SKELETON

by Peter Parkin

Several former owners were interviewed by this reporter. One common refrain seemed to come from all—the attack appeared organized and almost seemed military in precision.

  And, a surprising observation came out in the interviews: the killer monkeys seemed much larger than the others; they resembled Chimpanzees. The smaller Vervet Monkeys seemed to be running interference for the larger ones; they were the first wave. Then the big ones attacked.

  It is to be expected that the horror of what these unfortunate people witnessed could cause their memories to be somewhat distorted. But what is indeed fact and can't be disputed, is that twelve people lost their lives that horrible night.

  And a beautiful development is now a white elephant, a ghost town, probably never to be occupied again.

  For purposes of clarity in this article, it should be noted that Chimpanzees are not native to Nevis, and Horatio Gibbons, Minister of the Interior was quoted as follows: "Chimpanzees have never been allowed entry to the country for zoological, scientific or any other purpose. The government sympathizes with the victims of this horrible animal attack, and although rare, there is always an inherent risk where wildlife is concerned. The Vervet Monkeys are the only animal primates that inhabit St. Kitts/Nevis, and as with all animals, they should be treated with caution and respect. New developments do encroach on their natural habitat. This is a fact that must be understood."

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  It was date night.

  The popcorn had been delicious. And 'The Amazing Spiderman' was the best version of that movie series Dennis had seen yet.

  Fiona had looked stunning.

  First, they had spent two wonderful hours at an exclusive French cuisine restaurant, where they dined on escargots, foie gras, and roast duck a l'orange. After that they walked down to the movie theatre to watch Spidey climb walls and save the world. Dennis thought 'Spiderman' was probably the most endearing of all the cartoon vigilantes.

  Now they were sitting on the couch in Fiona's living room.

  And Fiona looked even more stunning.

  She had just poured them each a glass of Zinfandel and they continued the discussion they'd started over dinner.

  "Denny, the things I told you about Matt—I hope I didn't go on too much about him. I mean, it's been five years now since he died and I'm probably not completely over it, but I want you to know that I'm not one to live in the past." She cocked her head. "You do believe me, don't you?"

  Dennis reached over and gently squeezed her bare shoulder. "I don't know if I believe you—and I don't know if it's even all that important if I do or not. You had a great marriage, something I didn't have. You loved him. I didn't really love Cathy. You lost Matt to a drunk driver—your dreams shattered. How can you not live in the past sometimes?"

  "But I don't want to."

  "It doesn't matter if you want to or not. It may be something you have no control over. You may just need more time—but time itself may not even make a difference. And maybe that's not such a bad thing."

  Fiona reached her hand over and rubbed Dennis' knee. "Does it bother you if he's still on my mind from time to time?"

  Dennis shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Probably because I know that I'm such a mesmerizingly handsome and charming dude, that eventually you won't even remember your own name, let alone anyone else's!"

  Fiona laughed and curled up close to him, laying her head on his shoulder. "You know what, Mr. Mesmerizingly Handsome and Charming Dude? You are all that. I like you. I like you a lot."

  "I like you too, Fiona. In fact, I think it's getting past the 'like' stage. I love spending time with you, whether we're discussing this mystery we've stumbled upon, or discussing our lives. I just love it."

  She turned her head toward his. "You're so easy to talk to. Why is that? I've found most men to be so shallow and self-centered. You make me feel so comfortable."

  Dennis smiled tenderly at her. "I have a confession to make. You were instantly familiar to me when I first saw you. I felt as if I knew you already; talking with you just seemed so natural to me. Like I'd known you, and cared about you my whole life."

  She smiled, cute little crinkles forming around the corners of her eyes. "It is weird, isn't it? Is this what they call 'chemistry?'"

  Dennis kissed her on the tip of her nose. "I don't care what they call it. But to be honest, I think it's just my mesmerizingly handsome and charming nature."

  Fiona sighed and swung her legs up over his and wiggled her ass up onto his lap. She put her bare arm around his neck and curled her hand around the side of his face. Fiona kissed him on the lips and allowed it to linger, sliding her own lips from side to side. Then she used her tongue to pry the door open. Dennis met the gesture with his own eager tongue.

  He felt an incredible rush of passion just from the kiss. He pressed hard, she pressed back. Dennis wrapped one arm under her legs, the other under her arms, and stood up, lifting her gently. He carried her with ease over to the double chaise, their lips and tongues still probing while he walked.

  He laid her down on the chaise and reached under her hiked skirt. In one swift move her panties were on the floor, while Fiona was quickly pulling her dress up over her head. She worked on the buttons of his shirt while he struggled with the clasp of her bra. She was quicker. Fiona giggled and pushed his hands away, and simply pulled the bra up over her head. She whispered, "Why do you guys always have trouble with bra clasps?"

  Dennis grinned. "They're far too dainty for us. We think big."

  Fiona giggled again and reached for his belt. "Well, let's just see how big you think."

  She slid his pants down to his ankles and began rubbing the bulge in his underwear. "Ooh, I believe you do think big!"

  Their lips connected again, frantically this time. Dennis felt his breath coming in gulps as he moved his hands across her smooth skin, exploring as quickly as he could every aspect of her beautiful body. Her skin was like velvet and her breasts felt so warm and comforting pressed up against his chest. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her face tight to his. She sighed and slid her fingernails down his back.

  He teased her. Entering for a few seconds, then out again. Dennis did this for several minutes until Fiona finally had enough and placed both her hands on his buttocks, digging her nails into his flesh. She held him firm and wouldn't let him withdraw. He knew she was ready.

  Dennis moved rhythmically inside the beautiful woman underneath him. He could feel the heat from her skin and savored her labored breath inside his mouth. She was getting wetter and wetter, then suddenly tighter and tighter—in a pulse. The pulse was unmistakable, a contraction that seemed to shudder all the way up to her mouth. Fiona said, "Hold on," then grabbed his hair and yanked his head to the side, away from her mouth.

  She gasped and then giggled—to herself, not to him. And the pulse through her body made Dennis gasp himself as he felt the explosion. He lost control and he prayed to God in that instant that he had held on long enough for her.

  They lay together breathing hard for several minutes. Her left hand still had a firm hold on his hair. Dennis turned his face sideways and found her staring at him. The dreamy smile on her face told him that he had indeed held on long enough for her.

  And that dreamy smile convinced him in that instant that he had fallen hopelessly in love with this girl.

  *****

  Lloyd Foster had his shopping cart full of the usual bachelor stuff—TV dinners, red meat, chocolate bars, cookies, and pop. Sustenance. He moved slowly through the aisles, double-checking to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything tasty that he would have a sudden urge for in the middle of the night.

  He was starting to get good at shopping. It was his wife, Janet, who had always done this. Lloyd had had to force himself to do this domestic stuff now, because...well...he had no choice.

  Janet was dead.

  And so were Trevor, Hayley, and Bobby.

  Lloyd wasn't responsible. That's what the jury s
aid. And that's what the court-appointed psychiatrist had said. Hey, Lloyd was a doctor himself—he knew the score and he knew how to play the game. He spent months planning it, faking it, creating a pattern of bizarre behavior that he knew would have to be presented in court.

  He was deemed legally insane.

  Five years in a mental institution and he was deemed cured.

  Just as he'd planned it. And the insurance policies had no choice but to pay up.

  He still lived in his old house—it had waited patiently for him. Seeing the rooms where he'd given his family fifty whacks with a hatchet didn't even bother him. Lloyd was desensitized.

  But naturally the court had seen tears and remorse, and total confusion as to how he couldn't believe he had done such a thing, couldn't remember one single moment of that horrifying night. And the mental home saw the same things. He played them all like useless fiddles.

  He made his way up to the checkout counter. The looks he got—well, what could he expect? He still lived in the same neighborhood as he did five years ago and people remembered him, or at least recognized him from his photos in the newspaper. It had indeed been a high-profile case, ripe with outrage and hatred. He hated it when people hated.

  He was free as a bird now. No more screaming, whining, ungrateful kids. Sure, they had all been under twelve years of age, but he didn't really think they'd get any better over time. And Janet had become a bore. The kids were everything to her, and he felt like he didn't matter anymore. And the expenses—the big house, the mortgage, car payments, saving for university. It all became too much. His gambling debts hadn't helped of course, but he needed some kind of release and that was it.

  He could no longer practice as an orthopedic surgeon; his license having been revoked shortly after the trial. But that didn't matter now—the insurance proceeds had been more than enough to pay off all the debts and leave him with enough money in the bank that he didn't really have to do anything anymore. And he didn't want to do anything anymore, except have fun and enjoy his freedom.

  The checkout lady frowned at him as he piled his groceries up onto the conveyor. He recognized her. She'd worked at this store for at least ten years, and by the look on her face he could tell she recognized him. A familiar look of disgust and horror.

  He smiled at her. "How are you today, dear?"

  She glared back at him. "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

  Lloyd figured he'd have some fun with this busybody. "Well, there was one thing I was hunting for and couldn't find. Maybe you can help me?"

  She put her hands on her hips, and mumbled, "What is it?"

  Lloyd smiled. "A hatchet."

  She put her hand up to her mouth and started gagging. Lloyd laughed. The checkout lady made a mad beeline down the exit aisle toward the washroom. Lloyd laughed again.

  A new girl came over and finished the job, packing all his goods into two bags and handing them to him with a smile. "Have a nice day, sir."

  "Oh, I intend to."

  It was dark outside now. Lloyd loved these twenty-four-hour supermarkets. Whenever he got the urge to shop, he could just shop.

  He walked to the back of the parking lot where his BMW X6 was parked. Another little present from himself to himself in celebration of his new freedom. He placed his parcels in the trunk and before he had the chance to close the hatch, he found himself being spun around from behind.

  He was a handsome sort, tall, piercing eyes, dimples. The man smiled at him, and reached into the trunk. He took out one of the just-purchased cans of pop and began spinning it around in his hand, then tossing it into the air and catching it.

  "Hey, what are you doing? Put that back!" Lloyd was annoyed. Probably just another angry neighbor wanting to give him a hard time.

  Suddenly the man moved his left arm—jabbed his index finger forward into his stomach. Lloyd screamed and looked down. Blood was pouring out of his shirt from an almost perfect circular hole. He looked up and the very instant he did, he could see the blur of a red pop can ramming toward his shocked open mouth.

  The tinkling sound of smashed teeth was sickening. But the ram didn't stop at his teeth. The can continued making its way part way down his throat, widening his face and neck in the process. He raised his hands in defense, but the other man's hands were faster, breaking his wrists with what seemed like no effort at all.

  Lloyd was choking to death.

  He could see the round edge of the bottom of the can peeking out of his mouth. He instinctively tried to push the can out with what was left of his tongue, and struggled to contract his broken jawbones. Nothing was working. As a doctor, he knew he had little time left.

  His handsome assailant grabbed him by the shirt collar now and threw him backwards into the trunk. Then he slid him down so that Lloyd was facing upwards at the edge of the hatch lid. The man smiled again, reached his hand up and slammed the lid downward.

  Lloyd could see it coming. And his neck was clearly in the way of the locking mechanism.

  He would see his family again now. He hoped they'd understand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Brett was drinking coffee and surfing the net once again in his favorite Internet café. He felt safe here, and it was usually almost empty.

  He started wondering about how safe he would be after the 'package'

  was retrieved. He knew how ruthless the government could be—first hand knowledge. He was well aware of how many people he had had to silence over the years. Even though he never knew all the details, he presumed the predominant reasons for losing their lives was that they knew too much. Or couldn't be controlled. Or they were just plain evil.

  Even poor James Layton lost his life for two of those reasons. This Barb Jenkins had told Fiona that he was threatening to go to the Press. Shortly thereafter, he was shot in the head. According to Barb, on the wrong side of the head. If anyone had dug deeper on that point, the suicide theory would have been discounted quick.

  And now here he was, being suspected by his good friend, Bill Charlton, of sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. It was true, of course. Bill wasn't accustomed to discovering that Brett had researched deep background on an assignment. Usually Brett just did the job, gave Bill what he needed, and pocketed the cash.

  But Bill had told him that the 'package' had to do with the Apollo moon missions. If he hadn't told him that, Brett would have happily gone ahead with the job as he usually did—with brutal efficiency.

  But how was Bill to know that outer space, and the moon, were absolute obsessions of Brett's? He had never shared that with him when they'd had beers together. It was one of those nerdy interests that had developed when he was just a kid. And Brett was far from being a nerd, even back when he was a kid. But growing up was tough, and friends could be cruel. If a boy had a hobby like science, astronomy, animals, music, he kept it quiet. Enjoyed it on the sly. No one needed to know. Because if they did know, all hell could break loose on the precious image.

  And to a kid, image was everything. Just to survive.

  As an adult, Brett figured he had just gotten used to keeping his interests to himself, even when he was together with friends like Bill. They just didn't need to know.

  So, Bill had innocently let something slip; something more stimulating than he could have possibly realized when he told Brett that the 'package' had something to do with the moon missions. He had no idea what kind of 'Pandora's box' he'd opened in Brett's brain when he said that.

  A little voice was now whispering away inside Brett's brain—a voice that he had listened to numerous times during his career. A voice that had never failed to warn him of imminent danger.

  He had no idea how much Bill knew he knew—that was what bothered him. For his friend to actually ask him the question that he did was telling enough. Was he trying to warn him off? Was he basically hinting that as long as he didn't discover anything else, he'd be okay? Did he really not know who was going with Dennis up to the cabin? Was he k
eeping that secret from Brett rather than betray who his contact double was?

  Or was it like what the Mafia liked to do—a kiss on the cheek told you the end was nigh.

  Brett decided that Bill's question was either the equivalent of a kiss on the cheek, or a horse's head under the sheets.

  And he knew that friendship meant nothing in the business he was in. It was a cold, brutal world, and a bullet could find you in the middle of the night if you weren't alert enough to know it was coming. Bill could easily order Brett's death, and probably wouldn't lose one night's sleep over it. Brett knew that for a fact—he wasn't naïve. Friendship was low on the totem pole of power.

  At this point, Brett didn't know how he would handle the trip to the cabin on Chesapeake Bay next week. There was a good chance the 'package' was there. Would he open it and read it? Would he turn it over to Bill?

  If indeed Brett was now in danger due to his snooping, it would be ironic if this 'package' which presumably had kept Lucy Chambers alive the last three decades, would now be needed by Brett to keep himself alive. Could he risk turning it over? And what was he going to do about everything he'd discovered? He doubted that the 'package' would tell him anything more than he already knew. But, it would be a valuable object of blackmail.

  He now knew the horror of what had happened on September 30th, 1977. He knew that a nuke had been exploded on the surface of our precious moon. He knew that international law had been broken. And he knew that alien life had been brought back to earth—to be weaponized in a variety of ways.

  And our closest relatives, Chimpanzees, were being used to discover how man could be manipulated, made stronger, more violent, more docile, smarter, weaker—every which way from natural.

  Today Brett was reading all about Chimpanzees.

  Chimps live in West and Central Africa, and are members of the Hominidae primate family. In that family are Chimpanzees, Gorillas, Orangutans...and Human Beings. The Hominids are otherwise referred to as the "Great Apes." Brett chuckled—we think we're so superior, but look at the company we keep. And we're just considered one of the "Great Apes."