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Strangers
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Copyright © 2013 by Michaelbrent Collings
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website: http://www.michaelbrentcollings.com
email: [email protected]
cover and interior art © 2013
used under license from Shutterstock.com
NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF
MICHAELBRENT COLLINGS
DARKBOUND
“Really good, highly recommended, make sure you have time to read a lot at one sitting since you may have a hard time putting it down.” – The Horror Fiction Review
“In Darkbound you will find the intensity of Misery and a journey reminiscent of the train ride in The Talisman…. A proficient and pedagogical author, Collings’ works should be studied to see what makes his writing resonate with such vividness of detail…. You will not be disappointed in this dark tale.” – Hellnotes
“Darkbound travels along at a screaming pace with action the whole way through, and twists to keep you guessing throughout.... With an ending that I didn't see coming from a mile away, and easily one of the best I've had the enjoyment of reading in a long time....” – Horror Drive-In
THE HAUNTED
“The Haunted is a terrific read with some great scares and a shock of an ending!” – Rick Hautala, international bestselling author; Bram Stoker Award® for Lifetime Achievement winner
“[G]ritty, compelling and will leave you on the edge of your seat.... The Haunted is a tremendous read for fans of ghoulishly good terror.” – horrornews.net
“The Haunted is just about perfect.... This is a haunted house story that will scare even the most jaded horror hounds. I loved it!” – Joe McKinney, Bram Stoker Award®-winning author of Flesh Eaters and Inheritance
APPARITION
“Apparition is not just a 'recommended' novel, it is easily one of the most entertaining and satisfying horror novels this reviewer has read within the past few years. I cannot imagine that any prospective reader looking for a new read in the horror genre won't be similarly blown away by the novel.” – Hellnotes
“[Apparition is] a gripping, pulse hammering journey that refuses to relent until the very final act. The conclusion that unfolds may cause you to sleep with the lights on for a spell.... Yet be forewarned perhaps it is best reserved for day time reading.” – horrornews.net
“Apparition is a hard core supernatural horror novel that is going to scare the hell out of you.... This book has everything that you would want in a horror novel.... it is a roller coaster ride right up to a shocking ending.” – horroraddicts.net
“[Apparition is] Riveting. Captivating. Mesmerizing.... [A]n effective, emotional, nerve-twisting read, another amazingly well-written one from a top-notch writer.” – The Horror Fiction Review
THE LOON
“It's always so nice to find one where hardcore asylum-crazy is done RIGHT.... THE LOON is, hands down, an excellent book.” – The Horror Fiction Review
“Highly recommended for horror and thriller lovers. It's fast-moving, as it has to be, and bloody and violent, but not disgustingly gory.... Collings knows how to write thrillers, and I'm looking forward to reading more from him.” – Hellnotes
MR. GRAY (aka THE MERIDIANS)
“... an outstanding read.... This story is layered with mystery, questions from every corner and no answers fully coming forth until the final conclusion.... What a ride.... This is one you will not be able to put down and one you will remember for a long time to come. Very highly recommended.” – Midwest Book Review
HOOKED: A TRUE FAERIE TALE
“Hooked is a story with depth.... Emotional, sad, horrific, and thought provoking, this one was difficult to put down and now, one of my favourite tales.” – Only Five Star Book Reviews
“[A]n interesting and compelling read.... Collings has a way with words that pulls you into every moment of the story, absorbing every scene with all of your senses.” – Clean Romance Reviews
“Collings has found a way to craft an entirely new modern vampire mythology – and one strikingly different from everything I've seen before.... Recommended for adult and teen fans of horror and paranormal romance....” – Hellnotes
RISING FEARS
“The writing is superb. The characters are believable and sympathetic... the theme of a parent who's lost a child figures strongly; it's powerful stuff, and written from the perspective of experience that no one should ever have to suffer.” – The Horror Fiction Review
Dedication
To...
All the people who read my books… thank you,
and to Laura, FTAAE.
Contents
Chapter
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
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7
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10
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102
103
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Prologue
Bob Jankowitz traveled through beauty on his way to murder and thought for perhaps the thousandth time that today might be a good day to quit.
Christmas lights twinkled on the eaves of many of the houses, which was a rare display of holiday spirit from the well-to-do. Jankowitz had discovered over the years that the more well-off a person was, the less likely that person was to indulge in such tacky items as Christmas lights, or tinsel, or holiday spirit. So it was a surprise to see so many of the large houses that lined this street glittering with reds and blues and greens, oranges and yellows and whites. A few of them had manger scenes, and a flourishing forest of ten-foot-tall neon candy canes had even sprouted on one of the lawns – though they could barely be seen behind the tall privacy wall that circled that particular property.
Still, even behind tall walls and foreboding stands of towering trees that stood like evergreen guards, there was spirit here. A sense that the people of this neighborhood hadn’t completely withdrawn from humanity, in spite of their wealth.
A black cargo van passed him, driving slowly as though admiring the lights. It had bumper stickers on the front bumper, which Jankowitz thought was odd. “Honk if you Love Jesus” said one on the right side. And on the left, “Honk if you Love Satan.”
Typical, thought Jankowitz. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he hated how nasty people had seemed to become in the last ten years. Like the only things of value anymore were cynicism and the ability to belittle others. More and more it seemed that people were becoming enamored of the kind of argument the driver of the van apparently preferred: support what you want, but in doing so you’ll also be co-opted into supporting the things you most despise.
Jankowitz craned his neck to see what kind of person would drive a van with such a nasty message, but the black vehicle had passed before he could spot the driver. And just as well. He was going to need all his patience, all his peace tonight.
He let himself enjoy the Christmas lights again, and for a moment the holiday displays flashing all around, glinting off the winter snow that packed the sides of the street, gave Jankowitz a rare flash of hope.
Then the Christmas lights faded.
They were replaced by a different kind of illumination. The warm holiday colors waned, overcome by bright white flashes as reporters clicked cameras, hoping for lucky shots, and by the random red and blue of police cruiser lights spinning around one another like children at play.
Jankowitz put his own roof light on his car, adding one more spinning blue light to the mix. He always thought of the old Kmart advertisements when he did that, the nasally voice he had heard when wandering up and down the halls of the store with his parents as a kid, announcing “Blue Light Special, aisle seven,” and waiting for the moment he could leave, hoping that he would maybe get a cherry Icee out of the trip.
“Today’s Blue Light Special, shoppers, will be on aisle seven,” he said under his breath. “And you ain’t gonna believe this one.”
It was a guess – the dispatcher hadn’t given him many details. But he’d been doing this long enough to smell an unusual night ahead. And the fact that there were so many vultures – sorry, reporters, he corrected himself – crowding around the police barricades certainly bore out his instincts.
He edged his sedan forward through the throng. A few of the buzzards – no, newspaperpeople – didn’t notice his car until the last second, and he had a delicious moment where he both hoped and feared he might get to… nudge… one or two of them.
Jankowitz had nothing against human beings as a rule. But murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and reporters were all something that he viewed as items that had been missed by whatever Darwinian filters operated in humanity’s gene pool. They all existed because of misery and pain, fed on tribulation and fear.
Sadly, the assholes – sorry, journalists – got out of the way at the last second. Jankowitz eased up to the police barricades, which were moved aside by a pair of the uniformed officers stationed there to keep curiosity-seekers and bottom-feeders out of the way of the crime scene, and then pushed up to the house.
No question which house it was. It looked like a human anthill, with more cops going in and out of it than any crime scene than Jankowitz had ever witnessed.
He groaned inwardly. This many cops was never good news. It meant inevitable miscommunications about who was in charge, about who was to do what, about… about everything.
He parked the car at the end of the driveway, engaged the parking brake, and sat for a long moment before getting out. Part of his hesitation was so he could enjoy one last moment of the warmth inside his car. It was blisteringly cold outside, and he had no desire to be tramping around in sub-freezing temperatures.
Mostly, though, it was to give himself a chance to think of the Christmas lights. Because in spite of nearly twenty years on the force, Jankowitz was still a person with hope. He hoped that people were mostly good, he hoped that humanity was worth saving. But with every case he investigated, he felt that hope curl and blacken a bit at the edges. He felt it withdraw into itself, lessen.
Die.
So he thought of the Christmas lights and clung to the memory of holiday cheer like a prisoner of war might cling to remembrances of hearth and home.
Then he got out of the car.
The sounds hit him fast and hard. Not that they were loud, but his car had been quiet, and calm, and almost peaceful. Out here, by the house, everything was contained chaos, barely controlled panic. Jankowitz could see it in the faces of the men and women going in and out of the house, in their postures and the way they were holding themselves.
He felt his pulse start to race.
The house before him was different from the others on this affluent block. Not in size or quality of architecture. But there were differences. For one, it was set back farther from the street, as though the owners didn’t want to share in the companionship that the rest of the neighborhood enjoyed.
And it was dark.
Not only was there no evidence of any holiday display of any kind, but there was no light in the house at all, other than the dancing firefly glimmers of handheld flashlights. The structure hunched dark and silent, like a lifeless husk on a dead battlefield.
Jankowitz walked up the well-shoveled walk. His breath plumed, now yellow, now white, now blue, depending on what kind of light caught it in the night. The shifting colors brought no joy or merriment. The Christmas displays down the block had been colorful in a vibrant, gleeful way. The shifting colors here were muted, tense, terrified. The colors of mayhem ill-contained.
Jankowitz intended to head right into the house, but he veered away from the front door when he noticed a number of forensics officers crowded around a shattered window on the front wall, about fifteen feet away from the front door. A few of them were dusting for prints, but the others seemed to be just standing and staring, mouths half-open and all but scratching their heads in confusion.
Jankowitz knew every one of the officers, of course. Good men and women for the most part. But he focused on one of them, a short, chubby woman named Chantae. A lot of the CSI techs called her “Mama Bear,” both because of her shape and because she fought for the CSI team come budget appropriations time each year. Jankowitz liked her, and the feeling was fairly mutual.
She was one of the standers-and-starers. Which was not like her.
“Getting anything?” he said to her.
“Nothing.”
“You think you will find anything?”
Mama Bear looked at him. She looked drawn and weary, and the flashlights that the techs held cast knife-sharp shadows against her round face. She looked cadaverous in that moment, and Jankowitz could tell instantly that she had been in the house. And that things were much worse there than he had suspect
ed.