7 Deadly Tales (Seven Thrilling Reads!) Page 4

  “What happened?” asks Dayton as he tries to relax.

  “You were assaulted,’” says the doctor.

  “Oh…yeah,” says Dayton, getting flashes of some distant, but relevant memory.

  The doctor’s eyes light up. “You remember what happened?”

  Dayton nods.

  “Okay, I’ll get the deputy in so he can take a statement.”

  Dayton squints. “A statement?” “Yeah, you were assaulted pretty badly. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Dayton goes white. “Why? Did I die?”

  The doctor goes in closer to Dayton and rests his hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just say you are lucky to be alive.”

  Twenty-Two

  “You handcuffed the victim and left him to die,” says the sheriff as he thumps his fist down on the table once again.

  Andy swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to say. He has never even dreamed of anything like this ever happening to him. This is the sort of thing you read about. It’s the sort of thing you saw on the TV crime shows. It certainly isn’t something Andy would ever dream of doing. “I didn’t. Honestly. Why would I do such a thing?”

  The sheriff thumps the table once again. “Because you’re a scumbag, that’s why. You knew you had a spiders’ nest right there. You tied Dayton up and handcuffed him. You then poured a boatload of black widows on your friend and watched him fight for his life. He was bitten a hundred times. His heart stopped, and he died. You then un-cuffed him and ran for it, waiting for somebody to find him.”

  Andy shakes his head. “That’s absurd. Why on earth would I do that?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t do it. I’m telling the truth. We found Dayton in the middle of our yard. He was lying face down in the dirt.”

  “You moved him, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t move him.”

  “So he was alive when you un-cuffed him. Maybe you had second thoughts. Maybe you wanted people to find him. Maybe you chickened out.”

  Andy starts to panic. “But why would I do such a thing? If I wanted to kill my friend, wouldn’t it be easier to shoot him?” Andy is pulling at brass rings now; he doesn’t even know why he is defending himself by saying that he would have killed Dayton in a different manner. It’s absurd to even try to comprehend what’s happening.

  “So you would have done it differently?”

  Andy knows the comment was going to backfire on him. “Damn right. Why the fuck would I kill my friend with spiders? Who does something like that?”

  The sheriff remains quiet for effect. “People who think they are going to get away with it,” he says, cracking his knuckles, watching the sweat pour off Andy’s head.

  Twenty-Three

  “I was handcuffed and tied up around a pole in the garage. He then got out a plastic container full of black widows. He had gagged me, so I couldn’t scream. I tried to, but the towel he had put in my mouth restricted my breathing. He then poured the plastic container full of spiders on my head. I could feel the spiders scatter all over my body. I was squirming relentlessly. I think it made the spiders angry. They started biting me. Before I knew it, I was feeling faint. The pain was excruciating. I nearly vomited. My entire body was hot. I could feel their fangs pierce my skin. After a few minutes of more biting, he patted the spiders off me. He was wearing gloves, and seemed like he knew how to handle them. He then punched me in the face, and then I woke up here,” Dayton says as he grips the steel bar on the side of his hospital bed. The deputy looks confused.

  “So you didn’t scream for help?”

  “No, I was knocked out by the punch.”

  The deputy nods. “So he dragged you out of the garage and into the yard and dumped you there?”

  “I guess. I certainly didn’t walk there.”

  The deputy nods again, taking down more notes as he scribbles in his black notebook. “And you say you know this guy?”

  Dayton nods. “Damn right I do. That’s why he got away so easily. He was pretty much expected to be there.”

  Twenty-Four

  “I didn’t do it! I told you. I want my lawyer,” says Andy as he starts to get agitated.

  “Fine, you want your lawyer. That’s what you’re going to get!’ says the sheriff. He storms up to his feet and makes his way to the door. He turns around and looks at Andy. “You know you’re going down for life for this, right?”

  Andy shakes his head. “I didn’t do shit, so I ain’t going down for anything,” he says.

  The sheriff laughs. “Maybe… Maybe not… Either way, your time will come, Andy.” With that, the sheriff walks out of the interrogation room and leaves Andy by himself.

  Shutting the door behind him, the sheriff breaths in deep and then exhales. “What a day,” he says to himself. “Spiders. Fucking spiders!” he chuckles. He makes his way down the hallway and into the main office. The sound of commotion and busy people hits his eardrums immediately. It’s a stark contrast to the sound of the interrogation room. He looks alarmed as he realizes something is going on. “James, what’s happening?” he asks, looking at his right-hand man as he comes off the phone.

  “They caught the spider guy,” the man says with a smile on his face.

  “I know — I’m interrogating him,” says the sheriff.

  The man shakes his head and puts a steady hand on the shoulder of the wide sheriff. “Wrong perp. The guy in the interrogation room is innocent. Dayton came through at the hospital and gave his account of what happened.”

  The sheriff’s face goes red, half anger, and half embarrassment. “Who did it?”

  The man smiles at the reeling sheriff. “It’s a good one, sheriff. You ain’t going to believe it when you hear it.’

  Twenty-Five

  Forty-Five Minutes Later

  “Pull over. This is the sheriff’s department. Pull your vehicle over now!” screams the officer’s voice over the megaphone. The police cruiser revs its engine as it hurtles around the corner. The dirt and dust kicks off its wheels as the driver puts the car in fourth. The pickup truck he is chasing in front turns violently into a left, followed by a right. It jumps off the road and onto the pavement. It hits an interstate sign. The officer in the car radios in. “Stick, stick, stick!” he says as he tries to keep control of the hurtling police cruiser. “Quickly, he’s making for the highway. He gets on there, we may lose him.”

  After a few minutes of cat and mouse, the chase continues into an intersection, leading to the interstate. He can see the officer in the distance. The officer from afar takes aim at the pickup truck with a shotgun. A few seconds later, the shotgun goes off. The sun bounces off the back of the pickup truck, nearly blinding the officer. Seconds later, the truck has flipped on its side. The wheels pop and burst as the gravel under the truck sprays in all directions. The windshield of the police cruiser gets peppered with dust and dirt. The officer in the car pushes hard on the brakes. The cruiser spins and finally comes to a stop, boxing the toppled-over pickup truck. He grabs for his shotgun and cocks it. He shoulder barges his own door and quickly gets out of his car. He whistles for the other officer in the distance. The man okays him with a thumbs-up. Both men approach the steaming pickup truck. The sound of the engine clicking and simmering is unnerving as both men take aim at the glass panel overlooking the driver’s seat.

  “Put your hands up and exit the vehicle!” the officer shouts. “We will shoot if we see any movement that we deem hostile.” There is no response from the passenger in the toppled-over pickup.

  “Shoot the windows. Drag his ass out,” says the officer as he takes aim and blasts the windows. Seconds later they are pulling a man out from the wreck and slipping cuffs onto him.

  “Officer, what have I done wrong?” The man smirks.

  “Evading capture on a warrant,” says the officer.

  “Sue me,” says the brash man.

  “And attempted murder.”

  The man’s smirk quickly changes int
o a worried look.

  Twenty-Six

  “You are free to go,” says the sheriff, slightly red-faced as he un-cuffs Andy.

  “Really? You found out I was innocent?” says Andy as he tries to suppress his urge to give the sheriff of the county a piece of his mind.

  “We made a mistake. We are sorry. You have our deepest apologies.”

  Andy’s lawyer smiles. “You’ll be hearing from my office regarding the false imprisonment of my client.”

  The sheriff gives the dirty-looking lawyer a smile. “Feel free to take a card from the desk with all my details on it,” the sheriff says in a stern manor.

  Andy laughs a little at the to and fro between the lawyer and the sheriff. “So what happened? You caught someone?” asks Andy, feeling curious as to why all the charges had been dropped.

  “Dayton came through. He recovered well enough to answer some questions and pinned the assault on someone else.”

  “Someone else? Who?”

  “A man named Graham Richards.”

  Andy goes white with terror. “Graham Richards? Richards Realty?”

  “That’s the guy. He’s a real-estate agent. We got an instant confession from him.”

  Andy still looks bemused. “But why? Why did he do it?”

  “He was trying to drive the price down of your house. He wanted to buy it for himself and sell it for a stupid profit in a few years’ time after it all died down.”

  “What died down?”

  “The spider infestation he planted in the house. The deaths that would have resulted from them.”

  “Deaths? You mean he wanted us to die?”

  “Correct. He managed to pay off the fumigators to spray some hormones on your clothes. Literally all the spiders in the house would be attracted to you, and in turn, you would most likely be bit.”

  Andy just stands there, completely stunned. “Is Dayton okay?”

  The sheriff smiles. “As good as ever. Makes a change — usually he’s in one of my cells! Innocent this time, I guess. Take care, Andy.”

  “What about the spiders. Are they gone?”

  “We’re having to put you up in a hotel for a couple of days. We have crime lab people working the scene, and after that, some fumigators will come in and get rid of your problem. A week’s time, you’ll be back home.”

  Andy shakes his head. “A whole week. For fuck’s sake.”

  “Five-star hotel in the city. My treat.”

  Andy immediately feels better. “Well, I suppose a week isn’t that bad!”

  Twenty-Seven

  Two Weeks Later

  “I guess it’s goodbye,” Andy says as he looks out of his car window. He can see the moving guys putting the last of his furniture into the back of the van. His cell phone goes off. “Hello? Hey, babes, yeah, I’ll be down your mom’s and dad’s in a few hours. Just about to leave. Okay, Melisa…I love you, too. Bye.” He hangs up the phone. “Living in a mansion won’t be too bad…even if it is in close proximity to the in-laws,” he says to himself. He keys the ignition. He reverses out of his drive, noticing the “FOR SALE” sign in the foreground. He shifts back into first and drives down the steep embankment of the hilly road.

  Ten minutes pass. He turns the radio on. He starts singing along to the song. He has an itch on his neck. He scratches it. It’s a hot summer’s day, and the brown and yellow leaves of the forest glisten in the sun. He can see the road wind up and down the crevices of the mountainside. He feels the itch on his neck once more. He casually swats at it and scratches. He decides to look in the mirror. He pops his head a little and feels a sharp sting. He catches a glimpse of his sweaty face. He then sees his neck. On it, a black widow rests on his right side. His face goes white. He tries to keep control of the car. The spider raises itself on its hind legs and strikes. The car veers to the right and goes off the cliff. It rolls a few dozen times and comes to a stop. A branch made its way into the windshield, penetrating Andy’s skull. His brain matter hangs off the wood sticking out of his head.

  The spider survives. It climbs up his face and onto the branch, scattering off it and into the summery forest where his car lies undiscovered, forever.

  ­­­Luis Samways

  The Casual Killer

  Frank McKenzie 1

  “If the blue meanies are going to get me they’d better get off their asses and do something.” -The Zodiac Killer

  One

  The sound of his beeper wakes Frank up. Slouched against his headboard, he looks around his bedroom and tries to shake his hangover while squinting and trying to adjust to the light finding its way through the curtains. He smiles when he sees the empty bottle of Jack lying on the floor next to his gun. Grabbing his packet of cigarettes from the bed side table, he fondles around the drawer for his lighter. He finally finds it, and lights the cigarette. The dim light reveals a messy room with folders and documents strewn all over. He drags hard on the smoke and exhales a cloud of grey bliss that soothes him to near sleep once again. As he does, his cell phone starts ringing. It startles Frank. ‘Frank speaking,’ he answers, still smoking his cigarette while half awake.

  ‘Hey Frank, you need to come in,’ the voice on the phone says. ‘There’s been an incident down Stella Avenue in Rixton.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’

  Frank tries to clear his throat.

  ‘There’s been a massacre in a family home, around 15 dead, Sir.’

  ‘Damn, I’ll be down as soon as possible; meet me there.’

  Frank hangs up the phone and shoots out of bed, rushing around looking for his clothes. He puts on what he can find, a white T shirt and charcoal trousers. There’s a stain on the sleeve of his shirt which he manages to get out after a few minutes. He goes into the bathroom and looks in the mirror.

  He stops dead, intently staring at himself like he doesn’t recognise who he is. Grabbing some hair gel from the cabinet above the sink, he applies it to his blond short hair. He looks harder into his reflection and notices his beard is starting to come through; he has no time to clean shave. Frank looks around for his electric beard trimmer and spots it on a pile of wet towels. Grabbing it, he shaves rapidly, not caring about the hair debris falling on the floor but he moves over to the sink. As he shaves, looking in the mirror, the sound of the razor drives him into a hypnotic state. He stares deeper into his own reflection, catching a distorted glimpse of his eyes. He stops in awe of his cold blue eyes. The razor shreds the hair up and down his side burns. Flashes of the reasons he drinks play in his mind. As he looks deeper into the mirror, a woman’s ghostly face appears, replacing his reflection. She snarls at him. Her face is covered in bruises. She laughs.

  ‘Have fun dying, Fucker,’ the woman in the reflection growls.

  Frank jumps and the razor clips his ear. Blood trickles out. Frank sneers and throws the beard trimmer at the mirror, shattering it. Shards of glass fall sharply and bounce off the hair ridden sink to the floor. Frank yells in frustration.

  ‘Fuck!’ he screams.

  Frank composes himself and opens the medicine cabinet. Rummaging through the assortment of pills and medical Paraphernalia, he finds what he is looking for and grabs the yellow pill container. Frank gasps in relief. The label reads: Veratril: .benzodiazepine 125 mg Medicated. 2xs a day. FRANK MCKENZIE.

  He pours 5 pills into his cupped hand from the little container. Throwing the pills in his mouth urgently he bends over the sink, yanks on the tap and drinks from it like a water fountain. He cups his hands under the flow and splashes watery residue on his face and hair.

  Looking into the broken mirror his sees his entire face relaxed and dripping wet in the jagged surface. Brushing his hands through his hair for a neater appearance, he walks out of the bathroom and grabs his grey suit jacket. He puts it on and kneels to slot his boots on. He grabs the gun from the floor as he rises and walks over to the front door of his apartment. Turning around, he scans his home, realizing this could be the last time he sees his apartment. H
e sighs, turns around and walks out. This could be dangerous. Gut feelings have never let him down before. The quiet hiss of the door swings shut on the dark empty room as the bolts snap in place. Silence deafens the apartment.

  Two

  A blue Ford Capri gently stops in the driveway that seems to go for miles as an assortment of officers rush around the exterior of the crime scene. One officer spots the car and shakes his head in disapproval and turns to his superior.

  ‘It’s McKenzie,’ the officer says in disbelief as Frank gets out of the car and leans against it to light his cigarette. “He actually showed up.’ The superior gives the brown nosing officer a smile that says he shares the man’s distain for McKenzie and walks over to Frank...

  ‘What the hell are you doing here Frank? You don’t work for the department any more, you no good drunk.’ The officer is loud enough to catch the attention of the men and women working and they stop what they’re doing to witness the public grilling.

  Frank continues smoking his cigarette and stares a hole into the man challenging him.

  ‘What’s the matter Frank?’ The officer smiles with enjoyment at being the center of attention. “Have you forgotten how to talk or something? Because the Frank I used to know would not shut the hell up! I find it strange that a man notorious for talking too much is stone cold quiet now!”

  The crowd erupts in laughter. A brief smile comes across Frank’s face as the man licks his lips in glee.

  ‘If you’re not going to talk Frank, then get the fuck out of my crime scene! I don’t see the point in having you here if you’re not going to give me a reason to take the piss out of you.’ The man laughs.

  Frank takes one last drag from his cigarette and smiles. He flicks the cigarette butt at the superior officer. It flies straight into the man’s right eye. The officer screams and clasps his hands over his face, holding the injured eye. When the man removes his hand from his face and pulls back to strike Frank, Frank beats him to the punch. A solid upper cut to the jaw knocks the officer to the cobble stone drive. The surprised officers surrounding them outnumber him but do not react. They idly watch what unfolds in front of their eyes. Frank laughs quietly, and shrugs off the adrenaline ‘This is my crime scene now,” he tells them. “I am in charge of this case, appointed by the district attorney 25 minutes ago.” He takes a deep breath. “Truth is, I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here. I guess it’s hard to look into the eyes of the men who sold me down the river because of a few discrepancies. After all I did for you guys. You were all taken care of and most importantly, I got the job done at any means necessary. The costs accumulated throughout the years have not been on you but on me. I have to live with my mistakes and me alone. I am only human,’ he finishes.