"I don't remember what time it was that I heard him come home, but I do remember being so excited to hear about what he saw that I walked downstairs to see him. When my dad wasn't there, I figured he must have walked down to the basement. My dad used to keep a lot of pictures and notes about all his adventures in a file cabinet in the basement since dear old Mom didn't want it upstairs."
"Evil was never welcome in my house," Rita said. "Still isn't," she added, throwing her gaze towards Matthew, Robby, and Maggie.
Jack wanted to get closer to his mother to either try to disarm her or to at least be in between her and Maggie, Robby, and Matthew in case she fired off another slug. Trying to move, however, only caused the numbness in his shoulder to be driven out by pain. He fell back against the life-sized crucifix, again, banging his head on the metal feet of Jesus.
"Don't stop now, Jack," Rita said. "The best part is yet to come."
Righting himself again, Jack continued. "My dad didn't want me to go downstairs. Said there were too many sharp tools that could hurt me. But I really wanted to see him and wanted to make sure he was okay. I was just going to go down part way and tell him that I was still awake. I was hoping that he'd just smile at me and tell me that he'd be up in a jiffy."
"But he didn't say that, did he, Jack?" Rita said, moving closer to her three huddled captives. "He didn't say that at all, did he, Jack?"
Jack felt his heart racing, and he began to breathe in heaves. "No, mother," he said, his voice quickly filling with emotions, "he didn't say anything."
"Now listen closely," Rita said to Maggie. "Listen to what your husband saw that night so long ago."
"I don't know what I saw," Jack demanded.
"Yes, you do, Jack," Rita said calmly. "You've always known what you saw, and you've always known why we had to do what we did once the good Lord gave us the courage."
"I didn't kill my father," Jack said, the tears streaming down his face catching the yellow flickering light of the candle. "You killed him."
"Yes, yes, Jack," Rita said. "The Lord called for my hands, but you helped me drag his body out into the snow, and that is what killed him. The cold killed your father, Jack. So it seems that it was you and I who killed him, doesn't it?"
"What do you want me to say?" Jack screamed.
"Finish telling us all what you saw that night. Tell us that your father wasn't alone in the basement. Tell him who was with him, Jack."
"He didn't do anything wrong," Jack snapped. "He was trying to save him."
"Save who, Jack?" Rita said, her voice falsely curious. "Who was down there in the basement with your father?"
"I don't know," Jack said.
"Yes, you do, Jack. Who was with your father that awful, evil night?"
Jack looked at Maggie. "It was a baby," he said, his voice broken by emotion. "He was holding a dead baby in his arms. My father was just standing at the bottom of the stairs facing the wall with a dead baby in his arms."
"That dead baby's name was Oliver Jones," Rita said. "Poor Oliver Jones, had he lived, would have been our little friend Matthew's uncle. Had he lived, of course." Rita moved towards a chair that sat next to the wall, sat down, and fixed the shotgun's aim directly at Matthew. "Poor Oliver was born to wicked, wicked parents, wasn't he, Jack? Born of sin and killed by sin."
"My dad didn't kill him," Jack said to Maggie. "He tried to save him."
"Now, now, Jack, no one believes that part of the story, and I didn't ask for you to share your opinions, did I? I only asked for you to tell us all what you saw that night in our basement."
"My father tried to stop the ritual," Jack protested.
"We've heard enough from you, Jack."
"He tried to stop them once he saw what they were going to do with the baby."
"Enough, Jack."
"He tried to save him, but it was too late."
"Shut your filthy mouth," Rita screamed. She stood up quickly and raised the shotgun to her shoulder.
"I know who was there," Jack said softly. "I know who was at the ritual and who my dad tried to stop from killing the baby." Jack grinned at his mother.
"Enough, Jack!"
#####
Derek could see only movement through the curtained window. The wind was still blowing, making his attempts to listen to whatever sounds might have been coming from inside the home futile. But he knew the house was not empty.
"Three sets of tracks," he whispered to John.
"Maggie, Robby, and..."
"Must be Jack. Whose house is this?" Jack asked, hoping John would know.
John only shrugged his shoulders.
It probably was a combination of the pain in his shoulder and the howling winds that prevented Derek from hearing him approaching from behind. But when he felt the pistol pressing into the back of his neck, he knew that whatever his and John's plans were to make entry to the house were about to be put on indefinite hold.
"Quietly back away from the house," the pistol holder spoke in even and low tones. "I have no intention of using his gun, but will if I have to."
John recognized Mark Irish and was shocked to see him holding a gun up against Derek's neck.
"How dare you," John said. "Do you know who you are holding that gun up against?"
"I sure do, Father. The private investigator who likes to pretend he's a priest. Now, please, both of you, move away from the door. We need to talk."
"Not sure if you heard the gunshot, Trooper, but walking away doesn't sound like a good idea to me," Derek said.
"Neither is barging into the house. Who knows what she will do if we storm the place."
"She?" Derek asked.
"Rita Bryant. Jack's mother. Now," Mark said more sternly, "back away from the door. We need to figure this out."
Derek and John looked at each other, a moment of sudden realization streaking across both their faces.
"It all makes sense now," John said.
Both Derek and John lowered their profiles and quickly moved away from the door. Keeping a close eye on the door and on the darkness beyond it, they moved back towards the Marginal Way until they were shielded from view by a tight nesting of trees and shrubs. It was only when Derek was certain that they could not be seen from anyone looking out of from the house that he realized that the spot they were standing was the exact spot Ron White had his telescope pointed to.
"Private Investigator Derek Cole, I presume?" Mark said, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the blowing winds.
"Yeah," Derek said, his attention split between Mark and the door to Rita Bryant's house. "The whole priest thing just kind of fell into place."
"It was all my idea, Trooper," John said. "I needed Derek's help once Ron was murdered, and the only way I could think of getting him inside Ron's room was to suggest that Derek was my associate. Not skirting ownership of the fib, but I never told anyone he was a priest, just that he was my associate."
"Doesn't matter now," Mark said. "We have a situation here, and with this storm, it's up to us to make sure no one get hurt."
"That gunshot suggests that we may be too late to prevent that," Derek said.
"Based on who is in that house with Rita, I tend to believe that the shot was a warning shot."
"I know we are pressed for time," John said, "but could you give us the Reader's Digest version of this situation?"
Mark spent two minutes explaining the case to Derek and John. He told them how Rita Bryant was the main suspect in several murders, including her husband's and Ron White's. He also explained that Vanessa Jones was Jack's sister, making Matthew Jones his nephew.
"We don't know how or if Jack Bryant is involved in the crimes, but I do believe that Margaret is just trying to get her son to safety."
"She prefers to be called Maggie," Derek said, offering the only defense for Maggie that he could. "And we need to get her and Robby out of that house."
"Fair enough," Mark said. "Maggie is, by all accounts, completely innocent of a
nything. Based on what we believe, Rita Bryant assaulted Vanessa and kidnapped Matthew. I know that Maggie, Jack, and Robby are inside the house, and I strongly suspect that Matthew Jones is in there as well. I suspect that Rita used Matthew as bait to get Jack and Robby inside, and Maggie was just trying to get her son back.
"If I'm right, Rita is the only one in that house with a gun. She is holding them all hostage, for what reason, I am not 100% clear about. What I am clear about, however, is that getting them to safety is up to us three. Father," he said to John, "I'm going to ask you to stay back here, away from danger."
"Absolutely not!" John demanded. "I will see this thing through."
"No sense arguing with him, Trooper," Derek said, finding a reason to smile, "he may be a priest, but he's a hell of an investigator."
#####
"What are you afraid of, mother? You wanted me to tell the whole story, didn't you? Well, the whole story isn't complete without the details."
"Say another word and..."
The knocking on the front door had a vacuum-like result, sucking the breath out of everyone in the living room. All were frozen in their positions, some out of hope of rescue, and Rita out of disbelief and anger that her control of the situation was in jeopardy. A few seconds after the first knocks were sounded, the visitor knocked again. The knocking was louder and filled with obvious intention. Still, Rita remained motionless. When the knocking continued again, she turned to her captives, saying in a hushed tone, "If anyone makes a sound..." then she pointed the shotgun directly at Robby's scared face.
Again, the knocking sounded. Rhythmic and consistent, it filled the house with its demands. Rita gestured to Maggie to get up. Rita walked close to Maggie and said, "Answer the door, and tell whoever it is to go away. You say one thing that I don't like, and your son's head will be splattered all over my walls."
The mental imagery shook Maggie to her core. She glanced down at Robby who was still sitting next to Matthew, his eyes infused with terror. "Don't you even think about hurting my son," Maggie demanded, and then walked to the front door. She hesitated when her hand reached the door handle, and she shot a determined glance at Rita.
"Who is it?" she asked through the still closed door.
"Father John Flannigan. Maggie, is that you?"
"Father," Maggie said, desperately trying to conceal her worry, "everything is fine. We are having a family conversation and need our privacy. I'll call you later this evening, but everything is fine. Thanks for stopping by."
#####
Derek and Mark took their positions, Mark at the backdoor and Derek just beneath the front window of Rita's house. He was just a few feet away from John, who was speaking to Maggie through the closed front door. When he heard Maggie tell John that everything was fine and that John should 'go away,' Derek gestured to John to keep the conversation going by rolling his hands in tight circles.
"Maggie," John struggled to say, "I really must insist on speaking to you right now."
Derek mouthed 'good, keep talking' to John as he slowly raised himself up to peer through the living room window. The drapes were drawn shut but a gap in the drapes was all that Derek needed.
"Father," Maggie said, her voice betraying her intention to sound calm, "please leave us alone. We have a lot to talk about and don't need a nosy priest forcing himself into our personal business." Saying the words hurt Maggie. She loved John and felt that he was too kind, too caring of a man to deserve those words being said to him.
"Maggie," John said, unaffected by the insult, "I insist, and I am coming in."
When John reached for the door handle, Derek saw a woman holding a shotgun move quickly towards the door. He watched as the woman hit Maggie with the barrel of the gun and then point it directly at the door.
"Down!" Derek screamed at John. "Get down," he yelled as the wooden door exploded in fury of horrible sounds and splintered wood.
#####
Derek's yell baffled John for a critical second. He turned quickly towards Derek, who was now charging towards him, then back to the door when he heard the noise that sounded as if someone had been hit and was falling to the ground. It was then that it registered. He should have moved away the second after Derek yelled to him. John wondered what would happen next. Would Derek reach him and knock him away from whatever was coming through the door? Would his feet register the danger the rest of his body was in and propel him away from the door? Would whatever was coming through the door that concerned Derek so much reach his body before either of the other two options were implemented?
He was shocked at both the deafening sound and how distorted his vision instantly became. The door exploded into a million splinters of wood, leaving a gaping hole, wide enough for him to crawl through, had he wanted to. But crawling through the uneven hole was far from his list of things to do. John was knocked away much further than he thought was possible. He landed in a drift of snow that nearly engulfed his entire body, yet, somehow, his view of the front door of Rita Bryant's house remained unbroken. He felt as if his eyes were forever locked on the splintered door, with its gaping hole and wisps of brown and white smoke spilling into the freedom of the outside air. He couldn't pull his sight away.
"Stay down," he heard Derek say. "Are you hit?"
John couldn't speak. His mind was still wondering what would happen, even after one of the possibilities he had imagined had obviously presented itself.
"Father, are you hit?" Derek demanded.
"Derek?" John managed. "What happened?"
"Stay down, and don't move."
Derek watched the front door open. He saw the shotgun first then he saw Maggie on the ground, her hands pressed over her temple. Then he saw the woman, her shotgun pointing directly at him.
#####
Mark's reaction was immediate. Though he didn't expect that Rita would fire off a round, her doing so only sped up his reaction. Mark threw his shoulder into the back door, shattering the glass and breaking the doorframe into an array of splintered wood pieces. As soon as he entered the room, he felt for and found a light switch. With the kitchen lights on, he clearly saw two children on the floor in the next room, Jack Bryant lying beneath a seven-foot high crucifix, and a woman, who he quickly assumed was Rita Bryant, moving toward him, a shotgun leading her way.
Rita heard the crashing sound coming from her kitchen. She spit with anger as she turned away from the sinner standing outside her front door and moved quickly to the filthy thief trying to steal her mission away.
Mark dove out of her line of fire just as he heard the familiar sound of a round being pumped into the shotgun's chamber. He stopped his rolling body and steadied his pistol as the shotgun's barrel came into his view.
"Freeze!" he commanded. "Police. Drop the shotgun and walk into the kitchen with your hands above your head."
His mandate only caused the shotgun's barrel to retreat back into the room where he had seen the two children and Jack Bryant. Mark stood and moved towards the opening leading to the next room much more quickly than he had been trained to do. He knew that if he ever saw a trooper recruit moving as fast as he was towards an armed assailant, that he would berate the recruit with insults.
"We are all going to die someday," he would scream at the recruit, "but that doesn't mean you should run towards death. Your safety in every situation is more important than anyone else's."
And as he turned the corner and was no more than one foot into the adjoining room, he realized exactly why running into a room that was occupied by someone holding a gun was a bad idea.
Rita didn't hesitate or pause. As soon as Mark was in view, she unloaded the shotgun's payload.
"The curse of the Lord is on the house of the wicked, but He blesses the dwelling of the righteous. Evil is not allowed in my house," Rita said so calmly that Mark could hardly hear her words.
The slug hit him hard and directly in his chest. The force knocked him back three feet and sent him crashing over the small, four
-chaired dining table in the kitchen. His breath was evicted from his lungs.
He watched as Rita came into his view. Though his vision was clouded, his ears filled with a deafening ringing, and his mind scattered, he knew that his bulletproof vest had stopped the slug from boring a hole through his heart and lungs. But as Rita stood above him, he knew that he was still several seconds away from having any control of his arms and legs. She pointed the shotgun several inches above where his vest could offer any protection.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
"I'm fine. Not hit," John managed to say.
"Then get on your feet. Rita fired off another round."
Derek raced through what was left of the front door. He paused only for a second to check on Maggie, who was still lying on the floor, unconscious but still very much alive. He darted into the living room to his left, just in time to see Robby sprinting towards the kitchen.
"Robby, wait," he called.
But Robby was directed by something else. Derek watched as Robby sprinted through the kitchen, out through the door, and into the storm. He heard but ignored something that Jack Bryant said to him and sprinted after Robby. As he entered the kitchen, he saw Rita Bryant moving quickly towards the backdoor, yelling at Robby.
Derek, being without a weapon, decided to continue his sprint and aimed his good shoulder directly at Rita's back. But she was too quick for such a barbaric attack. She turned so suddenly and, using the butt end of the shotgun, cracked Derek across his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor in an instant state of unconsciousness.
Rita turned quickly back towards Mark, "You caused evil to be released into this world. You will pay for your indiscretion." She turned away towards the open door. "I'll deal with you and this heap of filth in just a moment," she said, switching her gaze between Mark and Derek, then disappeared through the backdoor and into the dark night.
Those of the Margin: a Paranormal Suspense Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 2) Page 20
