Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy

by R. E. Schobernd

  The sky was getting more overcast ahead of the approaching storm; it was now a light gray and people were stopping in the store to get supplies for the next several days. Once he had left the main road not many people were visible at ten o’clock to observe him as he headed south away from Crowsnest Pass.

  He had made enough trips to his campsite to encounter no difficulty in finding the trail again. Earlier in the morning he had broken camp and left most of his gear above the tent site in a stand of spruce trees near the base of a stone outcropping. After loading both packs and assuring himself every thing was secured, he set out at a fast pace, retracing his original route. Shortly after noon snow began to fall. Large flakes, dropping so fast and thick visibility was quickly reduced to fifty feet. Still, he pushed the machine as fast as he dared, without taking undue risk; trying to evade the law and escape the image of the woman he had mutilated. He intended to cross the border before night fall and then make camp. If he could make it across the high point of the mountain and past where he had camped his first night out, he would be in forested terrain and his track would be harder to spot from the air.

  By three o’clock he knew he had no chance of traversing the mountain during the storm. A thermometer taped to his machine indicated the temperature to be minus twenty one degrees and he judged the wind to be blowing at thirty miles an hour with gust as high as fifty. An hour before he had been forced to reduce his speed to ten miles per hour. Even then he worried he would drive off the sheer cliffs to his left and plummet several hundred feet or more to the bottom. The snowfall had become so intense visibility was practically zero; the overcast sky so gray it might as well have been dark. Hugging the walls of rock to his right Clay spotted a snow pack where wind currents had collected snow in a block fifty feet wide and at least twenty feet high, tapering out to where he viewed it. The machine was shut down at the base of the snow pack and he removed a shovel from his gear; an aluminum scoop shovel, smaller than a grain shovel used on a farm, but right for the job at hand. Removing his coat he placed it on the snow mobile and then put the cover over the machine and the rest of his gear. The howling wind fought him fiercely, but gradually he secured the ties. Setting a steady pace he began to dig the snow away, carving a horizontal pathway into the snow bank until a vertical face at the end of it was six feet high. Then he cut into the snow wall two feet above the pathway and dug a four foot entrance upward at a forty five degree angle and six feet deep. Steps were cut and stomped into the snow so he could advance further. At the end of the angled space a room began to take shape; seven feet wide by six feet deep, and five feet high to the top of the domed ceiling. Before it was completely dark outside he had stopped using the flashlight and gone to his gear to locate candles. One candle lit inside the snow cave was enough to provide light to work by and raise the temperature significantly. On the far wall a two feet high by three feet deep ledge was left for a bed. He used his rifle to punch a hole in the ceiling out to the edge of the snow bank for ventilation. At eight he had carried his coat and all of his gear into his new quarters and piled what was not needed in front of the entrance to partially block it. The temperature with the candle was enough to remove his parka and still be warm, even after he cooled off from shoveling. This would be his home until the snow stopped and he could continue. The temperature was above twenty degrees inside and it was quiet; deathly quiet. Outside the cave the wind could be heard howling, sucking the warmth from every living thing it swirled around and over.

  When he stopped digging and sat to catch his breath he was again confronted by the memory of the lady in the back seat of the truck. Rummaging through his pack he located the bottle of bourbon and began to throw shots down. Sleep finally came but her ghostly image haunted him kept him restless and in pain. At four in the morning he awoke to screaming and sat upright to confront himself, screaming in mortal fear of the face with bloody eye sockets; it had chased and caught him throughout the night. Curling up in a fetal position and drawing his parka up to his neck, he sobbed and tried to justify his cruel treatment of the innocent woman.

  Late Tuesday afternoon Clay was squatted in the cave entrance surveying the snow field in front of him when he heard the drone of an approaching single engine plane. The pilot of the small plane was east of the cliff face and flying low. After grabbing his binoculars from the cave Clay focused on the plane’s markings; RCMP, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. He surmised they were out after the storm looking for tracks. Surely if they didn’t see any they wouldn’t return to the same area. But, just to be safe, he would put off digging out through the three feet of new snow and wait another day to make his run to the valley below.

  Back in his sleeping bag he had the same nightmares he had suffered with for the past two nights; the lady sitting next to Charles De Grand. He couldn’t put her act of resignation out of his mind. She had to know she was going to die and simply closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable; but why did she choose to reopen them at the worst possible moment? She was condemned to perish because she was in the company of the wrong man; a man marked for death. She was one of the innocents, desecrated by a violence engulfing her; violence she neither engaged in nor understood. And for Clay, once the destruction had begun, there was no turning back. Occasionally people unexpectedly crossed his path and they had to be dealt with quickly and with finality. His reputation was built on results, and final, permanent closure was all his clients were interested in. No tears were shed for her, unlike the two previous nights, but sleep again came slowly and fitfully as his mind evaded the touch of the crimson streaked face.

  Chapter 28

  The following evening Clay began clearing a ramp for the snow mobile to ascend and removed the snow gripping its appendages like white mud. He had vowed when he woke to put the death of the un-named woman behind him and only draw on the positive experience of his wilderness trials. She was an unfortunate victim and he felt great sorrow that she had become involved. He abhorred the idea of how he had killed her, but she had been dying anyway, and he rationalized he had actually made it easier for her. The snow cave had provided warmth and shelter to save his life, but the confinement and isolation had almost driven him mad. When the storm passed and the winds abated the cave was as quiet as a graveyard; he felt as if it were he who had died and was entombed. He was relieved to be out in the open, faced with new challenges and decisions to be made. With the headlight illuminating a path in front of him he eased the machine out of the snow trap and began the last leg of his journey.

  The run down the mountain was made carefully, and before midnight he was again at the east end of Lake Kintla. Running in the light of a half moon under a clear sky he searched the center section of the lake surface for signs of ice fishing. Cutting a trail through a foot of fresh snow he finally saw several depressions where holes had been cut through the foot thick ice sheet. The below zero temperature had formed a plug of ice in the bottom of the hole, but it was not more than three inches thick. Using the rifle barrel as a pick he chopped at the hole until it was opened to near its original eight inch diameter. First he dumped all of the spent casings through the ice hole. Next the rifle, silencer, scope, revolver and automatic pistol were dropped through the hole where they would lay hidden forever. Holding the woman’s jewelry in his hand, as he had many times over the past several days, Clay fought with himself emotionally. For some reason he felt a strong sense of pity for the unnamed woman. He had an insane urge to retain some kind of material tie to her; something to keep her with him and somehow mitigate the barbaric act he had committed against her. Slowly he allowed the ring, minus the blue precious stone, and the gold bracelet, minus the diamonds, to roll out of his palm, and fall through the hole in the ice. The gold wedding band would stay with him, despite the risk.

  Less than four hours later Clay was at his truck. After digging snow away from in front of it and making a trail for the rear tires and the trailer to run through he pulled the truck forward into the roadway to lo
ad the snow machine. He planned to drive through Polebridge, on to Columbia Falls and down to Missoula before stopping. There he would find a place to pull over and nap in the cab of the truck long enough to get rested for the run out of Montana. Once he was in Iowa he would stop for a room where he could take a shower and clean up. After more than a week without a shower or change of clothing he suspected people might hold their noses if he got too close. Before leaving he changed all of his clothing, including socks, underwear, jeans, a heavy flannel shirt and a coat. With a knife he shredded the white arctic gear and planned to distribute the pieces in separate trash containers along the way. His last act in the job would be to find a post office in Missoula and mail De Grand’s ring to Tony as proof he had fulfilled the contract.

  Back home Clay learned from Tony the murder of the wife of an Assistant Secretary in the Canadian Government had been blamed on her scandalous behavior with her current secret lover, Charles De Grand.

  Tony was saying, “The papers reported her husband was the logical suspect, but he had a solid and undisputable alibi. Since no evidence of his involvement could be found he was exonerated. The Canadian cops don’t have any clues as to who committed the murder, why it was committed, or how the killers disappeared.” After taking a sip of hot coffee he continued, “Since three weapons were used to kill the four of them it was assumed multiple assassins committed the murders. They think whoever authorized the crime had a real hard on for the woman and singled her out for especially gruesome treatment.”

  Clay sat across from Tony, enjoying his friend’s amazement of the feat he had pulled off two weeks earlier. “I learned a lot on that job Tony. I’m convinced with good planning, and some measure of luck, I can hit anybody, anywhere.”

  “But”, Tony cut in, “How did you know about the woman being his girlfriend; Genevieve Vil…?”

  “I didn’t.” Clay replied quickly. “I just followed an instinct to put the focus on her.”

  “Whoa! Something happened there didn’t it? I can see it in your expression and hear it in your voice.”

  “Yeah, something happened. What I did to her got to me. She was my first innocent victim and it still bothers me. I didn’t, and still don't, want to know her name. I know too much about her already and I’ve got to forget her and put it behind me.”

  “Be careful here Clay; you’re getting into some deep emotional shit, be very careful. Maybe you should take some time off, or even consider quitting; I know you don’t need the money.”

  “I don’t want to quit Tony. In between jobs I start craving the excitement; I’m an emotional junkie.” Clay chuckled, “I guess I need the rush from killing in order to live.”

  Clay hesitated staring somberly at the floor while Tony continued to study him, “I’ll be alright Tony. I just need some time for this one to pass.”

  “Well anyway, as I was saying, you’ve got damn good instincts.” Tony opened a desk drawer, took out a large fat envelope and handed it to Clay. “Here’s the money. They were tickled shitless when the investigation was focused on the woman instead of their guy .The consiglieri suggested they throw in an extra twenty five grand for your expenses. Will this cover it?”

  “Yes, it will more than cover all my costs.”

  “He also appreciated getting De Grand’s ring. The son had to be convinced his New York customers were behind the deaths. He believed what the cop’s released; the woman was the target. So now he’s convinced if he fucks up like his old man did he’ll have you come looking for him. He’s already returned the money the old man was holding and adjusted his cut to ten percent.”

  Then Tony changed the subject, “What the hell are you gonna do with all the money you’re making? Do you want to go into partnership with me on some legit businesses?”

  “Thanks for the offer Tony, but I’ve been talking with some investment advisors who exercise at the club. I plan to start putting money into the stock market. They were recently recommending something called software companies; something to do with computers.”

  “Good luck Clay. Me, I’ll put my money where I can see it and control what happens to it. I like small local businesses that I know about.”

  “They're good too, but I’ve got enough to worry about with the antique shop. In fact I bought some good glassware and a small amount of furniture while I was in Kansas and coming back across Missouri. But I need more, so I’m going east again on another buying trip.

  A month later Clay was sitting in his office when George Mangiurea knocked before opening the door and entering. Wasting no time he sat down and got right to the point of his visit. “My boss, Special Agent Trowbridge, asked me to talk to you again to solicit your help in our investigation. Based on further interviews with nurses and doctors at the hospital we’re convinced you must have had knowledge about arrangements leading up to the murder of the gang members who attacked Tony Giliano. In return for your cooperation we’re prepared to offer you immunity and protection to testify against the Giliano gang.”

  “I’m afraid you and your other guy, what ever his name is, are way off target. I admit I was, shall I say rather forceful, in demanding the hospital staff cooperate to get Tony out of there, but that was the full extent of my involvement. If you want to arrest me go ahead. Otherwise, please get out of my office because I have business calls to make.”

  Mangiurea was taken aback at his abrupt dismissal and visibly showed it. “Well, I’m sorry you feel this way. If you don’t change your mind our next step will be to continue to build a case against you and convene a grand jury.”

  “Are you threatening me; it sounds I can say what you want to hear or be prosecuted. As I said from the start I don’t know anything about the Giliano business interest. Tony and I are friends, not business partners.”

  Clay stood and pointed to the door, “Now, please leave.”

  George Mangiurea stood and at the door calmly said, “I’ll be back; we’ll be talking again.”

  After closing the door and sitting at his desk, Clay leaned back and closed his eyes to think about what just transpired. He quickly decided Mangiurea was on a fishing expedition. The F.B. I. agent hadn’t been able to find any hard evidence to use against him and was just applying pressure to see if he would panic. What they had accomplished on his side was to instill a sense of caution. He would need to be cognizant of their attention to him in everything he did; not only his hit man role, but also his legitimate investments. He didn’t want to get caught by the I.R.S. like Chicago’s infamous Al Capone.

  He decided to skip lunch with his mother for the week and stay at the office instead. For some time she had been distant and down right combative with him. Perhaps they needed some time apart and he should just back off. Instead he called Lizzy and made a date to take her and Irish to dinner the following Friday evening.

  Two months later Adrianna called to ask if he could get away for a week to vacation with her in Florida. He had been making trips to Washington every month or two and he felt their relationship had steadily strengthened. He agreed to meet her there in two weeks. He still hadn’t mentioned it to Tony; even as close as they had become he didn’t know what might be said about him banging Tony’s only daughter.

  Clay turned on the light and viewed the lovely vision belonging to him for only a few more short hours. They made love almost non stop until he collapsed from fatigue and dosed off. The last thing he remembered seeing was a smile of satisfaction and gloating on Adrianna’s face. She had met him on even ground, matched him act for act, stroke for stroke and watched as he lay exhausted, falling asleep. With a smirk she declared herself the winner.

  The previous week she had hinted to her mother about seeing someone who might be a keeper, but had decided to wait a while longer to put a name to her mystery man. When they announced their engagement would be a great time to surprise both parents.

  Chapter 29

  The ensuing months found Clay again enjoying a satisfactory relationship with his parent
s. The FBI agents had visited Margaret a second time, but she had refused to speak to them. She had backed off attacking his relationship with Tony and he had resumed his weekly lunch visits with her, as well as attending occasional dinners at their house. Occasionally he made a point of taking his parents and Lizzy and Irish out for dinner.

  One afternoon Clay was sitting in a Chicago traffic jam and had the opportunity to relax and think about Adrianna. Their love making was stupendous and he longed to be with her more, but lately she had been pressuring him with talk of marriage. He had been putting her off but when they were last together in Washington he sensed she had come close to issuing him an ultimatum. She had even spoken jokingly of seeing other men if Clay wasn’t serious about advancing their relationship. She wanted children and apparently intended to start a family soon; with or without him. But he knew there was no way he would break his self imposed pledge to stay single. His private career was more important to him. Even though the antique business was bringing in more money than he had ever dreamed possible, he had learned he was addicted to his hit man role. More than once he had tried to imagine quitting and devoting all of his time and energy to the antiques. Each time he had laid out a business plan on paper and had projected the possible increase in sales and profits. Each time he had torn the paper into small shreds and tossed it in the trash. Several times he had kept the plan for several days, reviewing it carefully daily. But in the end he had to accept the fact that his killer role provided much more than just money. It gave him an emotional high; a feeling of achievement buying and selling couldn’t touch. The danger was a drug to him; it provided more excitement and personal reward than anything he had ever done or could imagine doing. Even the recent attention of law enforcement wasn’t enough to dissuade him and cause him to effect a change. No; a family meant inquisitive children underfoot and additional friends and relatives to deal with. Any of those could be the catalyst which could cause him to be caught; too many prying eyes and suspicious minds pointed at his peculiar habits. He would have to deal with Adriana on the present level and find a way to satisfy both of their needs with out succumbing to a wedding yoke around his neck.