Night Chill

by Jeff Gunhus

  “Max… I’m sorry… I…”

  Max held up his hand, “Don’t worry about it. I find myself saying stuff like that all the time.”

  She just needs time. Jesse Dahl didn’t have time. Sarah would go to school, grow older, have a life. Jesse was going to die. Realizing that Max’s little girl would never learn to write made it all the more real.

  Max spoke first. “Enough of that. Let’s talk about how you’re a big screw-up.”

  Jack accepted the unspoken ground rule. No talk of disease today. “So, do you think I have anything worry about from Janney?”

  Max thought it over. “Folks around here trust Janney. Shit, he’s been sheriff around here for almost twenty years. They think he’s an egotistical prick, but they trust him. But you have me as your alibi that you were drinking like a little girl before you left Piper’s. The only risk is that someone at Piper’s wasn’t paying attention and decides they saw you drinking the whole time you were there.”

  “But I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, but someone could have been confused. They see a bunch of empty bottles at our table, they see us having a good time, shooting pool and shooting the shit. Pretty soon they see you drinking beer after beer. After that nightmare with Albert James and we had that shot of whiskey? Maybe people think you needed more than one. They assume it, they think it makes sense, hell, they know they had more than one shot of whiskey after that mess. Soon enough, they see you taking shots.”

  “What are you talking about? I had one beer the whole time I was there. Then that one shot with you.”

  Max shrugged. “Sometimes people see things that aren’t real. I see it in court all the time. Two witnesses at the same event swear up and down that they saw different things. It’s not that they’re lying either. They believe what they saw. It’s just sometimes the mind makes jumps all on its own, plays connect the dots.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  Max reached out and grabbed Jack’s forearm. “Your mind can play tricks on you, Jack. Make you think you saw something that really wasn’t there. And, sometimes, if you’re not careful, people get hurt because of it.”

  Jack looked down at Max’s hand then back up at his friend. “Are we still talking about people in the bar or something else?”

  Max’s stare lasted a few beats too long. Finally he broke his grip on Jack’s arm and gave him a wide smile. “I’m just saying you never know about those hillbillies at Piper’s. Hell, they might say you beat me at pool and we all know that’s a damn lie.”

  Jack smiled uncomfortably. They sat in silence, drinking the rest of their Heinekens. The forest was alive with the rustling of squirrels and birds foraging for winter stores. A gentle breeze was enough to stir the dry leaves on the trees. A slow motion shower of color floated through the air as leaves twirled in a death dance on the way to the ground. Sarah’s little voice came from the table behind them, serenading them with the theme song from one of her cartoon shows.

  Max put down his beer. “I’d better get going. Kristi will think I’m out chasing another woman.” He waved through the window to say goodbye to Lauren and he and Jack headed down the path that led around the house.

  “Daddy, you said you’d do numbers with me!” Sarah called out.

  “I’m telling Uncle Max goodbye. I’ll be right there.”

  Max shook his head, “And the Father of the Year award goes to…”

  “I’m making up for lost time,” Jack said. Again he cringed. Everything seemed somehow to tie into Jesse’s imminent death. They continued around the house in silence.

  Max hesitated in front of his car. “Listen, why don’t you cool it a little about this girl in the trunk? At least until they find a body or something. I’ll try to calm Janney down. I know him pretty well. We can just make this whole thing go away.”

  “My mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. There was a girl and I’m going to find out what happened to her.”

  Max locked eyes with Jack. For a second, Jack thought he saw a flash of anger in his friend’s eyes. But just as quickly it passed. Max hit him on the shoulder. “You are a stubborn S.O.B., aren’t you? At least think about what I said. O.K.?”

  Jack told him he would and then watched his friend go up the driveway and disappear through the trees. He walked back down the path to the rear of the house and climbed up on to the deck.

  Sarah called out when she saw him, “Look at what I did, Daddy. Look!”

  Jack smiled and prepared himself to ohh and ahh at her most recent set of scribbles. His smile disappeared when he saw the papers scattered in front of her.

  There were over a dozen sheets spread out on the table. The crayons were dumped out of the box into a pile in front of her.

  Every sheet was covered with numbers.

  Written in different sizes.

  Different colors.

  Jack picked up some of the papers and turned them over. The backs were just as full. Perfectly formed numbers covered every blank space.

  It was the same number.

  Over and over.

  320.

  Nate Huckley’s hospital room.

  And in the center of every page, written in large, block letters, was a single word.

  RUN

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Perched in a tree stand, the man adjusted his scope to focus on the figure on the deck. The target was agitated about something, holding pieces of paper up in the air. The man knew the little girl was Sarah Tremont. The records he’d copied at Midland Hospital said the older sister Becky had been treated for a broken arm. The 3X9 Bushnell scope clearly showed the girl on the deck did not have a cast.

  The target picked up the girl and went inside. The man did not have interior surveillance so he climbed out on the thick branch below him and wrenched the tree stand away from the main trunk. Moving slowly in case anyone was looking out of the house windows in his direction, he climbed down the tree until he was ten feet from the ground. He threw the tree stand and his black duffel bag into a thick bush that absorbed the equipment with minimum noise. A soft push off the trunk and the man dropped from the tree, rolling on impact and ending in a crouched position.

  The man shook his head. Too much noise. He was getting sloppy.

  He grabbed his things from the bush and started the trek back to his car. The hike gave him time to consider his next move. He had so little information to go on. Nothing more than instinct. But time meant everything right now and if he was going to make a difference he had to move quickly.

  The visit from Max Dahl had been a surprise. He’d have to do some research to find out how close he and Jack Tremont were. The man didn’t have audio but the conversation had looked tense at times as he followed it through the scope.

  Then there was the little girl, Sarah. He was angry at himself for not watching her at all while the men spoke. Tremont’s reaction when he returned to the deck made him wonder what was on those papers. If he had only paid attention, then he might have known for sure instead of trying to make decisions with inadequate information.

  Just like old times, he thought. His entire career had been one situation after another that demanded he make life and death decisions with limited knowledge. He was trained not to think of it as guessing, but rather as interpreting ground truth. The same training taught him the semantics of his profession. He didn’t kill men, but eliminated his targets. He never hurt innocent bystanders; he incurred collateral damage. But the wordplay never changed the reality of the missions he was ordered to carry out. Death was still death, no matter what label it wore.

  He thought he would be glad to be done with the military, but in some ways he longed for it. A world of absolutes. Clear objectives. Orders that came without the need for interpretation or the inconvenience of exercising moral judgment. Now everything seemed grey and the confidence he usually felt on a mission was gone, replaced with almost paralyzing uncertainty. The superstitions he ran away from his entire life were coming back.
The walls of denial, painstakingly built up since childhood, were crashing down around him. He faced a new enemy and it was one he did not understand, one he did not want to believe existed. All he knew was that this new enemy created in him an emotion he thought he had killed off long ago.

  Fear.

  Enough fear to catch him up for a lifetime.

  The more he learned about his enemy the more he wondered if he was up to the task. He did not fear death, that emotion had long been torn from him, but he feared failure. He worried that his enemy was too powerful for him, too smart, had too many advantages. He worried that revenge was clouding his judgment.

  Despite all this, the man was committed to going through with his mission. He had gathered enough intelligence. It was time to act. And time to decide if killing Jack Tremont was part of his solution.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Lauren and Jack sat side by side at the kitchen table, the sheets of construction paper spread out in front of them. The number 320 screamed off the sheets, written in multiple sizes and styles. Sarah also sat at the table, wrapping a lock of hair around her little finger, her eyes wide, waiting for her parents to speak.

  “Sarah, honey.” Lauren said softly. “These numbers look really great.”

  Sarah smiled at the compliment. The way her folks were acting she thought she was in trouble for something. She reached out to pick up one of the sheets of paper. Lauren came out of her chair and blocked her daughter’s hand, “No! Don’t touch it.” Jack gripped his wife’s arm and eased her back in her chair.

  “I’m sorry, Mommy. What did I do?”

  “Nothing sweetie.” Lauren motioned for Sarah to come sit on her lap. Sarah slid off her chair and walked over to nestle into her mother’s arms. Lauren rocked her back and forth. “I’m sorry I snapped at you sweetie. Do you forgive me?” Sarah nodded.

  “Sarah, where did you learn how to write your numbers so well?” Jack said.

  Sarah looked at her dad and then over at the papers on the table. She cocked her head to the side as if realizing for the first time that it was strange that the numbers looked so much better than anything she had ever done before. They looked like an adult did them. She turned back to her dad and shrugged.

  Lauren leaned her back so she could see her face. “Why did you choose those numbers? Are those just the ones you know?”

  Sarah looked down at her hands and mumbled, “I dunno.”

  Jack knew that was Sarah’s line whenever she was nervous, but he wondered if that wasn’t the truth this time. “Sweetie, you’re not in trouble. We’re really proud of you.”

  Sarah shrugged and burrowed deeper into her mom’s arms. Lauren and Jack made eye contact, each searching the other for ideas. Neither of them knew where to go next. They sat in silence, staring at the pages sitting on the table. The faint sound of a sitcom laugh track filtered down from Becky’s room upstairs.

  Jack looked around the room. The area where they sat was what the realtor had called the great-great room. Jack thought the label a bit pompous, but he had to agree with her. It was a massive space with ceilings two stories high, one side covered with layered river rock and another all windows designed perfectly to take advantage of the forest view. The room was his favorite. He loved the openness, the giant fireplace, the illusion of being outdoors. It had always been the most comfortable room in the house for him. Now he felt different. Now he felt exposed.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  Jack jumped at the sound. Lauren let out a small cry as the knocking on the front door crashed through the house. Jack laughed at their reactions, “Wow, I guess we’re a little strung out, huh?”

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No. You?” Lauren shook her head. Jack noticed Sarah watching them. He leaned down toward her and said, “Probably Uncle Max, huh? He’s always getting lost.” He rubbed the top of her head, messing up her hair until she smiled. He walked toward the door trying to show more confidence than he felt. “You guys wait here. I’ll see who it is.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  Jack gave a low whistle and Buddy fell in behind him as he walked to the door. As he got closer he noticed the door wasn’t locked. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time they’d bothered.

  Buddy started to whine, his tail dropping between his legs.

  “What’s wrong?” Jack asked, rubbing Buddy’s head.

  He looked up and suddenly he noticed a person standing with his back to the door just off the entryway. Even in the gathering late afternoon shadows, Jack could tell it was a man’s frame, well over six feet; lean but broad shouldered. The man’s hair was pulled back and tied into a pony tail. Jack opened the door and the man turned around and stepped toward him.

  “I think we need to talk,” the man said.

  Jack studied the man’s face. A dark complexion betrayed any sign of age and provided only ambiguous hints at the man’s ethnicity. He had dark eyes that were focused and intelligent, darting back and forth in constant surveillance. He had a wide, irregular nose, as if it had been broken and left to mend on its own. White scar tissue wrapped its way up from the man’s throat over his jaw line until it disappeared into his hair. Jack had hoped that it would be a door-to-door salesman. But something about the look of the man told him it wasn’t the case.

  “Listen, whatever this is about, you’ve caught me at a bad time. Could you…”

  “Nate Huckley’s coming after your daughter.”

  Jack stiffened. “What did you say?”

  “I said Nate Huckley’s coming after your daughter. And he’s not working alone. I think we should talk.”

  Jack stepped out of the house and closed the door behind him. A couple of days ago he would have told the man to get the hell off his property. But too many strange things had happened, all of them about Sarah. “What do you know?”

  “I know you’re involved in something you don’t understand. I know Huckley tried to take your daughter away from you at that rest area. I know if he’d succeeded that she’d be dead right now. I know that if he wanted her that badly then there must have been a good reason. Once the rest of them figure out what that reason was, then they’ll be after her too. How’s that for starters?”

  “Rest of them? What do you mean?”

  “Huckley isn’t alone. He stumbled across your little girl but believe me his friends are taking notice of the risk he took. They’re trying to understand right now what he found. They have their suspicions, but once they know for sure they’ll stop at nothing until they get her.”

  “This is crazy. Who are you? How are you involved in all this?”

  “I’ve told you more than you knew. Now I need a few answers from you.”

  “Like what?”

  “What did your little girl write on those pages? Is Huckley trying to contact her?”

  Jack was confused for a moment but then felt a surge of heat rush to his face as he realized the implications of what the man had said. The man had been spying on them. Watching from the woods. He didn’t care what the man knew, the invasion was too much. Who knew how long the man had watched his family from the trees. For all he knew, the man was with Huckley. Jack took a step forward and jabbed a finger at the man’s chest

  “You get the hell out of here, understand? If I catch you spying on my family again, I’ll come after you. I swear to God.”

  The man wrinkled his brow as if amused by Jack’s attempt to look threatening. He pointed at Jack’s finger still waving at him. “You’ll want to put that away. I’m not here to cause trouble. I came because I think we might be on the same side in this mess.”

  Buddy, fidgeting uncomfortably next to his master, snarled when the man pointed. Jack reached down without taking his eyes off the man and took hold of the dog’s collar. “Like I said, I think it’s time you leave.”

  The man looked down at the snarling dog and back to Jack. Finally, he shrugged. He reached into his jacket pocket.

  “Hey, hey,” Jack called out,
almost releasing his grip on Buddy.

  The man pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen. Jack steadied his breath. The man wrote something on the paper and held it out for Jack to take.

  “When something else happens, and something will happen, you’ll want to talk. Name’s Joseph Lonetree. That’s my number. ”

  Jack took the paper and stuffed it in his pocket without looking at it. He nodded toward the driveway. The man smiled, turned and headed back to his car. Jack watched until he made sure the car was far up the driveway. He walked back inside and told Buddy to stay on guard by the front door. One phrase from the exchange kept repeating in his head as he walked back to the kitchen. When something else happens, and something will happen, you’ll want to talk. He had a bad feeling that the mysterious Mr. Lonetree was going to be right. And worse, he felt powerless to stop it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The girls resisted sleep as long as possible. Jack and Lauren tried to stick to their normal routine but found themselves as distracted as their kids. Lauren was still unsettled by Jack’s reaction to their late night visitor. He had returned from the entry way with a concerned look and, without saying anything, started to go through the house and check that every window and door was locked. Not many of them were. Then he pulled closed the few curtains they had, muttering to himself how easy it was for someone to see into the house. Lauren resisted the temptation to ask who had been at the door. By Jack’s reaction it was no one he wanted to talk about in front of Sarah.

  Becky came downstairs to see what was going on. She sat at the table and looked over the sheets of construction paper with Sarah’s writing on them and then at her dad rushing around the house. Something was going on. She called out for Buddy and the dog happily jogged into the room and sat by Becky to get his ears rubbed. Seeing this, Jack strode over and kneeled next to his daughter.