“Yeah, none of that film noir stuff,” Ace said.
Bob glanced at me, then at Willie. “Are you two okay with this?”
I would’ve preferred spending the time alone with Willie, but since I knew she’d stay the night, I shrugged. “Yeah, make yourselves comfortable.”
Bob grabbed a chair from the kitchen. “We were at B 52’s and it was snowing so hard, I told the brothers we’d better leave or we’d get stuck there, and now I think I’d better stay with Ace and Deuce tonight. They wanted to play video games but I suggested a movie.”
“A good choice,” I said.
Willie came and cuddled up with me on the couch, pulling a blanket over us. “We can talk later,” she murmured in my ear. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Me, too,” I said.
Ace put in the movie and while the snow continued, we settled in for the night. And I relaxed for the first time in days.
THE END
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Detective Sarah Spillman appears in three short stories that you can read in the short story collection, Take Five. It also includes a Reed Ferguson short story, Elvis And The Sports Card Cheat. You can also buy the stories separately.
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Turn the page for an excerpt from the next Reed Ferguson mystery, TORCH SCENE!
TORCH SCENE SAMPLE
It woke me out of a deep sleep. I stared up at the ceiling and noticed a dancing glow penetrating the darkness. I blinked and turned my eyes toward the window. The light through the cracks in the blinds was too bright and too red to be the moon’s luminosity. I propped up on an elbow, trying not to disturb Willie, who was cuddled beside me. We were lying on the couch in my living room, and we’d both fallen asleep while watching a movie. The television screen was glowing neon blue, the movie over. I sat up carefully, noting Willie’s soft, regulated breathing. Then another noise carried through the stillness. Sirens, growing louder.
There was a fire, somewhere close by. Wow, I was some detective to have figured that out.
I pushed myself off the couch, tiptoed in my socks to the window, and peeked out through the blinds. My jaw dropped. Fire raged through the top story of an old Victorian house across the street. It was a beautiful structure, although lately it was suffering from the rundown blues. It still had lots of charm, with a long balcony, arched windows, and plenty of original wood. I watched, hypnotized by the red, orange and white flames that licked at that old wood. Brilliant flames soon enveloped the roof.
I stared at the blaze for a moment, too stunned to act. It was quite a sight, and I held up a hand to block the glare. Dark shadows raced along the sidewalk as my neighbors poured out of their houses to watch the sight.
Behind me, Willie stirred. “Reed?” She yawned. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I should go home.”
I turned around and shook my head. “You can’t.”
“Nice try, but I shouldn’t stay.” She stretched and groaned. “I’ve got to be up early and I don’t want to disturb you.” A puzzled look crossed her face. “What’s wrong?”
I felt pressure on my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t find my voice. “Your building is on fire,” I finally managed to say.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I pulled up the blinds and the fiery glow burst into the room.
She flew off the couch and rushed to the window. “Oh no!”
I suddenly found my faculties. “Come on.” I grabbed her arm.
We both slipped on shoes, then ran outside and down the stairs. The wail of sirens grew to a crescendo as we rounded the corner to the front of my building. My neighbors, Ace and Deuce Smith, emerged bleary-eyed from their first-floor condo. Both wore nothing but white boxer shorts and socks.
“Hey, Reed, there’s a fire,” Ace said, stating the obvious.
“A big fire,” Deuce said as he crossed his arms over his beefy chest to ward off the chilly April night air.
This level of insight was typical from the two, whom I’d affectionately nicknamed the Goofball Brothers because they were, perhaps, a few snowflakes short of a blizzard. Ace had worked at Blockbuster until they closed, and now he was job-hunting, and Deuce was a construction laborer. Their parents helped them financially, which explained why they could afford to live in this neighborhood. Their older brother, Bob, who lived a few miles away, watched over his younger, intelligence-impaired brothers, and tried to make sure they stayed out of trouble. As far as the younger sons’ goofy names, apparently their father had discovered his love of poker only after Bob was born. Lucky Bob.
We stood on the porch and watched the spectacle unfold. Two fire trucks pulled to a stop on the street in front of us, and firemen poured out of the trucks, rushing to and fro, yelling as they hooked up hoses and maneuvered ladders. The sirens died a slow death, and a couple of police cars screeched to a halt behind the trucks. Four officers shot from the cars and began shouting orders for everyone to stay back. Not that they needed to tell us. Even from across the street, the heat from the blaze was intense. A couple of our neighbors sidled up near the porch and watched with us.
“Damn,” Mr. Darmody said. He must’ve been in his eighties and he and his wife lived next door. “Never seen anything like that.” His wife, Mrs. Darmody – I didn’t know her first name either – nodded mutely as she tugged a sweater around her shoulders.
It was amazing how the fire brought us all out, like this was a Fourth of July fireworks display, and not someone’s home dying before our eyes.
Crackling and popping sounds split the night air as wood burned and electrical circuits exploded. Smoke billowed into the air and ash fell around us like spring snow. Two firemen pointed a hose at the house, then a stream of water fanned back and forth, spraying the flames. It was hard to tell if it was making a difference. Two more firemen in fireproof suits and oxygen tanks stormed up the front porch, broke down the door with axes and rushed inside.
“Is anyone in there?” a man who lived down the street asked.
“I hope not,” someone else replied.
Willie choked back a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks. I put my arm around her. She was trembling, and it wasn’t just from the chilly air.
The blaze intensified, engulfing much of the top floor interior. Streams of water poured down on the fire. Then a loud groan broke through the cacophony, and we jumped as the cracking sounds of collapsing joists burst from the building. The two firemen emerged from the building just as some windows exploded. Someone screamed. The firemen dropped to the grass, then scrambled away from the house.
“Wow,” Deuce said, awe in his voice. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Sparks danced in the night sky, and black plumes of smoke rose up, obliterating the moon. A breeze shifted direction, and suddenly a fireman shouted and frantically gestured at the house next door. Flames were crawling up the roof.
A crew of firemen shifted focus and doused the new blaze, then covered surrounding roofs with water to keep them from catching fire. Then they aimed the hoses at the towering maple tree in the yard. The first unit still focused on the third floor, trying to get the blaze under con
trol.
Willie’s other next-door neighbor, a guy named Rusty Householter, came running up.
“Oh my god!” he said as he ran a hand through thinning blond hair. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re not the only one,” I muttered.
“Willie, are you all right?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, her eyes focused across the street, a helpless look on her face.
“Reed,” Rusty murmured, throwing a slight nod at her. “Where are the other tenants from her building?”
Willie stiffened. “Oh.” She emitted a little yelp and covered her mouth. “You don’t think…”
We stepped off the porch and approached the street. Before we’d taken five steps, an officer standing on the sidewalk hollered at us to stay back.
“We’re looking for the other tenants,” I shouted at him as I pointed at the inferno.
He cupped a hand around his ear and I yelled again. He nodded, then signaled us over. “How many tenants in the building?” he asked.
“Three,” Willie said. She coughed and waved at the smoke around us. “I live on the ground floor. Darcy Cranston has the second floor apartment, and Nick O’Rourke lives in the studio apartment in the attic.”
“What about the basement?” he asked.
“Laundry and storage,” she said.
“I saw Darcy earlier,” Rusty said as he joined us. “She was going out with her boyfriend.”
“She spends a lot of time at his place,” Willie said. “I hope that’s the case tonight.”
“What about Nick?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“I don’t see him anywhere,” Rusty said as he scanned the people nearby.
The officer – his name tag read ‘Adams’ – turned and shouted a name. Another officer ran up.
“Ask around, see if you can find a man named Nick…” Adams glanced back at us.
“O’Rourke,” Willie said.
The second officer nodded and headed off to canvas a small crowd down the street. We stepped back, waited and watched. The firemen appeared to be making some progress, keeping the blaze confined to the attic. But even as I thought that, one attic wall moaned, then shuddered and collapsed. Another wall soon followed. The officer returned and spoke to Adams, then shook his head. Adams came toward us, his mouth a grim line.
“No Nick O’Rourke,” he said.
Willie’s lower lip quivered. “Was he…” she couldn’t finish the sentence.
Adams shrugged. “Do you know his phone number?”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said as she pulled out her cell phone. Her hand shook as she touched a couple of buttons and put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing,” she said in answer to quizzical looks. A moment later, she spoke into the phone. “Hey, Nick, it’s Willie. Can you give me a call as soon as you can? Thanks.”
“Voice mail,” Adams said. I guess he was taking his cue from Ace, pointing out the obvious.
“Where could he be?” Willie asked.
“We’ll find out,” Adams said. “We’ll need to talk to the owner of the building, and we can ask if they have more information on O’Rourke. You know who owns the place?”
“That would be me,” Willie said.
What Others Are Saying About Nephilim Genesis of Evil by Renée Pawlish
5 Star Review
Stephen King and Dean Koontz have long been known as masters of horror. I believe you can add Renee Pawlish to that list… The plot is entrancing. It grabbed my attention from the beginning and held it to the end.
Readers’ Favorite
A Spooky Blend of Biblical Intrigue and Modern Paranormal
This book is clearly written by a pro. The scenes are colored with rich description, depth of character and a cast that is reminiscent of Henry Fonda's On Golden Pond. However, there is an evil in this story that FINALLY brings the Nephilim to life and uncovers the dark secrets that scripture has keep hidden for millennium. If you enjoy reading supernatural fiction that meshes our distant past and the present, you will enjoy this most excellent book.
Kindle Book Review
I Couldn't Put It Down!
This book grabs you immediately and it doesn't turn you loose until you've read the last word. Carefully plan when you will begin reading it because it's more than likely you won't be able to put it down. Renee Pawlish is now on my favorite writer list and it's not a long one.
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Nephilim Book Two Available Soon
The long-awaited second book in the Nephilim Trilogy will be released soon! Visit www.reneepawlish.com for more information.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Renée Pawlish is the author of The Reed Ferguson mystery series, Nephilim Genesis of Evil, The Noah Winter adventure series for young adults, Take Five, a short story collection that includes a Reed Ferguson mystery, and The Sallie House: Exposing the Beast Within, about a haunted house investigation in Kansas.
Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.
Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com.
The Reed Ferguson Mystery Series
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Torch Scene
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Out of the Past: A Reed Ferguson Mystery (A Private Investigator Mystery Series - Crime Suspense Thriller Book 5) Page 16
