Deadly Night Part 12

When I finally get tired, the dog and I will camp out in the living room. The best place to be in terms of central location. And I'll say this....if anyone tries to break in, I'll give em' just a second or two to identify themselves. After that, my .44 will handle any further introductions.

I awoke around 4 a.m. when Gypsy growled. I must've dozed off around one-thirty...maybe a little later.

Was someone at the door?

Not sure.... But I thought I heard a creak in the floorboards. It could just be the house settling, along with my acute sensitivity kicking in. Or heightened paranoia? Either way, I was awake, listening intently.

There it was again...more creaks. This time they resounded from the kitchen.

My heart raced, more like thumped...loudly within my chest. The security system was still armed, and I could see the green light's steady pulse near the front door. If someone was in my cabin with me, they didn't come through any doors or windows. A loud chime would've resounded...one that Gypsy always barks at.

She was still growling, though softer...looking up at me.

'It's your job to save me, Daddy!'

Shushhh!

I motioned for her to stay put as I got up quietly from the sofa, removing my gun from beneath a throw pillow. On tiptoes I moved over to the kitchen. Three copper pots swayed above the island, like someone brushed against them on their way down the hallway to the office and den.

What in the h.e.l.l?? It must be a tall sucker....

s.h.i.+t like that really p.i.s.ses me off. I ran down the hall, turning on every light as I went along. Every possible hideout now lay exposed. But other than a creepy sensation of being watched by someone or something unseen, there still was no one here aside from me and my pooch...at least not in the flesh.

I grabbed a carving knife from the kitchen to go along with my loaded magnum. One more tour of the house followed, holding the knife and gun guardedly while Gypsy crept behind me from a safe distance. Her head was tilted slightly, and her eyes volleyed from the gun to the knife and then back again.

Surely, she thought her owner had lost his frigging mind.

Why not cease this foolishness and call the cops? I guess it just seemed like a big waste of time to me. Like I'd somehow turn into a Michael Myers filet before the authorities arrived at my home. h.e.l.l, I hadn't even checked the landline phone to see if still worked or if the line's been cut. My cell phone works on Wi-Fi, and I had a strong enough signal on it. So, I guess I could've called somebody if it became absolutely necessary.

I stepped over to the large picture window in our living room, peering through the curtain's corner to see outside. A soft breeze blew across the front yard, pus.h.i.+ng Fiona's irises and her favorite hyacinth bush gently, side to side. I didn't detect anyone mulling around outside. Under a full moon's glow, the graveled driveway looked especially deserted. It made me long painfully for my wife and kids.

The only place left to check was the backyard. It'd be the hardest area to discern a prowler's presence, since thick wilderness backs up against our property. Beyond the several acres we own is sort of no man's land. Nothing but a sea of darkness lies outside the reach of our security lights. And when hordes of cicadas sing at night, it's the perfect cover for someone creeping up toward the house from the woods.

On my way to the backdoor I walked back into the kitchen. No way in h.e.l.l was I ready for the enormous black mist hovering near the island. It sort of looked like a baby giraffe wearing a black cloak...well maybe not so much. The thing had a rhythmic pulse, which gives it a sort of giant malformed amoeba appearance. At least I now understand how the copper pans got rattled. h.e.l.l, they shook again after this thing brushed against them on its way toward me.

The sensation of a thousand icy pin-p.r.i.c.ks traveled up and down my spine, and I could tell this misshapen mist studied me... intently, like it was sizing me up on the best way to attack me while I waved my knife and gun before it. Really, like a lot of good that'd do. Probably a better idea would be to turn around and high-tail it to the den. I'll bet that's where I'd find Gypsy, who had disappeared. Smart dog, yes...brave protector of the family, not so much.

"Get the h.e.l.l out of my house!" I shouted while backing away, frightened enough to where my legs felt wobbly. "You ain't welcome here, so get out NOW-W-W!!!"

Given the way it drifted toward me, I knew I couldn't outrun it. I had a tough time ignoring the thought I might get absorbed by the dark sucker, eaten alive to where only my cherished snakeskin boots were left to tell the tale of what happened, maybe with a sock left in 'em and my .44 and Fiona's Ginsu carving knife scattered on the floor.

The air grew even chillier around me, crackling with energy. I turned and ran, slipping on the hardwood floor on my way to the den. I felt certain the thing would catch me, but then something else unexpected happened. As the mist overtook me, my hand holding the knife penetrated its murky darkness, causing the d.a.m.ned thing to immediately withdraw from me. It flew away at incredible speed while it shriveled and shrunk. Like a helium-filled balloon set free at one of my kid's birthday parties it moved back through the kitchen. It continued to fade away until it 'popped' against the back window. I swear, man, it sounded like a cheap firecracker right before it disappeared.

Cautiously, I pursued it. But when I reached the window only the scent of sulfur remained, most pungent near the curtains. I pulled them open, no longer cautious. In the backyard I saw what remained of the mist only for a brief instant, just beyond the parked Camaro where the security lights' glow ends. Dissipating like a fleeting shadow, its remnants fluttered past the car and on into the thick wooded wilderness.

I waited for the thing to come back. d.a.m.ned straight, I did. Once the noxious odor completely disappeared, I realized the event had ended. What it meant, I couldn't begin to guess. Maybe it's nothing-just a random visitation. But with everything going on around me-around us-it made sense that this visitation did mean something.

Was it some kind of warning, perhaps a message en ma.s.se from our seven murdered friends? That's a positive take on it, anyway.

I just prayed it wasn't some morphed version of Charlain Thompson, seeking revenge for the premature end to her misguided, self-serving life. If the Akas.h.i.+c Records that Edgar Cayce talks about really exist, then Dragon Lady's ghost knows all about the recent compliments me and my NVP buddies paid her the other night.

That'd really suck if it was her and she has decided to return for some fun at Jimmy's expense. I can easily picture her bringing along another Egyptian high-thread count noose-specially tied for me this time.

That thought alone made me desperately wish to call Fiona, to hear her voice, although I'd surely wake her. Besides, Mr. Ed said 'No contact' until I rejoined her at Stella's place the next afternoon. He's right about the risks involved in calling anyone, since it's too d.a.m.ned easy these days to trace phone calls. And I'd already risked my family's safety when I called Fiona earlier. There's no way in h.e.l.l I'd do that again and put them at further risk.

That left me no choice but to wait it out. Wait it out and keep my head on straight. It wouldn't be easy, but dawn would be coming soon...and a few hours later I'd be reunited with my wife and boys. Whistling quietly to that thought, I got busy cleaning up the mess.

Chapter Nineteen.

"Watch me, Daddy.... Watch me jump in the water!"

The look on Ryan's face was priceless. I made sure I caught it with my digital camera before he jumped into the pool. There's one for the summer alb.u.m.

Sunday afternoon.

Five days after I rejoined my family at Stella Hughes's sprawling ranch home in Goodlettsville. My wife's aunt will literally spoil her guests with the ultimate 'southern' pampering. She's an incredible cook and hostess, and her home sits in a park setting. It's like a mini resort with a pool, spa, and a great play area for kids.

"Gotcha, kiddo!"

I can already tell that my boys will be reluctant to go back home. Well, honestly, the same might be true for Fiona and me.

Stella's an attractive brunette woman in her mid-fifties-the oldest sister among three, where Fiona's mom, Joanne is the youngest-she fits the image of a true "Southern Belle" in the modern age. It's an amazing thing to watch her effortlessly straddle the line between sophisticated and 'down home'. Some of Goodlettsville and Nashville's most noteworthy families are regular party guests in this house, and yet Stella can easily let her hair down for the likes of me and my rocker buddies. Other than my wife, I've never met anyone else like her.

Widowed a few years ago, she started a catering business with a long-time friend, and their company now services some of Nashville's busiest country artists. Fiona has pitched in to help now and then, which is sort of how she became a psychic reader to many of the city's music celebrities. Call it a friend of a friend of another friend kind of thing. Only in this case it's family, starting with Stella, who shares the same Scottish foresight she and Fiona inherited from Stella's mom, Flora Fraser, Fiona's grandmother.

"When are you gonna swim again, Daddy?" Ryan asked me.

"In a minute.... I just need to talk to Mommy once she gets off the phone."

"Okay...I'm gonna swim over to Auntie and Alex."

"All right son...I'll watch you."

Cute as a bug, he no longer needs a life preserver. He's mastered the beginner strokes, and is getting better every day at the intermediate skill set. I lingered long enough for Ryan to join Stella in the pool's shallowest end, where Alex paddled around. Alex hates his preserver, but until he gets a little older, I'm reluctant to take it off, even for a few minutes. Something tells me his auntie and mom have been a bit less restrictive, but I'm sure they take extra care in watching over him. Tougher for me, since I'm usually working on a few things and not near as attentive as they are.

Not a lot has happened since my battle with that weird mist in my kitchen, in the wee hours last Tuesday morning. It's sort of like we not only entered protective custody at Stella's, but also stepped out of the real world where s.h.i.+t happens every day. No, Stella's place isn't a complete oasis...at least not one where everything in life is now pure bliss. Being out of circulation has definite consequences...like missing band rehearsal. I missed one on Thursday, even though Ricky sent me a text later that night saying everything went fine.

By the way, apparently text messages are okay, as long as we don't respond. A one-way avenue for important info is a real pain in the a.s.s. If Fiona or I need to reply to anything, we have to send those responses through Ed, who then uses his official cell phone. As you can imagine, we've only sent a few replies through him, all abbreviated. And no phone calls are allowed, period, unless we're speaking to Detective Silver's office.

But, back to what else was missed this week. Two paranormal investigations had to be postponed indefinitely. That really sucks, and is sort of the reason why Fiona is still on the phone right now, speaking with Ed, who called and left her a message earlier today. Something about 'potential good news.'

That'd be really nice-especially since we couldn't attend Mitch's funeral on Thursday. We also missed Susan and Paul's service on Friday, after Ed couldn't arrange protection for us inside the Spring Hill Episcopalian Chapel where it was held. Fiona wept for hours on account of this, since she wanted to be there for a final goodbye to Susan. Me, I hate funerals, as I mentioned before. If nothing else, recent events have given me a deeper appreciation of those around me, the people I care about. After all, tomorrow's not guaranteed to anyone. Only the present moment.

"When's Mommy gonna join us in the pool?"

Alex sounded so somber...deadly serious as he asked me this question. Standing on Stella's lap beneath the water's surface in the shallow end, for a moment he looked a couple of years older.

"She'll be along in a minute, too," I told him, hoping my tone didn't sound perturbed. It didn't matter that it was Alex's tenth request like this in the last hour, and probably the fourth or fifth time I gave my standard 'in a minute' response. "Just as soon as she finishes her phone call, and discusses something important with Daddy. Okay?"

No reply from my youngest. Just that same sullen look...deep blue eyes regarding me thoughtfully like he thought I was so full of s.h.i.+t. Good thing accountability ain't enforced by the world's dependant, helpless, and meek.

"There's a fresh pitcher of sun tea on the kitchen counter if you'd like some, Jimmy," advised Stella. She motioned to the kitchen window. "Why don't you pour yourself a gla.s.s and I'll tell Fiona to come find you when she's done?"

Stella obviously sensed my growing restlessness, getting worse the longer my wife allows Ed to chew her ear off. My relentless pacing from one end of the pool's deck to the other didn't help. h.e.l.l, Daddy's Stalin-esque vigil might be why my boys can hardly wait for Mommy to rejoin them, knowing my a.s.s would have no choice but to relax and partic.i.p.ate in some water volleyball and sea-creature chase.

That's all totally fine by me, provided I get some time alone this afternoon. I need to strap on the ba.s.s and rehea.r.s.e by myself...at least a little. I've gotta keep my chops fresh for the next get-together with my band mates, hopefully in the next day or so.

"I'll do that in a moment. It actually sounds good, Nan," I told her, using Stella's preferred nickname.

The tea did sound quite tempting, and I headed inside the house to get some. I'd barely made it through the backdoor when Fiona called after me. Apparently her conversation with our friendly neighborhood d.i.c.k had ended.

"What's with you anyway?" she called after me, her tone irritated.

"Huh? What's with you?" I retorted, more harshly than intended.

Actually, that's not true. More like harsh and then 'oops!' once I realized it wasn't the wisest response.

"Do you really want to go there with the att.i.tude, Jimmy?" She stood up and moved over to where the boys and Stella were gathered. Alex reached up for her to lift him out of the water, which she managed to do without tumbling into the pool or her prized Blackberry nearly getting doused. "Everyone can feel your energy, buster, so you need to chill!"

Alex's perturbed gaze now matched his momma's, while Ryan nodded emphatically in agreement. Stella smiled lovingly, although the expression on her face served to further validate my wife's point of view.

"Okay...I'm sorry," I told my wife, foregoing the tea for now.

I stepped back outside and moved over to her, hoping to offer a hug and kiss to make up. Tough to do when it included my soaking-wet four-year old.

"It's okay," Fiona told me, her voice much softer. She smiled. "Ed gave the go-ahead on lifting our house arrest."

Ah, the subtle comedienne in our family, she always knows how to make me smile.

"So, I can join Ricky and the guys on Wednesday?" G.o.d I prayed that's what she meant.

"Yes!"

Her smile immediately widened, which always makes her whole countenance glow. Like a frigging saint, she lights up everything around her. Even Alex's sternness softened.

"It also means we can reschedule the two investigations I had to cancel last Thursday!" she continued, scarcely able to hide her excitement. I hoped Stella understood this wasn't an indictment on her hospitality. Far from it. "We'll still have to hang out here for a few days, just to be safe."

"I'm fine with that," I agreed.

"Me, too," she said and then looked over at Stella. "You won't mind us hanging around a while longer, would you Auntie?"

"Not at all!" she beamed, although the prospect of us heading back home later this week seemed to sadden her. "You can stay here as long as y'all like, you know."

"I know, Auntie," said Fiona. She sat Alex down and moved over to her aunt, stooping down to give her a hug at the pool's edge. "I love you so much!"

"And I love you, too!"

Stella looked like she might cry, but caught herself.

"So, I take it the cops will still hang around?" I asked, ready to change the subject.

"Yes, the Goodlettsville police will still watch Auntie's place," Fiona advised. "And, wherever me and the kids go, an officer will be coming along. Ed said it will be a little complicated, so he'll need to know where I'm going to be so he can make prior arrangements with the other departments."

I guess that means I'm still thug-bait if I traverse the greater Nashville area alone. No surprise there.

"He doesn't hate you, Jimmy-really he doesn't," she said, responding to either my thoughts or facial expression. "He just feels you can effectively fend for yourself. Especially if all you'll be doing is going to band rehearsal in Madison."

It's probably a good thing she's only visited our rehearsal room in the daytime. I doubt she'd be nonchalant if she visited the place late at night. Ignoring the likelihood of crack hangouts and other nefarious activities sheltered within the row of deserted warehouses next to our building is like saying h.e.l.l is just a campfire. Maybe that's how she deals with me being there. She'd never try to sway me from pursuing my music dreams when the best shot to make them happen is holed up in Quagmire's little hangout.

And what about the ninja dude or the owner of the Buick who seems to have a fetish for me? At best, it's some sick obsession...unless I'm the means to some other end.

Vito Travini's lucky number eight?

"You're so silly," she said, chuckling before she came back over to me. This time, she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me close. The thing that always makes me think of what I'd really like to do with her, alone...later on. "Ed's convinced that Mr. Travini has left the area. Apparently he's finished with what he came for."

"How so?" I asked, frowning. Yeah, I confess to being either amazed or annoyed when she does that...reads my thoughts. This time a little annoyed. "Is this just Mr. Ed's apple fritter gut feeling, or does he have some facts to back up his a.s.sertion?

"Well, smarta.s.s, he actually does have some evidence," she said, pulling away from me. She's probably annoyed by my annoyance. Her tone got a little bit icy too. "A dark Buick SUV with an insignia matching the one you described was found near Paducah, Kentucky yesterday. The plates were removed, but the VIN matched a recent purchase by Vito Travini. He bought it in New Jersey right after his release from prison."

"So, it's not really a van, then?"

That was more a statement than a question. It had to be the same vehicle, but I needed additional information to confirm this as true.

"Not exactly, but Ed said it's big enough to look similar to a van-especially at night. He told me his contacts on the east coast said this is a cla.s.sic example of 'Mafia M.O.'," she said. "Ditching the vehicle in plain sight in a bordering state is their way of saying 'hey, we're done for now...and you better not give us a reason to return'. Blood residue found inside the SUV is being a.n.a.lyzed. If it belongs to Candi or one of the others, Ed told me the Nashville PD will seek to impound it."

"So, what does your gut tell you? Do you believe we're really in the clear, and the killer is long gone, satisfied by the seven lives he stole from us?"

Such senseless deaths, as I thought again about our lost friends.

"I'm not sure," she said, looking away for a moment while shaking her head sadly. "Let me think on that for a little while."

Her cell phone chirped. Once, and then followed by three more chirps. Text messages from someone.

"It's Jackie."

She s.h.i.+elded her handset from the sun so she could read the four messages. In reality one long message that could only be transmitted in sections.

"How are she and Angie doing?"

"Apparently very well," she told me, and then her face lit up. Actually, her mouth dropped open first. "Jackie's talking about a local television station that wants to do a weekly talk show centered upon the paranormal. Paranormal investigations-what we do! And, they're really interested in our group-NVP-hosting the series! Can you believe it??"