The Uninvited
Page 2
Mustn’t let in the ants.
Streetlights shone in through partially opened curtains of the now-storm-dampened interior, otherwise the trailer was dark. He glanced outside, and saw another shadow shamble past the trailer. It was going to be a busy night, indeed. The shadow continued on down to the next home. Tiger returned to his task and entered the short, dark corridor, hand still in pocket. It was almost done. Just had to muscle through it and everything would be alright.
Finito.
Tiger passed the first door to his right and a second to his left. The first one opened into a darkened-but-empty room (he saw by filtered streetlight and flashes of lightening), and the second, on his left, was a night-light-illuminated bathroom, a small circle of light highlighting sea shells that filled a small glass container by the night-light. He continued on to the closed door ahead; grasped the handle and slowly twisted it open.
Entering the room, he closed the door behind him. You couldn’t be too careful... had to close things up and be tidy, before, during, and after. He knew about tidy, though his present condition might well belie any such knowledge. He knew from a previous life. A life he didn’t think much about, and, in all reality, couldn’t. His memory wasn’t as good as it used to be. It was all ancient history, now, anyway. Had been replaced by howling winds—and all that wailing and screaming—which had left little in their wake. All he remembered now was sand and wind... and horses... horses that thundered across wide open spaces, or wherever it was those charging beasts thundered across... those things, he remembered. But he’d get the job done, and the streetlights would help, the ants’ welts would help, and so would the broken and jagged remains of a Chateau St. Michelle Chardonnay that at one time went so well with crab, poultry, and scallops, and which he now withdrew from his pocket. It didn’t matter if they stayed asleep, but it would certainly help things along.
As he raised the broken bottle overhead, there was another explosive clap of thunder, and bright unnerving discharges of lightning chained across an angry night sky. Tiger had a momentary glimpse of the two aging lives he was about to take. They slept, hugging each other under their blankets and comforter. Like the ant bites, it made little impact on him—well, except for that tiny whimpering part, deep inside, still pleading for him to not do this—but he had to. Had no choice. The wind, the sand, and the tortured wailing all compelled him on... he had to make right what had been wronged, oh, so very long ago...
Chapter Two
1
Kacey Miller, tote bag, recorder, and notepad in tow, collected herself after clearing the stucco wall and landing in the Brunfelsia pauciflora and Calliandra emarginata, which surrounded the Safe Harbor Retirement Community, and spattered rain water remnants onto her face and clothes. As she looked back from where she’d come, she spotted a delivery truck driving past that declared “Guilty Pleasures!”, a picture of a woman eating a pear on its side. Wincing, she anxiously made her way across the reflective, moisture-laden asphalt and through the deserted police cruisers, their silent, still-flashing lights painting surreal, patriotic colors everywhere. It was just after two in the morning, and haze obscured the streetlights, buildings, and trees in the fresh dampness that followed the storm that had just pummeled the area. People were supposed to be asleep... but not here. Here were all kinds of activity and flashing lights, and here Kacey Miller was trying to sneak an interview or two from those who had made it through some horrible massacre, the likes of which she was sure this sleepy little town had never seen before. Thank God for insomnia, Radio Shack, and cheap scanners. Kacey was almost shaking with anticipation as she continued to—unbelievably—thread her way closer and closer to the clubhouse. The scent of the recently passed thunder boomer remained strong in the air, lightning still flashed in the distance, and she thought, what a tragic dichotomy: the beautiful and cleansing power and smell of nature set against the backdrop of a heinous crime. If what she’d heard were true, this was big news, and she was first on the scene. First. The Sunset Harbor Gazette had to give her a job after this one... had to. Why, the sheer magnitude of it all... who would do such a thing? What was their motive? Where had they—
Two pairs of hands reached out from the darkness, and Kacey near jumped out of her skin. She found herself staring into the quite unimpressed faces of two of Sunset Harbor’s finest.
“Well, aren’t we quite the persistent ace-cub-reporter-wannabe?”, came the voice from behind.
Grimacing, Kacey immediately slumped both her shoulders and her enthusiasm.
“Oh, come on, Fisher...,” she said, rolling her eyes skyward.
Kacey turned to meet Detective Thomas Fisher, Sunset Harbor’s Special Operations Bureau crime scene investigator. He always seemed to get in her way. Or something like that.
“You gotta let me in, c’mon. This is big. This could really make it for me—”
Detective Fisher nodded to the two officers, who released her and returned to their previous duty, shaking their heads as they made their way back toward the clubhouse. Fisher pulled Kacey off to the side.
“Look, we only just got here—don’t you have anything better to do this time of night, for God’s sake?”
Kacey looked up at him. “No.”
“Yeah, well, knowing you, you’re probably right. Ms. Miller... this is serious—it’s a mess in there, and we haven’t even gotten up the tape, yet—”
“So, it’s true, then? Are there any survivors? Who did this?”
Fisher escorted her farther back into the shadows. “You know you’re not even supposed to breathe the same air as me and my department, so will you back off a bit? Huh? Let us do our job? Then... then we’ll see what I can give you? Okay?”
Kacey stared back at him. Of course not, but he didn’t have to know.
“Okay.”
Fisher looked away, exasperated, then stuck one end of his cell phone in her face.
“Look—you get caught, that’s it—I can’t keep helping you out any more. You’re on your own—then onto your next town, got it?”
“Got it,” she said, wincing, but pulling out her notepad.
Fisher let out a long sigh. “We really don’t know what happened, okay?, we just got here. I got people all over this place, still pulling out suspects—or survivors—we can’t quite tell them all apart, yet—and you keep my name out of this!”
Kacey nodded, scribbling furiously. Without missing a beat she crossed out Fisher’s name, rapt attention focused on his every word.
Fisher expelled another sigh between clenched teeth.
“Shit. It appears as if a group of unknowns walked into this place then went on a no-holds-barred killing spree.”
Fisher stared off into the darkness.
“It’s like they’re drugged or something... we’re finding them just sitting or walking aimlessly about—confused.”
“Confused?”
“Like they don’t know where they are or what they did.”
Fisher paused.
“Okay, that’s it, get outta here—”
“What?”
“Don’t push it, Miller, or I swear—”
“Are you telling me these people just walked in off the street and went house-to-house, killing everyone in a mass-murderous funk?”
Fisher stared at her long and hard.
“You don’t seem to understand me. I’m not telling you anything.”
Fisher made a move to leave, but Kacey grabbed him. When he turned back to her his look actually frightened her.
“I’m not kidding. This is serious—the biggest thing we’ve ever had to deal with around here—or anywhere else, for that matter—and now I have to find enough jail space to store all these creeps.”
“They killed everyone in here, didn’t they,” she said more as a statement than a question.
Fisher turned away and disappeared back into the crime scene.
“Wow.”
Kacey stood, stunned, looking after Fisher as he walked off
into the darkness. Then she remembered why she was there and quickly went to her gear. She looked up just in time to see an elderly couple leave the clubhouse, arm in arm. Hitching her gear back up onto her shoulders, she hurriedly made her way toward them, but remained in the shadows. She really didn’t want to piss off Fisher any more... at least, not so soon, anyway...
The air smelled clean and fresh. There was a gentle balmy breeze playing over the tops of Slash Pine, Coconut palms, and Desert Cassia, as Kacey tried to stay hidden in the shadows, skirting around the parking lot, tracking the couple. She also tried to avoid the cops that continued to pour into this tiny little community, a community that—until a few minutes ago—had always kept a low, quiet, profile. Kacey picked up her pace. If she didn’t act soon, she was going to lose the pair into the darkness and presence of more Sunset Harbor Police and state troopers.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” Kacey hailed, in a loud whisper. Reshuffling her gear, she emerged from the shadows, casting wary glances toward the cops. The couple stopped, turned, and the man immediately took up a defensive posture.
“Thank you,” Kacey said, catching her breathe. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I’m with the Sunset Harbor Gazette—would you mind if I had a word with you?”
The couple looked to each other. They had to easily be at least in their seventies, but Kacey was amazed at how fit they looked for their ages. Trim. These two were definitely not push-overs by any stretch. The man stood ramrod straight. He had a severe white crew cut capping a rough face. His wife, somewhat shorter, also stood straight, but she couldn’t hide the fatigue as well as her husband and had nowhere near the fire in her eyes. The man’s intensity unnerved Kacey as he sized her up.
What had those aging eyes seen over his lifetime?
The man’s voice was weary, though authoritative.
“We saw you with the detective,” he said. “Ma’am... we’re really tired and have nothing more to say.” They turned to leave.
“Sir—ma’am,” Kacey insisted, appealing to the woman as she jumped directly into their path, hands upraised in a non-threatening—pleading—way. “I really don’t mean to impose—I don’t—and I know I can’t possibly understand the magnitude of what you’d both just been through—”
Kacey stopped dead in her tracks. As she looked to the couple’s shadowy and disheveled appearance, she realized that what appeared to be splotches of mud were actually blood.
“My God... are you two all right?”
At a loss for words, Kacey extended a hand toward them. They both backed away. Kacey then pointed across to the community’s entranceway, toward the main street, where she’d parked her car.
“I-I’m... so sorry... would... would you like a ride to wherever you’re going? My car’s right over there—”
“We’re fine, ma’am, really” the seventy-something-year-old-man said.
“Okay... look, I really don’t mean to intrude, and promise not to take up much of your time... but this is the biggest thing this town has ever seen—and you two survived it. Are you planning on heading home?”
“Where else can we go?” the woman asked.
“You don’t really want to spend the rest of the night, here, do you? Wouldn’t you rather get away from all this for a little while?
“Look,” Kacey said, dropping as much pretense as possible, “I understand you’ve been through a lot—let me take you away from here—just until you get your heads together.”
There was a pause as the three sized up each other.
“Well,” the woman finally said, looking to her husband, “the detective did say they were still going through our home.”
Kacey could see it in her eyes; she felt the man could probably have done it—had probably already done plenty worse during his lifetime—but when he looked into his wife’s eyes she saw him immediately cave.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
2
Kacey couldn’t believe she’d actually had possibly the only surviving members of the Safe Harbor murders in her apartment. Before they’d even left the parking lot they’d introduced themselves as Jack and Hedda Hocker. Kacey’d had a couple beach towels in her trunk—never knew when the urge to stop at a beach would strike—and threw them over the seats for the couple to sit on, given their... condition. Though she drove what was quickly becoming known as a “beater” car, Kacey didn’t really want to include blood stains on the car’s list of characteristics. On the way home, Kacey’d discovered that Hedda had been a nurse during the Korean War, where she and Jack had met, had taken to raising their two kids once married, and was currently active in many community activities. Jack was a thirty-three-year Marine Corps Master Gunnery Sergeant veteran retired many years, now a gun shop owner. Kacey’s dad had been Navy, and though she no longer remembered the details of the rank structure, knew “Gunny Sergeants” were pretty high up there.
Back at her apartment, at the Coral Gables Estates, Kacey helped the couple clean up and into some old sweats she’d had, and was amazed at the extent of their injuries, though, luckily, all were superficial. Jack Hocker had cuts and scrapes all along his arms, on his face, and was developing some nice purple-and-yellow bruising, but Hedda was none the worse for wear, having been spared any direct contact with the assailants. Jack and Hedda’s clothes were also torn in places and covered with splotches of blood. Kacey had a scare—only once—when Hedda had been using her bathroom and she realized she was alone with Jack for the first time. She began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d been wrong—and these two had actually been part of the murder spree—the only two who had gotten away by lying to police. Her fears, however, were quickly laid to rest once Hedda returned from her shower.
“Oh, this feels so much better—thank you, Kacey,” Hedda said. “I don’t know if I could have really done that, going back to our place just then. We really appreciate this.”
Jack looked on lovingly to his wife, obviously pleased at her much revitalized demeanor. “You look wonderful, hon,” he said.
“How about we all move into the living room—such as it is,” Kacey suggested, directing them into the adjacent extension of her dining area, “and I’ll bring in some coffee?”
Jack got up and took his wife’s arm, while Kacey got the coffee and followed them in.
“Okay... do you mind if I were to now ask a couple questions?”
Both shook their heads.
Kacey looked down to her notes. As she picked up her pen she found herself trembling and hoped they didn’t notice. Nerves, first-time jitters, or maybe just a realization of the magnitude of what had happened to this couple, it hit Kacey that this was no longer just some silly little game to get her name into print. This was real life and real people she was messing with. What she said, and how she said it, would probably affect this couple for the rest of their lives. She had to be mindful of that.
Calming herself, she inhaled and said, “Now, I realize what you’ve just been through was probably the most horrific event either of you’ve ever experienced, but could you please tell me what happened?”
Hedda sipped her coffee with both hands, casting her husband nervous glances. Kacey could still see the terror in her eyes. Without looking to his wife, Jack began.
“I think it was about one-fifteen—I’m a very light sleeper—when I heard this noise. As I’d lay in bed, I remembered looking to all the shadows in the bedroom—it’s something I got used to doing while in the Corps, and it’s just always stuck with me. Anyway, something didn’t feel right—when I see these shadows enter our bedroom—just walk on in as if it were theirs. I tell ya, I’ve seen lots of things in my time in the Corps, but in all those instances you knew you were in harm’s way... were expectin it... but I tell you, you’re not expecting something like this once you’re a civilian, to see figures enter your bedroom—your home—in the middle of the night, your wife beside you—”
“There was more than one?”
“You confronted them?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Kacey scribbled away, raising an eyebrow, and caught Hedda pulling her husband in closer as she stared down at the floor.
“It wasn’t much subduing them, but when we turned the lights on and looked around, I saw and heard others out in the streets—out there in the park—and when I looked out into other homes, I saw and heard what sounded like other struggles. Screams. I knew we were in trouble. It was like I was back in the jungle all over again. I had Heddy get our Browning, and I grabbed my KA-BAR and .45—”
“That’s a knife, isn’t it, ‘KA-BAR’?”
“Yes, ma’am. Marine Corps issue.”
“And—sorry—‘Browning’ is...”
“One of our hunting rifles.”
Kacey nodded, scribbling away.
Jack continued. “So I grabbed my gear and rushed outside, yelling to Heddy to call the cops and pick her targets. She’s a crack shot,” the Master Gunny Sergeant added, to which Hedda smiled and nodded, raising a hand into a mock pistol and dropping her thumb as the hammer.
“Jack went house to house, but didn’t find—”
Hedda broke off in a surge of emotion Kacey saw surprised even Hedda herself.
Jack put his hand to her lap, finishing her thought. “I didn’t find any survivors. At least not around us. It looked like a well-coordinated attack. Whoever they were had managed a complete and total ambush and wiped us out, at least our block, by the looks a things. I just hope there were survivors in other parts of the park,” Jack said. He took a sip of coffee.