, I don’t need any details,” Peter said with a smirk. “All you had to do was tell me you were too busy for dinner tonight.”

  Jake pointed at the satchel Peter had slung over his shoulder. “Got more info on the case?” Jake asked, eager to deflect attention from himself. Especially as it related to Jaina.

  “Oh, yeah. Got something I’d love to show you,” Peter said, spinning away from Jaina.

  Jaina sighed. “Go on then, go play detectives. I’ll finish up in here, slaving away to feed the hungry men who rule!”

  Jake ignored her and led Peter into his office. It wasn’t much more than a simple desk, computer, and pair of office chairs, but it was all he needed. Life was complicated enough. What Jake could simplify, he did, whether that meant furniture or relationships.

  Jake sat behind his desk. Peter took the other chair and slid it close. He unshouldered his bag and started rooting through its contents. “I’ve already ruled out the parents, just like you said. Zero physical evidence it was them, and their grief and horror were too genuine. I have follow-ups with a couple of their friends and neighbors just to make sure, but I’m pretty sure we’re looking for an outsider.”

  “Stranger killing?�
�

  Peter paused and looked up. “Could be. I just don’t think it was the babysitter. You looked over the bathroom, didn’t you? No evidence on her body either. Waiting on lab results, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  “I know that look. What’s your theory?”

  Peter smiled and sat back. “Way too early to know much for sure, but I don’t think it was a stranger, either. Would have been too hard to gain access to the house without evidence. And there’s no sign of struggle, which you could expect if the killer simply knocked on the door and barged in when Daphne or the babysitter opened it. No, I think Daphne knew her killer—she was obviously the primary target. And based on the security system log, I’d bet they came in together, after school. Only time any door was opened until the babysitter a bit later or the parents getting home in the morning.”

  Jake’s stomach soured. Peter was sharp, but Jake could only blame himself for that. “Okay, I’ll buy that. Doesn’t narrow it down a ton, though. Could be that the killer approached her just as she was getting home, forced her inside without violence, or came in right behind her unaware. Might be looking at a stalker. And that doesn’t explain the babysitter’s apparent suicide.”

  “Maybe she was in on it and the guilt got the best of her at the end. I haven’t quite figured her angle out yet. Been focusing on Daphne.” Peter smiled again and drew out a leather-bound notebook from his satchel. His smile widened. “The suicide is a bit of a wonky thing, but I’m still willing to put my money on someone Daphne knew. But I’ll go one step further. I’d bet it was a friend of hers.”

  Jake scoffed. “One of Daphne’s friends? Like another twelve-year-old? Hard to believe with that kind of carnage.”

  Peter tossed the book toward Jake. It landed in front of him with a thud. Jake rested his hand on the cover. “What’s this? A confession?” He forced a laugh. He felt sick.

  Peter kept grinning. “Sort of, yeah. It’s Daphne’s diary. I found it tucked away in her desk. Most of it’s pretty basic stuff with only the occasional entry. Didn’t seem to write in it a whole lot.”