The Fighter Series (Book 1): Not Alone (The Beginning)

by Kolleen Bookey

  He’d left the door open, inviting her to follow. She climbed to her feet realizing they were bare. Riley wasn’t going anywhere, not tonight anyway. She reached for the plate and then slowly moved through the opening. In order to survive, she needed food. Play the game. She hoped it might absorb whatever he’d given her. Riley hugged the plate protectively. Refuel.

  The warm glow of the fire beckoned her forward. Warmth. The flames cast a spray of light from the center of the room outward. She shivered uncontrollably rattling the plate in her hand. Desperate for warmth, she accidently brushed Ringo’s knee.

  The table he sat at looked small in comparison to his broad frame. In front of him was a large plate of food. Roadkill Café. Steam rolled off it. He motioned at her plate, but she didn’t move. He shrugged and started to eat. He’d drugged her once. What’s to say he hadn’t poisoned her food.

  “I didn’t poison your food.” She shot a glare at him. “Eat.”

  She thought about Megan and Utah hugging the fire and keeping her plate of food near her. The shivering subsided. Riley got hungry.

  Ringo tossed her bottled water. She caught it midair. “Drink.”

  The cold water washed away the spiders, cooled her dry lips, and even softened the ache in her cheek. He stared.

  “For now, I want you alive.” He said.

  Watching with apparent satisfaction, Riley began to eat despite his stare. The light of the fire illuminated the scars on his face and the burning ebbs of flame had left his eyes only replaced by a steely transparent grey ring. His hair was dark making a striking contrast to his eyes. However, something inside of him was ugly. Wicked.

  “Who are you?” Riley let out a few spiders.

  “Your worst nightmare. Have you ever had bad dreams?” He leaned back in his chair his eyes becoming more transparent. It was as if he were controlling the color.

  “Everyone does.”

  Riley been dealt the second round, metaphorically speaking, of poker with the devil himself. She didn’t want to play. Worst yet, Riley was a lousy poker player because in poker you had to lie to win.

  “You have a soul that’s been broken.”

  “Broken maybe. Evil no.” It sounded melodramatic.

  “I’m not evil.” He said pausing. She watched him. He seemed to drift away and then returned and started eating again.

  Riley didn’t say anything. Her first impression of him remained dark and daunting. The way the drug was interacting with his body chemistry reaching different levels. What are you taking and what did you give me?

  “It won’t hurt you, I assure you.” He said. “Soon, you’ll want more.”

  “Don’t count on it.” She said.

  He wanted to say something, but she didn’t care, not about him anyway. Riley just didn’t want to go back under the floor.

  “Where were you the night of the shift? He asked.

  “I don’t remember.” Riley lied. Poker.

  “Everyone remembers.” Call.

  “I don’t.” Lie.

  “I’m calling your bluff, Riley. You remember some.” Ringo said.

  “Are you sure about that?” She said sarcastically. Knowing he was baiting her and she’d taken a bite.

  He was silent for a spell taking a chunk of meat chewing on it for a while. The sound grated on her nerves.

  “The night the shift happened,” he started “I was playing poker with some buddies of mine. We were having a good time, smoking cigars and having a few beers. Life was good as people used to say. We all had jobs and families. Life was good.” He repeated. It took a moment to reflect as if he hadn’t in sometime. “I made over seven hundred grand every year, that was take home, sometimes more. My wife and my children lacked for nothing. She got her hair and nails done at the local beauty shop, went to the gym everyday around ten, had a wardrobe that even you’d have been jealous of and drove the car of her choice.”

  Riley didn’t say anything. Ringo neither looked nor acted like a hillbilly with a third grade education. The pronunciation of his words and even his demeanor when he wasn’t trying to kill was of someone educated and well raised. She had a sense that he was intellectually smart as well as methodically powerful. His real name couldn’t be Ringo but rather Michael or Richard, something preppy and rich. He sat reflecting about his wife, seeing in his mind her as if he hadn’t looked for her in a long time. He waited. This was a test to see who Riley was and how she’d respond. Riley knew it. She waited, listened, but said nothing.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Blake moved through the door first, taking cover behind his truck while cursing the man who’d destroyed it. Jack and Sherry slipped through with Megan who was no more than a tiny bundle in Jack’s arms. Spotted the second they left the building gunfire forced them to take shelter before making it half way to the adjacent building.

  The sky overhead opened up and a slight breeze forced clouds to break apart. A thin stream of sunshine began to sneak through. Jack moved them forward, taking mental note of the fresh tire tracks leading away from the hospital toward the main road. Ringo had indeed left the building leaving behind maybe a handful of men.

  They used the vehicles as shields one at a time until they were safely at the building where the hummer was. Jack helped Sherry with Matt and Megan while Ryan climbed into the driver’s seat and started the Hummer.

  “Wait here.” Ryan gave Jack a nod.

  Across the way, crossfire was keeping Kid pinned. Ringo’s men were trying to disable as many of the vehicles as they could hit. Stray bullets exploded windows, popped tires, and slammed into metal. When the shooter on the roof became visible, Jack took him out with one clean shot.

  “One down, one to go.” Jack said into the mike. “Flush him out.”

  “Make that two.” Blake said. “Copy.”

  “Copy.” Jack said waiting for Blake to make a move. He placed a bullet into the lip of the roof forcing another man to move away. Firing back, the man stepped out and Jack made another controlled shot precise and deadly.

  “I’m losing count.”

  “One behind him, wait.” Blake’s voice crackled across the mic.

  The second man on the roof stepped up. Jack sent a single round into his chest, sending him backward. There was a pause.

  “You see those tracks?” Blake said.

  “He’s headed towards Prescott.” Jack said.

  Blake plowed through the snow ducking unexpected gunfire. He stumbled over debris on the ground underneath and did a face plant. “Mystery marker.” Blake said.

  Jack waited for the shooter to come into sight while tapping his finger on the guard of his trigger. “One more.”

  Jack watched Blake through his scope. Minutes passed. The marker on the roof was holding tight making it so Jack couldn’t take the shot.

  “Come on.” Jack said in a whisper.

  Another minute passed. Blake impatiently started to move. Jack pulled the trigger letting a round of bullets connect with the cement lip.

  From above a man rose and then fired. Jack fired back, but missed. The hum of a diesel engine purred bittersweet to both men as they turned to see a white Dodge Ram moving in their direction. From out of the window, Kid fired his semi-automatic. Above the marker shuddered as several rounds hit him and then he staggered forward. Blake climbed to his feet. The man spastically tapped the trigger as he fell over the edge of the roof. A round caught Blake sending him back down to the ground. All went quiet except for the hum of the engine.

  “You okay?” Jack asked reaching Blake. Blood was already soaking Blake’s pant leg.

  “Good. Let’s get out of here.” Blake said.

  The big bay door of the receiving building rose exposing the Hummer. Jack grabbed a hold of Blake and pulled him toward the red Chevy.

  “Not even a bullet hole.” Jack said.

  “That you can see.” Blake chuckled. “Are you going to be able to keep this thing on the road?”

  “I thought you were driving.
” Jack said.

  Through the sunlight, the Hummer rolled through the big bay door, steam rolling off the tailpipe and into the late morning air. Ryan fell in behind Jack. From somewhere nearby Bermuda emerged. The cat stood directly in front of the Chevy. Her tail moved rhythmically. The sheer beauty of her was magnificent and demanded respect far more acceptable out in the open air. As her frosty breath touched the cold, she stared at them as if searching for something or someone. Bringing the truck to a stop, the cat turned and stared at him. She hissed, crouched down, and then ran off in the direction of the mountainside. Jack watched as the cat sprung across the snow and then instantly she disappeared.

  “I think she was thanking you.” Blake said.

  Jack frowned, fingering the small device in his fingers. He felt bad that he hadn’t retrieved Pam and her technician, but the hospital was her life. She would’ve wanted it this way.

  He lifted the detonator in his hand taking one last look in his rearview mirror. He pushed the red button.

  Jack was ready for it. The explosion shattered the quietness inside the Chevy. The building ripped apart first into a ball of fire and then into dark blanket of smoke. Blake looked back as more explosions followed, sending dark clouds high into the sky. A repercussive wave rocked the ground under them rattling the Chevy. Jack slowed and then came to a stop.

  He motioned Kid to jump ahead of them. Dan’s Uncle would be waiting for them just past the railroad tracks. A fresh pathway would lead to the highway and so Jack took up the rear as the caravan headed for home.

  When they arrived, Nick and Lynn were waiting. Lynn’s worried expression faded as she wrapped her arms around Jack. Then Lynn’s gaze went to Megan. Her fingers dropped from around his neck to her side. Nick was already taking Megan in his arms. Ben stepped out of the shadows of the barn, shotgun firm in hand. He nodded slightly at his sons.

  “Jesus Jack.” Nick said, carrying Megan toward the house. Utah wrapped her fingers around Lynn’s shirt moving beside her.

  It was afternoon and the Arizona sun was showering light on the white blanket of snow. Ryan was helping Matt as Dan and Kid assisted Blake out of the Chevy. A trail of blood led to the house, up the steps and into the house.

  Ben took a seat close by the front door. The static in the air was electric. Nick took Megan into another section of the house with Sherry and Lynn at his side. Jack followed. They entered an office and then passed through an examining room and into a small surgery room.

  Careful, Nick placed Megan on one of the beds unwrapping jackets and blankets. His expression remained constant even at the sight of the deep wound. He assessed the little girl and checked her vitals, working swift and calm.

  “I think I can get the bullet out.” He said composed.

  “I can do the prep if you want to go get ready.” Sherry said.

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ve got her now Jack.” Nick said. Jack understood. Nick would do everything he could within his power to save Megan’s life. Jack stood at the doorway, Lynn looking at her brother with concern. Then she closed the door.

  FORTY-NINE

  “There were six of us men playing that night. I remember I had a winning hand. The air was power-driven and then the house shook slightly. We sat there for a second, down in my “man cave” as she called it. Out of nowhere, we all started to laugh. I mean really laugh.” He set his plate down on the table and stood up. Riley felt the muscles in her body tighten. There was something oddly familiar about Ringo. She stopped chewing. He saw this and smiled. He liked power, he liked that she was scared of him and she knew he’d use that on her. “The door….” He pointed to the door. “Is bolted with locks.” He held up a single key, making it visible to her and then he slid it deep into his pants pocket.

  “I know.” She said. Nothing more. She started chewing her food again feeling the bile rise in the back of her throat. No spiders. She swallowed hard. I want to run. Either she ended her life here and now, or she played it out hoping he’d make one mistake allowing her to make a run for it and live. Riley glanced away from him and looked at the fire, waiting.

  Key is in right pant pocket. Details. Then he went on.

  “Joe reached for the money and Charlie, well old Charlie wacked off Joe’s hand like it was nothing. You should have seen the blood! It flew all over the money and us.” His voice lowered a notch. “It was ironic in an odd sort of way, blood and money. In the end, it was man’s final demise and the root of all-evil. It went ugly from there. Within a short amount of time, all of my friends were laying on the floor but two. I was alive. Teddy, my best friend for many years, was missing.”

  He paused. Riley grew curious, but calmed visible inquisitiveness. She didn’t really want to hear his story, but she wanted to know his misery. Ringo lingered there in his thoughts. Pushing his half-eaten dinner away from him, he then pulled out a cigar and looked at it for a long moment. Cutting off the tip, he rolled the thick cigar between his fingers with a sort of care. Then he set it between his lips. These actions combined by the pauses of his telling of the story created a dramatic effect especially for someone who didn’t know him. Riley had a feeling he was telling his story to set precedence for something more.

  “I was in shock you might say. I could see everything around me, but felt as though something was driving me, something other than myself. It felt almost as if I’d been turned upside down and all the blood had rushed to my head.” He lit the cigar now moist with his saliva.

  He paused again but this time she was able to identify with what he said. Riley had felt that same feeling just prior to stepping out the back door of the department. It was also the way she felt every time she knew Mark was about to hit her. His words caught her off guard and hearing someone else describe what it felt like supported what she’d felt. At the approximate time the shift occurred, she’d felt a heaviness in head and body.

  “My wife had gone to bed early that night.” His voice caused her to jump making him grin. “The kids were at a slumber party.” He glanced down at his shirt. “I was covered in blood. I went upstairs. I had a few superficial wounds from the boys fighting back, but nothing serious. Just a lot of blood. I was moving through a haze, a fog. I don’t know what it was really. It was on the sides of my mind. My head felt constricted. I heard voices, my voice. They were precisely telling me what to do. I was taking action, but all the voices were arguing. My head was pounding, but it wasn’t painful until I opened the door and saw my best friend Tim fucking my wife. When I say fucking that’s what they were doing. She looked straight at me and started moaning, making sure I knew she liked it. Tim was under her. He looked up and saw me. He started laughing.”

  Cold chill. The flame cracked and popped. Riley jumped. Ringo reached down to pick something up. Imagination created a knife, hammer or some other sort of crude weapon he’d reveal in his hand. Instead, he tossed her a pair of socks. She caught them midair.

  With heels covered in dirt and dried blood, Riley pulled the socks on anyway. Reward number one. She was silent. Looking at Ringo and feeling the softness of the socks warming her skin. He lit his cigar. Ring of fire in his eyes. Spade. Two black hearts twisted with hatred and circumstance, two souls different, but the same Ringo and Spade, Spade and Ringo. Suddenly, he was studying her and the steel grey around his pupils had returned.

  “At first I was in shock by her promiscuous behavior, but then that shock turned into rage. Something inside of me exploded. I went into the room and shut the door behind me. I had guns everywhere in the house. It’s just something you do in my line of work.” He paused, waiting for her to say something. She’d caught it, but she wasn’t about to question his line of work. His work wasn’t good if guns were hidden all over the house. He continued.

  “Every detail is as crisp as it was that night. Reaching for my gun and all the while, I watched them. I shot my best friend first and then my wife. I stayed there for a long time. Hour’s maybe. I remember thinking about the dea
th penalty. Then I thought about my kids.”

  Riley stopped breathing. Megan and Utah.

  Ringo stood up again. She felt everything in her body tense. She was living minute by minute. Her mind couldn’t work fast enough to formulate a plan to escape. Ringo moved stopping directly next to her. Riley smelt the lingering aroma of the cigar on his skin and clothes mixed in with an oaky smell. Every muscle in her body stiffened and the fine hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. Ringo, in his overly calm demeanor reached down past her and picked up a piece of wood.

  “Fires getting low.” He said, placing the log on the fire. She failed to conceal tension bracing for the unexpected. Ringo knew exactly what he was doing and the effect it was having on her. He wanted to see fear. You’re feeding on it.

  “I got in the car,” He said as if he’d never stopped telling his story.

  He sat down and leaned back very slow. His eyes shone through her, in her. Then his next sentence made no sense. “It’s just work.”

  “I went to the house where my kids were staying. I didn’t knock. I just went in. My son was still breathing when I got there.” He took a long pull off the cigar. Spade, she couldn’t help but think. “I held him until he took his last breath and then gathered them both in my arms and drove them home.”

  The pause this time was much longer. Riley was dead still. The fire cracked and popped, but she focused on the window next to the door without moving her eyes. She scanned the entire room one foot at a time no knives or utensils on the counter tops.

  “There’s nothing there Riley.” He said, looking down at his cigar. She didn’t like him saying her name. Didn’t like how he said it or the expression he made when he said it.