by Gregg Bell
“And then you killed her?”
“Well.” Smiles. “No, not at first.”
Denny fought every impulse to not pull the trigger.
“But really, think, why wouldn’t I have killed her? She was the only thing standing in the way of my love for you. Denny, killing her was an act of the truest love.”
Denny shook his head. “You’re evil.”
“Yes, you said that before. But I’ll repeat what I said too—you’re a fool. I loved you, Denny, with as pure a love as is possible on this earth. I loved you, and I gave you every opportunity to love me back. But you didn’t take a single one. Yes, that’s the difference between you and me—you don’t know how to take advantage of opportunities.”
Well, I’m sure as hell going to take this one. Denny started to pull the trigger.
The door to the condo burst open. Detective Washington and a partner, guns drawn in combat positions, charged in. “Put the guns down now! Now!”
Denny knew this would be his last chance to kill Orson.
“Now!” Washington shouted.
A strange play of emotions crossed Orson’s face. A smile to a smirk to a frown back to a smile. He uncocked the pistol, slowly lowered it and set it gently on the floor. “He came here to kill me, Detective Washington,” he said tonelessly, nodding toward Denny. “He killed his ex-wife and Brig Rhodes and now he came here to kill me.”
“Dennis, put the gun down,” Washington said in a steady, powerful voice. “Just... put... it... down.”
Denny’s brain finally kicked in. He shoots Orson and Orson wins—a quick and easy exit out of this life. But hell, Denny was going to shoot him anyway because Orson was just standing there smiling.
“Dennis!” Washington again.
Denny wasn’t scared. The cops could shoot him. He was in an almost pleasant state of mind—a zone—enjoying knowing that he was going to kill Orson. Yeah, the cops could do what they wanted as long as he got to pull the trigger and end the life of this smiling demon standing before him.
Then Denny felt something on his elbow. A gentle touch. It wasn’t the cops, but it was there just the same, gently guiding his gun arm down. It surprised him, yes, but he didn’t fight it, because something deep within him somehow knew that whatever this power was doing was doing it for his good. So, slowly down went his gun arm, but the presence of this power, whatever it was, remained and let him know that everything was somehow going to be okay. Yes, it made it very clear that everything was going to be okay.
Chapter Twenty-four
Denny noticed that the cops took Orson and him to different squad cars, Washington’s partner escorting Denny. Little by little the pleasant zone Denny had been in was fading, and his hands cuffed behind his back as he sat in the rear of the squad, he became aware of the pain in his wrist again. It was strange, but Denny was already missing being in that zone.
The cop drove him to the station without saying a word. As Denny remembered, longed for, the zone he’d been in, he noticed the cop had a scar on the back of his head and that the seat-back had a small tear in it. As the zone continued to fade and Denny returned nearly entirely to his normal state of consciousness, he realized that there was a lot to think about. And he had to admit that things didn’t look good for him.
At the station, the cop with the scar uncuffed him and led him to a room, a nice room with a sofa and a painting of a pasture with a yellow barn, the painting hanging next to a plexiglass window. Denny, shoulders rounded, cradled his limp wrist in his good hand and eased down on the sofa. There he waited and there he thought. As Aunt Elizabeth had said, he’d broken the law by resisting arrest, and there were probably a host of gun charges that would be filed against him, not to mention Orson’s accusations, but oddly enough, none of that seemed important in the least anymore.
Recalling the zone he’d been in at Orson’s, he realized what was important was that he’d done his best and that when he’d reached the end of what he could do, something had taken over and done what he couldn’t. (He could still feel traces of the magical good feeling he had as his gun arm went down.) So yeah, Denny thought, that was what was important—he’d done his best, and then something beyond himself, something greater than himself, had stepped in and taken over. He chuckled to himself as he recalled the AA second step. ‘Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.’ “A power greater than ourselves,” he said softly.
Detective Washington cruised into the room with the micro-cassette under his arm. “Dennis,” he said, making eye contact, and he settled on a chair next to the sofa.
Denny nodded.
“Are you okay? Are you injured? Do you want to be looked at by the paramedics?”
“Thanks. No, I’m okay.”
“Your aunt is on her way to the station.”
“All right.”
“She’s the reason we got to Orson’s when we did. She called to say you were going there.”
“Okay.”
“A gutsy move by a gutsy lady.”
“Yes.”
“So I suppose you’re wondering about this little guy.” Washington held up the micro-cassette.
Denny took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Washington smiled. “The recording is legible.”
“Good, that’s good.” Denny figured whatever happened to him now would be worth it if Orson was taken off the streets.
“Dennis, I know you’re aware that you have the right to have a lawyer present during any questioning, and your aunt is on her way here, but I have to tell you that it’s no longer necessary for you to invoke that right.”
Denny looked at him but said nothing.
“After listening to the tape, you’ve been exonerated from any involvement with your ex-wife’s or Brig Rhodes’ murders.”
A smile slowly emerged on Denny’s face and he nodded.
“So you’re no longer under arrest and no longer a suspect.”
Amazing, Denny thought. He knew that there were other charges against him than the murders, but he also remembered the power that had lowered his gun arm at Orson’s. That power had assured him that everything was going to be okay—and he’d believed it. He was still believing it. Just amazing.
“You’re free to leave at any time. Although as I said your aunt is on her way.”
Denny had to ask. “So the other charges?”
Washington shook his head. “There are no other charges. None.”
Denny again felt a calm sense of presence touch him, the presence undoubtedly the same power that had guided his gun arm down at Orson’s.
“There’s just one thing I want to say.” Washington took a deep breath and looked Denny in the eye. “One thing I feel I need to say.”
Denny waited.
“Uh.” Washington bit his lip. “I want to apologize for the way all this played out.”
Denny wondered if he’d heard right. A cop apologizing? It wasn’t done. “Okay.”
“It’s the nature of police work, Dennis. It’s a guessing game. We just poke and poke and poke at things until something gives.” He frowned. “But this time I poked at the wrong thing. I misjudged you, Dennis, and I’m genuinely sorry.”
Denny thought about how it had all gone down. “But you came through in the end.”
Washington swallowed and gave Denny a short nod. “Thanks for saying that.”
Denny was reluctant to move for fear of losing the sense of presence enveloping him. The presence, yes, maybe even God as he understood him, was undoubtedly good. Denny didn’t know what was waiting down the road for him. Who really did? But he knew that whatever this presence was it was trustworthy, and he very much wanted more of it in his life. Maybe his life was a mess right now, but he was confident that if he continued to do his best and this presence continued to help him, he could turn things around. The world seemed new to him somehow, like he was seeing it with fresh eyes, and although he still had a lot to learn and a long way to go, f
or the first time in his life he liked what he was seeing. Yes, he liked what he was seeing very much.
The End
Leave a review
If you enjoyed Bloody Sunrise, please take a few minutes and leave a review on Amazon by clicking here
About the Author
Gregg Bell writes thrillers. Writing you can’t turn away from.
He was born in Chicago, Illinois. He’s done everything from selling puka shells on the beach in Florida to working for Sears in their corporate headquarters at Sears (now Willis) Tower. A lifelong Midwesterner he lives in suburban Chicago. He’s a biking enthusiast, a photographer, and insists he would be a good golfer if only he could putt.
Web Site:
greggbell.net
Blog:
The Underdog’s Corner
Facebook:
facebook.com/pages/Gregg-Bell
Twitter:
twitter.com/GreggBell1
Also by Gregg Bell
Saving Baby
Seventeen-year-old Annie Rebarchek is thrilled when industrialist Houston Monroe hires her to look after his baby for the summer. But something’s not right. Monroe’s baby is weak and cries constantly. When Annie confronts Monroe about it, he goes into a rage and tells her to mind her own business. She tells her father but he thinks she’s exaggerating. Annie knows something is suspicious, but what? The next day she discovers something that makes her skin crawl. She nabs the baby and flees.
Now she’s on the run. Her only hope is exposing Monroe’s deadly evil before it’s too late—for her and the baby.
Get Saving Baby on Amazon by clicking here
The Find
What can a mother do when she has no money and a dangerously sick kid?
She can make a mistake.
In a moment of desperation, cleaning lady Phoebe Jackson tries to pawn the diamond-bejeweled Rolex she found in a mobster’s locker. Turns out the watch is a fake, but the mobster isn’t—and he’s on to her.
Get The Find on Amazon by clicking here
Email Signup
Stay in touch. Click the link or paste the url into an address bar to get free exclusive content and be the first to hear about new releases. http://eepurl.com/cReK6r
Bloody Sunrise
Copyright © 2017 by Gregg Bell
Digitally (ebook) Published by:
Thriveco, Inc.
207 North Walnut Street, Itasca, IL 60143
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
15917
Table of Contents
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Leave a review
About the Author
Also by Gregg Bell
Email Signup
