It’s a two-hour drive to the cabin, and no doubt we will stop on the way, but there is something about a nice picnic lunch that always sparks a feeling of nostalgia in me. I just can’t pass it up.
Four ham and cheese sandwiches, bottles of water, snack cakes, and assorted fruits and veggies packed into a cooler later, I’m ready to hit the open road.
Once we have the car packed, we’re pulling onto the old highway an hour later. Normally, I would have rolled my eyes and requested that we take the interstate so we could arrive faster and shorten the duration of the torture of having to be in such close quarters with each other, but today I’m content with taking the scenic route. It has more to attract the eye, and I find that bubbly, exuberant sensation that’d sprung to life in my stomach since the moment my place was solidified, grow.
I know without a doubt, as the sun glitters across the lush forest vegetation and creates mini mirages on the road ahead that I’m finally—finally!—on the right path.
The path to freedom.
An hour into the drive, Glenn finds a nice spot to pull over for a bit of lunch. It is a triangular patch of grass about the size of a city block, with a small playground at its farthermost end shaded by a few maple trees, and a couple of weathered jean-blue wooden benches and one matching picnic table for seating. The squat wooden sign at the tip of the triangle declares it Peter Navarre’s park, and as we walk the short distance from the car to the table, I can’t help thinking how depressing it must be to be the namesake of a leftover piece of land, as if this Navarre guy was nothing more than an afterthought.
On that note, if the man who was likely long dead could speak on it, I’d bet I could commiserate.
“This is nice,” Glenn comments as we sit opposite each other and munch on our sandwiches. The sun is warm, the breeze cool, and I detect a hint of petunias in the air. “Remember when we used to go to the park and walk the trails?”
I smile fondly, remembering those days when we’d begun to grow apart. We used to be close, spending all of our free time together. Just a simple walk in the park had been invigorating. I always enjoyed the silence, with nothing but the damp sound of our feet on the hard-packed earth, my breath in my ears, and the sounds of nature alive all around us to fill it all in.
Those were good times.
If only we could go back.
But time didn’t move backward, and that was all water under the bridge now. As much as I wanted to hold onto that feeling of closeness we have going on now, I know it’s nothing but a lark. A moment in time meant to derail my plans, and the moment I did, everything would be just like it had been for years—bad.
I’m not interested in looking backward anymore. I have my sights set on the future, and I aim to keep my focus.
“I loved those trails,” I comment. “Been a while.”
“Been a while since we did much of anything together, you and me.” Glenn has that hurt puppy dog look in his eyes as if the thought of us growing apart hurts him, but if it does, I reason, then he wouldn’t have spent so much time dedicated to making my every day more miserable than the last.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dusting the crumbs from my shirt and pants, I crumple up the plastic bags that contained the sandwiches. “It’s good we’re taking this weekend.”
I don’t want to ruin the moment by expounding on my thoughts. Then I might say something like, “It’s good we’re taking this weekend…so I can kill you!” or “It’s good we’re taking this weekend…because it’s the last one you’ll ever have, so enjoy it!”
Yes, my thoughts are decidedly dark, but it all depends on one’s perspective. I am of the mind that my so-called “dark thoughts” are actually very bright and cheery and uplifting. Of course, I will be the one benefiting from it.
Greatly.
Glenn appears in good spirits again, now that he assumes we are on the same page, and with an outreached hand, he takes mine and guides us back to the car to finish our journey across state lines.
Between stopping for bathroom breaks and to take in various scenery that was too pretty to pass up, complete with happy couple photo ops, we manage to extend our drive to nearly four hours. Only further extended when Glenn decided it would be better to grab a late dinner before reaching our final destination, so we don’t wake up famished in the middle of the night. Meaning, Glenn was already hungry, and he wasn’t going to last much longer. Whereas I was still comfortably full from our big lunch and would have been perfectly fine continuing on and waiting until breakfast for another meal.
Still, I agreed without a fuss because every man deserves one last meal of their choosing before biting the big one.
No doubt, Glenn will enjoy several.
Turning the key to the old locks takes some finesse and patience. When Glenn finally swings the door open on its creaky hinges and steps inside, leaving me to follow behind like the gentleman he isn’t, I’m dead on my feet.
Since the cabin has been shut up for a solid year-plus, the smell of dust and earth clings in the stale air. White sheets cover the furniture and the yellowed curtains are drawn, just as we left it.
There isn’t any food in the cabin, but there are clean linens in the hall cabinet, and that is what I’m focused on. I need to get a good night’s rest so I can approach the new day with a fresh mind.
There will be no room for mistakes.
“I’m going to get the water running and turn on the air,” Glenn announces as he walks deeper into the cabin.
That leaves only one, hugely important task to me: getting the luggage.
Just as he always manages to disappear the moment the lawnmower comes out of the garage and magically reappears when the work is finished, Glenn is leaving the heavy lifting to me.
My eyes narrowed as I turn on my heel and exit the front door again. If I needed a reminder of why I need that man dead, it’s just been handed to me on a silver platter.
The sound of running water greets me on my way back in, and I go straight for the bedroom, the largest of two located at the back of the structure. Dropping our bags on the floor just inside the door, I get busy tugging the white sheet off the bed and retrieve a fresh set of sheets and top blanket from the linen cabinet, then make quick work of setting everything back to rights.
“Good news,” Glenn announces as I take a load off and sit down on the side of the bed I’ve claimed as my own. “The water is clear and running hot, and we have A/C.”
“That is good news.” I nearly moan at the thought of taking a hot shower to relax my tired muscles and the knowledge that I won’t be sweating my butt off, thereby making it impossible to sleep.
“You look tired.”
Very perceptive, I snark in her mind. To him I say, “It was a long day. I think the excitement wore me out.”
For a brief moment, Glenn’s expression falls in disappointment, and I don’t have to guess to know what he’d had on his mind. “Get some rest then. Tomorrow is a new day, and we have all weekend to enjoy it.”
Grateful for the reprieve, I kick off my shoes and crawl under the blankets, foregoing that coveted shower in lieu of a good night’s rest and a fresh mind to enact my plans in the morning.
I’m eager to get started!
Fifteen
~Declan~
I followed the unhappy but seemingly happy couple out of their quiet little neighborhood and up into the mountains, leaving the densely packed civilization that comes with city life behind.
I had been puzzling on what Brenda was up to all four-plus hours of the trip as I observed their activities, starting with the joyful smiles they exchanged, hand holding, and quaint little lunch in the park. It only escalated from there.
Is Brenda, after all of her adamancy to the contrary, considering reconciliation?
If so, it will never work. For a number of reasons. One being that she ever wanted him dead in the first place and even went so far as to hire me, a freakin’ hitman, to get rid of him, and
two being that I made it clear as crystal that once a contract is made, it is unbreakable.
So what if I told her that the deal was off? I’m allowed to change my mind. At no point in time did I ever say that it would be off if I did, in fact, change my mind. It is my prerogative who I kill and who I don’t.
Brenda is going to get one hell of a rude awakening if she thinks for one minute that me telling her it was off meant it was forever and always never going to happen.
A fact that is becoming more and more urgent the longer I follow the couple, watching that fat oaf put his hands on her as if he owns her.
A piece of paper doesn’t make that so, and I want nothing more than to beat that lesson into him. I want to make it clear that Brenda is not a piece of property, and Glenn has lost any right he had to it long ago. But more specifically, when his wife sentenced him to die—a little known fact that I fully planned to reveal, eye to eye, before the lights go out for good.
So all of this brought me here, to a cabin on a hill in the middle of the woods, with the nearest neighbors dotted along the land, miles apart.
As for me, I’m sitting in my SUV, nestled inconspicuously between a patch of pine trees and vegetation that’s doing an okay job of keeping my presence here hidden, twiddling my thumbs and cobbling together ideas.
So far, nada.
I am at a loss for how to approach this situation and when. I’m used to having ample time to plan. Case the area, map out the land and the people. Come up with something airtight and foolproof. And now…I’m going to have to think on my feet.
Maybe I should have contacted Brenda, broken a cardinal rule just once, to save myself the headache. I just hadn’t considered that she would run off to either reconcile or carry out the job herself—the jury is still out on exactly what the hell it is that she’s doing way up here, so far from home.
I hadn’t taken her for the cabin-in-the-woods type.
Then again, she didn’t appear the type to hire a hitman to kill her husband either. You just never know what a person is really like behind the carefully placed mask.
I recline back in my seat enough to get comfortable but still maintain a visual on the cabin. The lights are on inside, casting a muted, soft yellow, rectangular glow on patches of earth just outside the windows. I have no idea where they are inside, nor what they are doing.
A man’s imagination could easily get away from him, and if I were a lesser man, it certainly would have. But I’m so easily distracted, years of honing my senses to remain on task and alert at all times serving me well.
So how will I kill the fated Glenn Overmeyer this weekend? And when? Will I do it tonight, while he sleeps, or wait until morning, perhaps while out on a brisk mountain jog? Any number of things could happen out here in the woods. Break an ankle and succumb to injury. Get eaten by a bear or maybe a mountain lion. Although I’m not sure if either of those is prominent in the area…
Maybe good old Glenn will fall off a cliff, cracking his skull open on the rocky ground below. That idea brings a smile to my face. Reaching into the glove compartment, I take out the compact flashlight that has never failed me and click it on to ensure the battery is still alive and well. My eyes rebel at the bright-white light, causing me to flinch and squint at the same time, and I click it off again.
Black and copper splotches mar my vision, forcing me to take a few moments to allow my sight to right itself, before popping open the driver’s side door and climbing out of the vehicle.
Since I have no intentions of sleeping tonight, I have to get on with planning. First, I need to map the terrain, get myself familiar with my surroundings so I won’t—literally—trip myself up, and then I need to make sure that there is, in fact, a cliff somewhere nearby so I can steer my mark toward it.
It would be the ideal end, the ideal way to accidentally on purpose off the guy, and who would question it? No one, because shit happens, and everyone knows nature is dangerous. That’s why so many choose to stay in the cities, surrounding themselves with civilization rather than become one with the great outdoors.
Trudging as quietly as possible through the woods, for a man of my height and weight, isn’t an easy feat, but I manage. Once I reach a safe distance from the cabin, I don’t bother trying to be careful anymore. If there are man-eating critters out here, the noise I make will—hopefully—scare them off.
I trip a few times. Get slapped in the face with branches more than I can count. Almost twist an ankle a time or two on raised tree roots. Nature is decidedly more dangerous than I gave it credit for, but it is also promising in the sense that I can confirm first-hand that Glenn can die out here and no one would be the wiser as to the real reason why.
I’m feeling better and better about my non-plan plan by the minute. I spend a good hour or more roaming the woods, the flashlight doing a poor job of cutting more than a small swath of light through the pervading darkness, but at least I don’t fall or cause myself any true bodily injuries.
Getting back to my SUV is trickier than I expected too. I thought I was a savvy sonofabitch and that a few trees in the night couldn’t best me, but I was wrong. I got turned around more than once, losing the trail I’d made and wondering if I might die before I could carry out the contract.
Then I spotted a tiny speck of light in the distance, a beacon in the night, and headed for it, hoping it was the cabin. It was. From there, I didn’t play around. I made a line straight for my vehicle and parked myself in the driver’s seat for the rest of the night.
There is no need to flirt with danger. That’s how people get themselves killed. And I have never been a victim of anything, least of all myself. I’m not about to start tonight.
Then again, maybe I am…
The next thing I know, I’m waking to the sound of voices.
Peeling my eyes open, I realize that it’s daybreak, barely 7:00 AM according to my Rolex. Sometime in the night, I must have fallen asleep.
I grit my teeth and curse under my breath. I have never once fallen asleep on the job. Not once. How could I have allowed such a grievous and amateur mistake? It is so unlike me…
Then again, a few things have been unlike me since I took on this job. Like the feelings I refuse to acknowledge for Brenda that go beyond mere physical attraction. That urge to protect her and avenge her and ravage her compete with good sense. I don’t need any complications in my life, least of all from the opposite sex.
That’s why I’m sitting here now, plotting my next move. Because I am a cold-blooded murderer and weakness is my enemy and I am here to prove it.
Brenda’s blonde head emerges from the open doorway, and she steps out onto the weathered deck wearing a loose-fitting white T-shirt with blue flower-patterned sleeves and a pair of short blue shorts that show off her toned legs. She is barefoot, and the way her hair catches the breeze makes her look like an angel.
I shake my head. I can’t think that way. It will only cloud my judgment, and I need a clear head if I am going to do this right. There is no room for emotions in this game, and I already have far too many, as far as I’m concerned.
She calls out to her husband, only the tone of her voice reaching my ears, washed out by distance and nature’s noises, and I watch as Glenn returns to the porch and Brenda disappears back inside briefly, only to return with a small cooler. She hands it off and turns her cheek for her husband to lean in and kiss.
As seasoned as I consider myself to be, I can’t be sure if the show of affection, or rather the acceptance of it, is genuine or not. If it isn’t, then Brenda is a hell of a good liar.
As Glenn tramps off into the woods, down a dirt trail that I can only make out in the light of day, Brenda goes back inside the cabin and closes the door.
I’m not sure what my next step should be. Should I bring the woman up to date on my plans, or should I just follow the husband and take care of business without a word?
As I open the car door and get out, I decide I’ll wing it.
&
nbsp; Sixteen
~Faith~
It’s a good day to die. Not me. Glenn. He woke up on the right side of the bed, with his spirits high and his ambition overflowing. I wasn’t far behind in my own mood. I was ready to get the day underway, and after packing a small lunch and packing into the cooler beside the container of worms, all nestled on a bed of ice, I was raring to go.
I feel like a teenager again, young and robust and filled with life and hopes for the future. I have goals, and I aim to reach every one of them. Starting today.
Glenn is going fishing. He’ll walk the trail down to the boat we keep stored lakeside under protective housing, hit the open water, and reel in a bass or two. Maybe a perch. I really don’t know much about fish, just that they are delicious steamed with lemon and pepper with some tender veggies and, if we have it, a bed of rice.
A quick look in the kitchen cabinets reveal we do, in fact, have an unopened bag of rice. It is a little dusty from sitting for so long, but I imagine it must have a hell of a shelf life, right? It is, after all, a non-perishable food product. I’ll chance it, I decide, setting it out on the counter to be cooked later. And if it turns out to be bad, maybe it will be the thing to do Glenn in, and I won’t even have to lift a finger.
Right. My plan.
I decided that I’ll go all out this weekend in my effort to kill Glenn. If one way fails, I’ll have another as backup, and another, until something sticks. Because something has to stick. He isn’t invincible.
I’ll start with the food and work my way up from there. If he has a food allergy way out here, the chances of help arriving in time are nil. That’s why, without his notice, I pitched his EpiPen shortly after we arrived. The woods will swallow it up without a trace, and poor Glenn will have nothing to fall back on.
But what to trigger his allergies with…Glenn is allergic to many things, including bees, pollen, strawberries, nuts, and shellfish. Since I highly doubt shrimp will be found in the lake, I’ll have to figure out how to introduce one of the others.
Deadly Deception: A Dark Romance Page 8
