by Aiden James
They arrived in Charlotte around 12:30 p.m. They took their lunch at a local Wendy’s, and were back on the road in less than ten minutes. By then, Jeremy was running out of steam, since neither one had slept in more than twenty-four hours. Stating he had enough resources to last another hour or two, he let Jack sleep while he drove to Greenville, South Carolina.
Once they neared Greenville’s outskirts, Jeremy decided it was time to replace the rest of their wardrobe. He pulled off the highway and drove until he found a discount department store, settling on Target since it was the first one he found. As before, Jack went inside to purchase their supplies. Disguised in the new ball cap and sunglasses, he picked up two pairs of jeans and a couple of dark T-shirts apiece for him and Jeremy, along with two packs of underwear briefs and socks. He made excellent time until he neared the audio/entertainment department.
Unable to resist temptation, he slipped in amongst a row of TVs on display. Determined to remain nonchalant, he turned one of the sets to CNN Headline News. Since three o’clock, he hoped to catch the latest developments in the search for him and his brother. His hunch proved correct. But the updated report indicated serious trouble. Local agencies and other authorities had since joined the intensified manhunt, and the worst bit of news was the fact the search had shifted to the southeastern region of the country.
Jack moved purposively to the checkout counters, hoping to blend in with the other shoppers around him. After he paid for the clothes, he fought the urge to simply run out of the store, maintaining a steady pace all the way to the car. After climbing into the front seat, he explained the latest developments to Jeremy.
“Damn it!” Furious, Jeremy slapped his open palm against the steering wheel.
The bad news immediately revived him. Once they exited the parking lot, Jeremy made a beeline for the highway. He remained focused like this until they were safely in Georgia, at which point Jack heard him whisper a prayer of thanksgiving for no roadblocks…yet.
“I believe it’s time to make another switch, Jackie, as far as our mode of transportation is concerned,” he said. “We need to do it before we reach Atlanta. We’ll have a better chance of avoiding detection with local plates on our vehicle.”
Jeremy made his move near Braselton, Georgia, this time securing a late model Jeep from a local supermarket. For the third time, they gathered their gear and moved into a new vehicle, carelessly leaving the Toyota nearby. At first Jack worried about this, since it seemed like leaving an open invitation to their pursuers. But once they made it through Atlanta and were on I-20 with a full tank of gas, he felt a little better about their situation. But he overheard an older couple discussing state-line roadblocks at the BP station they’d just left. By then, sheer exhaustion and the sinking feeling that time was running out were already taking a toll on them both. Jack prayed the abundance of coffee and Max Alerts and a little more luck would get them at least to Birmingham.
As they approached the border of Alabama and the likely prospect of a roadblock, Jeremy suddenly headed south on Highway 100 near Jake, Georgia. Far too tired to even question this maneuver, Jack thought instead about his stomach that had begun rumbling again. At this point he would’ve given most anything for a decent meal and a good night’s rest—if either or both could be safely obtained.
6:40 p.m., according to the Jeep’s clock. For almost twenty minutes they stayed on Highway 100 until it flirted with the Alabama state line. At that point, Jeremy switched over to Highway 48, leaving the state of Georgia behind near the Alabama town of Graham. He followed the highway until they reached another small town, called Wedowee, where they exited onto Highway 431 north, taking this historic thoroughfare until it brought them back to I-20 again.
Safely inside Alabama without the confrontation Jack expected, Jeremy let out a triumphant whoop. They now sped toward Birmingham, the last stop before they would reach Tuscaloosa. Despite the prospect of a smooth ride home, Jack wasn’t able to join his brother’s celebration. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened during the past few days. Drained and saddened, it all reminded him again of the horror he experienced with Genovene so long ago.
Much had changed since a carefree thirteen-year-old kid in Carlsdale. Granted, things change for most folks as they grow up. But, the continual impact on his life from that misadventure seemed like it would never end. Jeremy and Grandpa’s lives had changed nearly as much, and for all three, there was no turning back to reach that simpler time. Yet, what loomed on the horizon seemed assuredly more ominous. The rendezvous he and Jeremy were irresistibly drawn to might shape the course of history in ways most human beings could scarcely imagine.
***
A beautiful sunset, far more magnificent than the wonderful sunrise they witnessed earlier, spread steadily across the western sky. The type of natural, yet simple, event that inspires one to hope and give thanks for being alive. Jack smiled wearily. He hoped there would be many more spectacular sunsets to see. But it all depended on what awaited them at 1016 South Queens Court.
As the Jeep’s engine droned on, he looked over at his brother and offered a silent prayer. That somehow we would all survive.
The End
Available now on Amazon Kindle:
CADES COVE
(Please read on for a sample)
Aiden James resides in Tennessee with his lovely wife, Fiona, their two sons, Christopher and Tyler, and a feisty terrier named Gypsy. An avid researcher of all things paranormal, he spends much of his time investigating haunted locales throughout the Deep South. Please visit his website: www.aidenjamesfiction.com
Also available now on Amazon Kindle:
DEADLY NIGHT
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Chapter One
I’d never seen a fresh corpse before. At least not human.
Blood dripped below her face, spreading across the chipped linoleum kitchen floor of our host, Johnny Rush. Candi Starr stared back at me, a red grotesque halo framing her tussled golden hair, still wrapped in foil strips. Her stone gaze facing us all as we stood in shocked silence.
Her head barely attached at the neck, a deep jagged wound traversed from ear to ear beneath her chin. Sprawled upon the floor, the expression in Candi’s lifeless steel blue eyes was one of sudden surprise.
Johnny sat at the kitchen table, across from Brenda Wright. Rope-bound to a pair of high back vinyl chairs, one olive green, and the other merlot. Both wore matching black t-shirts and jeans. Intense terror visible in their eyes, both mouths lay open, slack-jawed, and emotionless in contradiction. Their single fatal shots to the forehead announced assassination. Not intended victims, but here just the same. In all likelihood the pair not only witnessed the murder of their famous companion, but also had plenty of time to anticipate their own demise.
So...correction: I’d never seen three dead human beings before.
When I was finally able to tear my eyes away from the scene, my attention was drawn to Fiona. The loveliest, smartest and bravest woman I’ve ever known didn’t seem so at the moment. Being grilled by a pair of cops in the dining room, one dressed in uniform and the other plainclothes. Her gorgeous hazel eyes which often morphed to amber and pure gold depending on her attire and mood were now swollen. Red puffiness from a deluge of tears. Her grief genuine, as these were real friends, she struggled to answer their questions—despite the pained looks each man wore, nodding quietly in response to her clipped answers.
What questions did they ask? I could only imagine, but I managed to hear a few. Basic things like ‘how long have you known the victims?’ and ‘can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge, one bad enough to do something like this?’ No doubt they also want to know what she and the rest of us are doing here, anyway.
Meanwhile, two forensic techs just brushed past me and the others on their way to begin the painstaking task of moving from the stiffening corpses in the kitchen to the living room to look for more evidence. It makes me feel a
wkward, standing here near the entrance to the living room. I fidget, unsure of what to do…or where to go, half horror movie, half feeling five years old and told to stand in the corner.
The plainclothes cop keeps eyeing the rest of us. He glares a bit while the other continues questioning Fiona. I’m sure my face is turning red, thinking of what I’m about to have to explain.
My name is Jimmy Alea, and I’m a paranormal investigator. Spook chaser, ghost hunter, or a supernatural whack-job, whatever euphemism makes normal folks feel any better. Hell, that’s what my pop thinks back in Denver, my hometown. I came to Nashville, or as we serious musicians like to refer to it—‘Nash-Vegas’, nine years ago. But like 99.99% of the more than 80,000 music hopefuls who call this place home, I haven’t made it yet. Maybe I never will, but I try not to think about that.
Yeah, the cop will probably pass judgment just the same. I can already picture him saying something smartass like, “Did Casper call and tell you there are three brand new ones?”, and then laugh at his own lame joke. But this is what I do. I don’t try to see dead people. Rather, I attempt to catch evidence of their spiritual essence, whether ethereal or physically tangible. It’s somewhat like TAPS and the other ‘hauntings’ shit on TV.
But that ain’t the story here…not exactly. Me and my gang were just stopping by to drop something off at Johnny’s. A little something to welcome him and Brenda to their new digs. Fiona planned a quick psychic reading for Candi before she set off on her first international tour. Afterward, the plan was to investigate another home where supposedly a lot of weird shit’s happening. A ‘paranormal event’ is what we call this sort of thing. Apparently stuff’s been going on for several years in that particular locale along the Cumberland, but getting worse…more aggressive lately.
It’s probably best to stop thinking about the cop and my imagined exchange, and instead focus again on Fiona. She’s still talking to both him and the uniform right now. Wish I could take her and wrap my arms around her, to somehow ease her profound pain. She is my wife, and I always feel the need to protect her. I won’t be able to erase this from her memory and I can’t make the cops shut up.
The uniformed cop is really trying to flirt with her. Granted, Fiona’s a tall, gorgeous blond with a smile that lights up any room, and a statuesque build that spells trouble for any male with a pulse. She’s the only thing that’s ever distracted me long enough to make me reconsider my life’s direction. Fiona literally saved me from the destructive course I once was on. I truly pity the dudes who wish they’re me.
But right now I could use a new diversion—anything to take my attention away from the bodies and some dude smiling at my wife at such an inappropriate time. There’s a female uniform staring at me from near Johnny’s bedroom. I’ve often wondered about homicide cops and how they deal with it. As I look at her again she’s now smiling. Maybe for some cops...the aggressive ones...it’s a type of foreplay. Kind of like people who go home with a complete stranger and screw their brains out.
As she looks at me her smile is getting wider. I’m pretty sure I know what she sees.... My wife, among others, tells me it’s a six foot two, one-ninety pound man, with very little body fat. Hard and lean, with chiseled features inherited from a handsome Cuban/Italian line, I possess an easy smile, and piercing blue eyes that become deep cobalt pools if I’m pissed. And, I’m lucky to have a full head of dark wavy hair hanging down to my shoulders.
Nobody will ever find me wearing a suit—not unless somebody’s getting married or buried. T-shirts, jeans, and boots—I’m either biker or cowboy, depending on my mood and the weather. Thank God the dudes I roll with share my taste in threads, and my daytime employer can hang with the way I am too. As long as I occasionally wear a polo shirt and slacks. It sucks, but I’ve gotta have something steady to pay the bills.
Fiona’s now motioning to me, and to be polite the two cops nodded. I wonder if they’ve heard of her, since she’s helped Metro’s finest solve nearly a dozen crimes over the past few years. Clairvoyant, clairaudient, and clairsentient. They are valued commodities among a few detectives these days, though most won’t admit it. Regardless, I can tell these guys don’t think much of the thirtyish biker-looking dude and his cronies blocking the doorway to the living room. At least they like her…certainly looks like her tear-streaked face hasn’t diminished her charm. Not in the least.
“Do you want me to call ahead to Charlain and tell her we’re going to be late?” said Jackie Holland to Fiona from behind me. “Or, should we try and reschedule?”
One of Fiona’s best friends since childhood, Jackie’s usual gruffness was muted. They grew up together in east Nashville. Her dark brown hair is almost kinky, but it fits well with her eyes. Almond shaped and light blue in color. And her athletic build is heavier than Fiona’s.
A little on the short side, Jackie makes up for it with her commanding, almost abrasive presence. A no-nonsense girl with a dry sense of humor, she has a keen passion about all things paranormal. In fact, she’s the reason Fiona became interested in exploring haunted locales back when they were in high school.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be up for it,” Fiona told her, and then looked back at me. “Unless ya’ll want to still do this. Jimmy knows how to get there.”
The plainclothes policeman says he’s only got a few more questions for Fiona and then we can all leave. That sounds like a great idea, as the coroner just arrived and the red flashing lights from an ambulance has announced the dead will soon be leaving Johnny’s house. I can see a “News Channel Five” van pulling up beside the ambulance. I’m sure they sped over here recklessly once they heard about Candi.
Shit!
I’ve always dreamed of being on TV someday, but this ain’t exactly what I had in mind. If Fiona didn’t need me, I’d find a way to sneak out of here. I briefly glanced back at the carnage in the kitchen. Poor Johnny and Brenda. They barely got settled in their latest pad, and their dream, before friends could even throw them a nice house-warming party. And they have, or had I suppose, an eclectic set of friends. Gay, straight, democrat, republican, and then...there’s us.
It sucks that Johnny will never finish the restoration of this house. They got a great deal on a beige brick one-story he and his gal pal Brenda bought to set up for their west end neighborhood salon. When we walked in the front door, the scent of perm solution overpowered the onset of death. They were just getting a small taste of what could’ve grown into something great. All of this made the scene of what awaited us in the kitchen so much worse, since we had no warning other than the steady dripping from spilled bottles of color, acetate, and of course, blood.
Thank God. The interrogation has finally ended, and Fiona’s on her way over here. But it looks like my plan to mosey up to her side and comfort her ain’t going to happen. Jackie and another female in our group, Angela Meyers, beat me to it.
Damn it, Angie!
Jackie’s roommate is strikingly pretty, with long hair that’s platinum blond. If you ask me, Angie’s beauty seems more ‘made up’ than natural, and we’re all still trying to decide what her real hair color is. But I’d never tell her this. Hell, she might beat me up, or try to incinerate me with her big green eyes. The girl’s incredibly strong, man, so I won’t mess with her, especially when we’re all tense. Not to mention she carries a third-degree black belt in karate.
“Okay, let’s go,” said Fiona between sobs. “I guess we should take the wine with us, since I need a damn drink and soon.”
She motioned to the good luck gift she brought with her, still sitting unopened on the coffee table, which had been ignored by the forensic team. Angie stepped over and picked it up, her eyebrows raised in admiration as she read the Frogs Leap label, which is the vineyard of our gang’s favorite merlot.
“Babe, if you don’t feel up to going to the Thompson house, we can postpone tonight’s investigation to some other time,” I suggested.
Really, I thought it crass to even cons
ider doing anything but mourn with Fiona over her loss. And it’s not like the rest of us were strangers to Fiona’s pals. Jackie and Angie were friends of Johnny and Brenda too. The rest of NVP, short for Nash-Vegas Paranormal, had met them and Candi before, even though just in passing for Ms. Starr. I’d gotten to know Johnny a little, and he’d been to our home down in Arrington a few times. I probably would’ve spent time with Candi, too, but the only time she made it to Arrington was on a weekend night when I had to work late. Any other time she and Fiona hung out was either at Candi’s posh home or at other celebrities’ estates in the area.
My wife shook her head sadly, as if unsure what’d be best.
“You and the guys should go on, and we’ll stay with Fiona,” said Jackie, with enough force to encourage us to follow her suggestion. She wrapped her arms around Fiona’s shoulders protectively. Angie gave an over-enthusiastic nod to support Jackie’s ‘directive’.
“That sounds like the best idea,” Tom chimed in, before I could offer another rebuttal.
I turned to look at him and the rest of the guys, and could clearly read the desire to get something productive done tonight. I might’ve resisted more, but since this genuinely seemed to be what Fiona wanted, I nodded my compliance. I knew she’d save the wine until after, but for now she wanted something else upon which to focus.
“Ya’ll should leave now,” the uniformed policeman advised, stepping over to our group while motioning to the front door. Already, three more news vehicles were crowding the curved driveway.
