Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers

by Piñeiro, Caridad

  “My son was a cop out in Oregon. My other son that wasn’t the mechanic. Danny was my eldest. He uh…he was a cop in Seattle. Got shot and killed four years ago.”

  Regret smacked Griff square in the gut. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Tracy.”

  The mechanic nodded and cleared his throat. “I’ve always respected the police, even before my boy became one. And I’ve got the biggest bullshit meter of anyone I know. I can see you’re an honorable man.”

  Griff smiled. “Thanks. But really, I’d like to pay you something for your trouble.”

  Once more the old man waved a hand. “No.”

  Inspiration hit Griff. “I have another question.”

  Mr. Tracy adjusted his baseball cap. “Yeah? What would that be?”

  “I’ve got a few questions about that old ranch-style house up on the hill…near the Point. You know which one I’m talking about?”

  Mr. Tracy huffed. “Who doesn’t? Place is bad news. Why you asking?”

  Griff was glad the old man didn’t have any other customers around. “A friend of mine…” Griff decided midstream to come clean with the man in case the old coot’s bullshit meter did work as well as he claimed. “I’ve been by there several times with a friend. The damned roses up there bloom and die and bloom again. Sometimes all within one day. One time they were smashed into the ground like they were run over by a vehicle. Have you ever heard of that?”

  The mechanic didn’t look the least surprised. “Haven’t witnessed it myself. Never had a want to go up there. Lots of rich people built their damn houses up that way over the years.”

  Griff ignored the rich people statement. “So you don’t believe the roses change like that?”

  The old man shrugged. “My boys saw it happen once when they were teenagers. They took their car up to the Point. You know there’s that area where boys and girls can…well…park?”

  Griff zipped up his coat against the chilly wind that blew past the garage door. “I saw that.”

  “Well, the boys took their girlfriends up there one night. When they got home at midnight…that were their curfew, they were white as sheets and telling my wife and I that the ranch house was haunted. Normally I would have thought they were full of shit and playing me for a fool. But I never saw those boys that afraid before or since. They said they wouldn’t go up there again.”

  “They didn’t say what they saw?”

  Griff swallowed hard and pursed his lips. He rubbed at his bristly chin again. “They stopped their car in front of the house. The girls dared them to pull into the driveway, so they did. Nobody was living there at the time. Leastways there weren’t supposed to be anybody living there. My boy, the one that became a cop, he was the skeptical one. He went along with the dare and knocked on the door.” Mr. Tracy rubbed the back of his neck. “Now here’s where the story gets dicey, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for not believing it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well, the boys say the door opened wide and there was this old man there…a guy a damned sight older than me. They said he looked about a hundred. Wrinkled. Smelly. With black teeth. Anyway, this old guy invited them in. But they said they were so afraid, that there was something inside them that said if they stepped in there they’d never get out. One of the girls thought it would be funny to take the old guy up on his offer and stepped inside. The old guy grabbed her arm and she started screaming. My boys and the other girl latched onto her and they played hell to get that old bastard to let go of that girl. They ran back to the car. The girl had these weird burns on her arm…well, I’m getting ahead of myself. They could hardly get the car started and this old guy was laughing at them. A cackle, they said. It was around Halloween, so they’re thinking maybe this bastard that grabbed the girl is playing a trick on them.”

  Caught up in the man’s story, Griff asked, “They got the car started?”

  “Yeah, they got it started and drove outta there fast. The girl who the old guy grabbed was losing her dinner by that time and her arm looked like it had second degree burns. They drove her straight to the hospital in town. She had burns on her arms in the shape of that creep’s fingers if you can believe that crap. She was so messed up they kept her in the hospital for a night and then had to send her to the mental institution in Pueblo for a stay.”

  Griff put his hands on his hips. “Did the police check out the house?”

  “Yep. Said my boys must of done it to the girl because there wasn’t nobody in the house. Not a damned soul. The girls defended my boys but the police didn’t believe them. The girls refused to press charges even though their parents wanted them to. My boys were damned lucky they weren’t sent up to jail for that. Can’t say I blame the cops for thinking ill of the boys…but my sons never would hurt a girl. They’d sooner cut their own arms off.”

  Not long ago Griff would have thought Mr. Tracy’s story was an utter fantasy. Now he wasn’t sure. “That’s some story, Mr. Tracy.”

  “Did your car stop in front of that damned hell house?”

  Surprised the old man had picked up on the truth, Griff acknowledged it. “How did you guess?”

  The older man shrugged. “Good guess. Or you wouldn’t have asked about the place. Especially since you’re from out of town. My advice is stay away from the place. Stay away.”

  Griff shook hands with Mr. Tracy. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Griff left Tracy’s Auto Repair with the Charger purring under him, driving as smoothly as it had when he’d first arrived in Bowmount. Tires hissed over the damp road. The temperature had reached into the mid fifties and melted any hint of snow except for the higher mountain points around the town. Puddles of water remained, and he flicked on the wipers as cars drove by on the opposite side of the road and splashed the vehicle with dirty water.

  Confusion rattled Griff, and his mind raced. Too many thoughts bartered for his attention. He wanted to take the old man’s advice to stay away from the freaky house on the hill. Another part of him had never been good at taking orders. He’d needed the marines to bring him into line, give him a discipline he didn’t have before. His father’s relentless attempts to bring him into line hadn’t worked.

  You’re a fool boy. You’ll never amount to a fucking thing.

  His father’s words, uttered when Griff was only six, had cemented Griff’s determination to prove his father wrong. He supposed it was a damned good thing he hadn’t listened to his father on that point, even when he’d listened to him on far too many other things.

  Other thoughts tossed around in Griff’s head. Chief among them was Cassie Kovac. When he’d come to Bowmount for vacation, he hadn’t expected to meet a woman that turned his libido upside down. Sure, he like the way she thought, the way she spoke, so many things in her personality.

  One thing stood in his way of taking their relationship to another level. Her insistence on knowing his past unnerved him. She would hate his guts if she knew what he’d done and even telling her that she would hate him hadn’t deterred her. At the very least, she’d fear him. He never told a woman, no matter how many times he’d slept with her, about his past. He also knew what would happen when he didn’t reveal all to Cassie. Eventually she’d dump his ass straight into the crapper—women didn’t take kindly to being left out of a man’s past. They had to probe and ask questions until he broke it off, or they got tired of waiting for him. As it was, he couldn’t see why a woman would want much to do with him. Some got off on sleeping with a marine or law enforcement, and he figured that might have a little to do with it. Cassie didn’t impress him as the type of woman who slept around. He knew she had a sexual side—he yearned to discover what she’d be like with her legs wrapped around him and her pussy around his cock. He could almost imagine how wet and tight she’d feel. Last time he’d kissed her, he’d wanted her with a sharp intensity.

  Caught up in his thoughts, he missed the road to the resort. He could have turned around, but he continued. Up the hi
ll. On towards the Point.

  I’ve lost my mind. Why am I going there? That stupid house.

  The highly irritated tone of his thoughts shocked him. Irritation welled inside, along with an agitation he hadn’t experienced in a long while. He took one deep breath and then another. His insides were gelatin, and he recognized he’d never experienced this compelling desire to return over and over to a place with this sharp pull. Before he knew it, he sat in front of the ranch house. He was almost afraid to glance to the right. He did and his breath caught. The roses had died again, but they stood upright. In the illumination of day the house didn’t appear as intimidating, and Griff decided he needed closure on what he’d experienced last night. The house’s secrets plagued him, and until he defeated this sense of mystery and put it to bed, he’d lay awake at night wondering. He’d imagine that he had turned into a coward who couldn’t face the music. He turned the engine off and left the car, emboldened by desire to show himself there was nothing supernatural about his damned place. He strode with sure steps around the roses, glad for daylight. He’d almost reached the door when it click open. Griff came to a dead stop, and instinct told him to draw his weapon. He retrieved it from the back of his waistband, wishing to hell he’d strapped on his shoulder holster. He kept the weapon down along his thigh, but approached the door without hesitation.

  “Hello? Federal Marshal Neal Griffin. Is anyone in there?”

  His voice carried through the forest, and he noticed birds didn’t chirp. The light breeze stopped. He hesitated and halted. Listened. Nothing. Then he heard his heartbeat—it was the only sound save his breathing.

  A creak made him start, attention riveted on the doorway. He drew in a sharp breath as the door swung wide open. If he’d ever had willpower it seemed to melt away. The house whispered. It spoke to him, the speech seductive. Sibilant. In one part of his mind he screamed. He begged himself to ignore his urges. It did no good.

  He walked inside, caution guiding each decisive but slow step. “Federal marshal! Is anyone in here?”

  He stood in the threshold and took in the interior. Everything had changed. The furniture looked dust free, unlike the other night. Then again, at night things would look different and with the limited light from flashlights they could have missed a lot. He squinted and took in the house. He walked to one of the shuttered windows and noted the thick dust. If anyone had messed with the shutters it hadn’t been in a long time. There were no floor lamps, and when he reached for the light switch by the front door it didn’t illuminate the old-style sixties era ceiling lights. The juice was cut off. Maybe whoever had played hide and seek with them the other night had a flashlight as well. But where the hell had they gone? He wandered through the silent house, his heartbeat keeping a quicker rhythm as he prowled from room to room. Wild thoughts flickered through his head, swirling like clouds, feeling as if they’d been designed to obscure.

  The shock came when he stepped into the hallway and saw the hole he’d fallen through was no longer there.

  “What the fuck?” he asked to no one.

  A whisper echoed behind him, and he whirled. His gaze darted around as he looked for an intruder. Instead the quiet stayed profound. Heavy and thick. Something told him to listen. To wait. If he waited long enough, he’d understand. He’d learn why this house asked him to come back.

  But the house never spoke. He felt it tickling at the edge, tempting his mind, driving him near to an indefinable conclusion. Goosebumps ran up and down his arms yet under his winter coat he felt hot. Confusion battled with curiosity in his mind. He wanted to understand this place, but he also wanted it to stay closed. If this house opened its secrets to him would he survive? He wasn’t sure, and that scared the shit out of him. Urgency filled his body, a prickling and uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t define. He didn’t like this. Not one damned bit.

  “Who are you?” he asked the house. “What are you?”

  When no one answered him, when the whisper didn’t return, he exited the hall. As he left, he closed the front door and kept his pace quick down the driveway. It wasn’t until he stepped into the Charger that he looked down at his right hand and the white knuckle grip he had on the gun. He placed the weapon the seat next to him and flexed his fingers. When he looked up at the house the front door was open again. Beyond the open door he thought he saw a figure. Tall. Skinny. A dark shape. Light seemed to be swallowed into the blackness. With trembling fingers he started the car. He slammed the vehicle into gear and swung it into a u-turn down the hill. He roared away from the crazy house with his mind scattered and his self-confidence bitten around the edges.

  What the fuck had he just seen and felt?

  * * *

  “Where the hell is that boy?” Penny mumbled the question as Cassie arrived at the front desk that afternoon.

  Cassie lifted one eyebrow. “Hey there. Everything okay?”

  Penny sighed. “Benson was supposed to work today but he hasn’t shown up, and he isn’t answering his phone.”

  “That’s not good. Isn’t he reliable?”

  Penny frowned and lifted the receiver on her desk phone. “That’s just it. He’s always been reliable. He’s worked here for over a year, and he’s never been late or sick.” Penny sighed. “Sorry. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you’d seen Griff today.”

  “No.” Penny’s frown grew bigger. “Is something wrong?”

  Cassie didn’t know, but she wouldn’t draw Penny into it. “Not at all. Weather looks good today. I think I’ll take a walk.”

  “Okay, see you later.” Penny waved.

  Cassie headed outside and curiosity overcame her. She hadn’t tried to call Griff after breakfast, and she hadn’t knocked on his door. She’d returned to her room and lay on the bed cogitating about the house. She walked around the side of the resort to the parking area. No sign of the Charger. She sighed, and then berated the hell out of herself for caring. She hitched her backpack higher on her shoulders and started walking. A strange unease had bothered her all afternoon, but she couldn’t say it had anything to do with Griff and their strange experiences at the house. She didn’t know why she felt this way, but her mind seemed jumbled, a strange sense of discombobulation making her indecisive. She hated being indecisive, and knew that if she didn’t walk it off, she’d drive herself to within an inch of batty. She never liked stewing in misery or blaming the world for her problems, and she wouldn’t start now.

  Before she knew it she’d gone down the street and then onto the main drag where she could head toward the ranch house and its mysteries. Her feet were compelled even as her mind protested. Before she reached the dirt road Griff’s Charger came down the hill. He must have gone to the house again. She couldn’t believe it.

  She waved as he came toward her, and he screeched to a halt at the side of the road. She hurried to the driver’s side.

  He rolled down the window, his face a mask of seriousness, his eyes hard. “What are you doing? You’re not going up to the house.”

  His tone surprised her and made her bristle. “I was just walking. Were you at the house?”

  “Yeah. But I shouldn’t have been. Did you wake up this morning feeling like you had to go there?”

  His question was strange, but on the other hand, she understood it. “No…but…wait, are you saying you were drawn to go up there?”

  “Yeah. Look, I have some things to tell you. Get in.”

  Half perturbed, she said, “Ask nicely and I might.”

  Tension eased slightly from his face.. “Sorry. Some things happened at the house. I need your opinion. I need to know if I’m crazy.”

  Worried, she nodded. “All right. But if you’re crazy then I must be, too.”

  “Jump in.”

  She did, and he drove back to the resort. Curiosity burned her up, but she didn’t ask him questions. She had a feeling he didn’t want to discuss things in bits and pieces. Whatever he wished to talk about
must be weighty.

  When he parked, she had to ask an important question. “Where should we go to talk?”

  “There’s the picnic area out back.”

  They trekked back through the hotel lobby. Penny stood at the front desk talking to an unhappy patron. Cassie and Griff continued down the hallway leading to the back. Cassie was glad when she saw no one in the area, and this left them privacy at the picnic table. A soft breeze rustled the pine trees, and the morning was cloudy with a hint of crispness.

  “Wonder if more snow is coming?” she asked, not caring for the silence as they arrived at the picnic table.

  “Good question. I didn’t check the news or weather.”

  The rustic table sat under a large stand of old pines, and the whole area had a peaceful aura. She settled on one side and he on the other.

  “Okay, spill it.” She gave her demand with a smile to soften the urgency.

  Griff’s handsome face held a seriousness she hadn’t seen with this intensity before.

  “I’ll admit it.” His arms sprawled on the picnic table. “There’s something freaky going on in that house on the hill but I have no idea what it is.”

  Speechless at his turn around, she measured her words. “Okay. What made you change your mind about the house?”

  “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  He told her, bit by bit, what he’d learned at the garage.

  “I’ve had cars act up like that before.” She shrugged. “Usually the male mechanic looks at me like I’m making it all up.”

  He didn’t look amused. “There’s more, and I think it’s significant. More significant than my car suddenly working right.”

  She didn’t interject as he explained the old man’s description of his son’s girlfriend encountering the old man in the house. Her skin prickled with goose bumps. “That’s seriously creepy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You believe now that there’s something wrong with the house? I thought you didn’t believe in the paranormal.”