Unsettled: Episode 78

Donahue pulled to a stop outside Green Harvest, a small shop near Greenway Park.

“What is this place?” Randi asked.

“A health food store,” Donahue said. “They don’t sell junk food or anything processed. All healthy, all natural.”

“You’re sure the juice box came from here?” Randi asked.

“This is the best place to buy healthy organic snacks, herbal teas, gluten free and low sodium food. They don’t sell meat. Only vegan food with no animal testing and all natural,” Donahue explained.

“Sounds like a fun place,” Randi said.

“My wife loves it,” Donahue said, getting out of the car.

Randi winced for a moment then slipped out of the car and followed Donahue toward the shop.

“Plus I’m pretty sure this is the place where our killer bought that juice we found,” he added.

The detectives waited for traffic to clear then crossed the street.

When Donahue pulled open the shop door, Randi was hit in the face with the strong smell of patchouli.

No one was minding the cash register.

“Wait here,” Donahue said and started searching the shelves.

After a few moments just as Randi was about to hit the bell, Donahue said,

“My wife has been looking for this. She is going to be so happy.”

“Is anyone here?” Randi called out.

“He’s probably in the back,” Donahue suggested. “Ring the bell on the counter.”

Randi tapped the bell once and waited. When no one appeared, she rang it again.

Suddenly the door to the back opened and a tall thin man with a long braid and bushy beard walked out. The hem of his faded t-shirt didn’t quite reach the waistband of his shorts, and his bare feet slapped on the tile floor as he made his way up to the counter.

When he reached the counter, he looked at Randi for a moment then said,

“You are not like the other children Mother Earth sends to me. You must have just begun your journey to healthy eating. Let me be your guide to a younger happier you.”

He reached out and took Randi’s hand.

“I am Rain. What is your name?” he asked.

“Detective Miranda Lawrence,” Donahue said, stepping out from behind the shelves.

Rain’s shoulders dropped. He looked out the window then back at Donahue.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his demeanor changing along with his voice. Hunching over, he spoke with an aggressive tone.

“Meet Kevin Two Toes Foster. Former accountant for the Drakos crime family.”

“Two Toes?” Randi asked.

“Birth defect,” Foster said.

“What are you doing here, detective?” he asked Donahue. “I ain’t done nothing wrong. I’m clean. Swear on my mother.”

“Kevin, your mother shot at officers who came to arrest you,” Donahue said.

Foster shrugged and answered,

“What can I say? She’s got spirit.”

“I need your help, Kevin,” Donahue said.

“I’m way ahead of you,” Foster said. “The special soap your wife has been waiting for finally showed up. It’s in the back.”

“Already got it,” Donahue said. “I’m here for something else. You let a killer in here.”

“Whoa!” Foster said. “I ain’t got nothing to do with no killer. I’m clean.”

Donahue stared at Foster for a moment then said,

“I believe you. But I’m almost certain he came here.”

Randi held up the juice box.

Foster took a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket and examined the box.

After a moment he said,

“Yeah, I sell this stuff. It’s a rip off. Ninety percent apple juice.”

Foster handed back the box and added,

“That was my last one, too. I got more on the way.”

“I need to see your security footage,” Donahue said.

Foster raised his hands.

“I don’t have security cameras in here. My customers prefer their privacy.”

Donahue looked over at Randi and said,

“You know I hear Carl Costigan took over as head of the family when Mr. Drakos retired. I wonder what he’d think if he found out that Two Toes Foster was still alive.”

“Big Carl Costigan?” Randi asked. “I hear he fed some guy’s family to a wood chipper. Made the guy watch.”

“Seriously?” Foster said.

“I need to see that footage,” Donahue repeated.

“Look. The footage ain’t going to help you. Someone broke in and wrecked the system a week ago. But good news is, I remember your guy. He bought some Kava tea and my last juice box. Paid ahead for more. Said he wanted them shipped to his place,” Foster explained.

After digging around under the counter, Foster came back with a piece of paper.

“In fact, he called this morning and changed the address,” Foster said.

When Donahue and Randi saw the address, Donahue said,

“This is the address for a warehouse.”

Foster raised his hands,

“Look, I got people who literally buy imported dirt. I don’t ask no questions.”

Donahue considered the address again and said,

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Foster said. “Hey, next time don’t be so loud. Last thing I need is somebody from my old life finding me. I hear things about Big Carl, and he scares me.”

* * *

Across the street in the darkness of a narrow alley, Truman Wicker watched the two police detectives following the clues his father had told him to leave.

There had been no sign of the vigilante, and these two detectives were close on the trail.

Just then his cell phone rang. He removed it from his pocket and answered without checking the id.

“Yes, Father?”

“How is the hunt coming along?” Thaddeus Wicker asked.

“No sign of the vigilante, but two detectives are close on the trail,” Truman said.

“We weren’t hired to kill two detectives,” Thaddeus Wicker pointed out. “If they get too close, deal with them. We’ll blame it on the same person. Let me know if it comes to that. I’ll have to rework my killer’s profile.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” Truman said.

The call ended and Truman Wicker put away the phone.

As he watched the detectives for a moment longer, he heard a voice behind him say,

“Don’t worry.”

Truman felt a cold shiver run down his back. The voice was his own. As accurate as if it were a recording.

He slowly turned around. Standing behind him was a figure dressed in dark clothes with a black hood covering his face.

“I’ll take care of it,” the figure said in Truman’s voice.

His hands trembling, Truman reached for his gun, but before he could get it, the figure lunged at him.

When he tried to scream, the only sound was a whimper just before everything went dark.

Unsettled: Episode 77

As the sun slowly awoke to the new day, its glorious colors of red and orange spread through the morning sky like wildfire. Sunlight broke through the clouds and bathed Coldwater in light, driving away the darkness. On a rooftop nearby, Nick Woodman smoked a cigarette and watched the Ambassador Hotel. His orders were clear. Find and eliminate the members of the Freedom and Family League. Locating them had not been difficult. Woodman had spent most of the night studying the layout of their hotel floor. The open windows and floor plan would make his job quite easy. He had set up his equipment on top the building opposite the hotel’s north wall.

While he watched the sun come up, he decided to challenge himself. He would wait until all the league members woke. He ground out his cigarette, dropped the butt into a plastic bag and picked up his rifle.

Getting on his knees, he propped the rifle on its stand just as one FFL member rose from the bed and walked over to the window.

Lights inside the hotel room began to come on as more guests awoke. Woodman counted twelve FFL members moving around in the room. Just as he took aim on the first of his twelve targets, the lights in the building suddenly went out and the room was swallowed up in darkness.

He looked up and down the street and saw that the only lights out were those of the Ambassador Hotel. Woodman reached inside his bag and removed a night vision scope. In a second, he had attached it to the rifle and was once again watching the FFL members in the room.

After he counted all twelve members, he spotted something in the room he couldn’t identify. Standing perfectly still in the corner was a figure. Judging by the build, it was a man. He wore a jacket with a hood that covered his face.

“Who is that?” Woodman thought.

No one else in the room seemed to notice the mysterious figure. Some of the FFL members shined their cell phone lights around the room, but every time the beam came close to the man in the corner, he moved just out of the way.

Although Woodman had heard rumors of a vigilante called the Black Dog, he figured they were just urban legends. Pushing the question out of his mind, he took aim on a member who was looking out the window.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the man in the corner grabbed the FFL member and pulled him back away from the window.

“Is he protecting them?” Woodman wondered.

Putting down the rifle, he switched to the laptop connected to his remote rifle and positioned it for a clear shot. But just as he pulled the trigger, the shadowy figure grabbed the man and moved him out of the way, sending the shot into the wall.

Hysteria broke out and Woodman tried to get a clear shot as every member of the FFL panicked. While some hit the floor, others began running in circles trying to escape, but to no avail. During his surveillance, Woodman had sealed the doors and windows shut so they couldn’t get out of the room.

He put down the laptop and sent a message to Heath.

“About to complete the FFL job when some hooded figure started taking them down.“

Woodman waited a moment before a text came back.

“That is the Black Dog. Get out of there at once! Return to original assignment.”

Woodman dismantled his rifle and put away his equipment. Leaving the rooftop as clean as when he arrived, he quickly made his way down the stairs and exited the building.

* * *

The light from the morning sun slowly dried up the glistening dew formed from the night before.

Standing in the middle of Greenway Park, Donahue looked at the thin stone walkways running through the park, weaving artistic patterns through the grass. The centerpiece of Greenway Park was the large live oak with branches large enough to walk on. Each tree spread its branches far across the park, sometimes touching the ground before rising again.

Tied to the trunk of the oak was another dead body.

Crime Scene was already busy at work while Donahue looked over his notes and considered a possible connection between this victim and the previous one.

Both were college students. Both were blonde and attractive.

Coldwater was a place where the rich and famous built their summer homes. Most every citizen of Coldwater was considered beautiful, well beyond the standards of mortal men.

While his partner Detective Randi Lawrence talked to onlookers, Donahue examined the note left by the victim’s killer.

“The unrealistic beauty standards are killing our children and our futures. Kids starve themselves, pour garbage into their bodies, and spend thousands on products that can’t do much for them. All so they can look like some celebrity who has spent hours in a chair being primped and dolled up by professionals. I will not stop my crusade, my mission, to free our minds from the ball and chain ideals set forth by Hollywood and by the modeling industry of glamour magazines. Our children are depending on us to save them so they can have a future. I won’t stop till the world changes.”

“Same old drivel,” Donahue said.

He didn’t believe for a moment that this was some beauty obsessed serial killer. There was a connection. He just wasn’t seeing it yet.

Detective Randi finished her questioning and hurried over to Donahue.

“Her name is Joanna Fullmore,” Randi said. “Full time student studying Molecular Biology. She was grabbed leaving class, strangled, and strung up here on the tree.”

“Anything else?” Donahue asked.

“We got the killer on security camera,” Randi said. “Not enough to id him, but we got the murder on video.”

Holding up an evidence bag containing a juice bottle, she added,

“The killer dropped this into a trash can at the edge of the park. Guess he figured no one was watching.”

“The cameras are new,” she continued. “The killer probably didn’t know they had been installed.”

Donahue studied the bottle then said,

“I know this bottle. It’s a unique blend of 100% fruit juice sold only at a few stores. There’s one nearby. My wife loves the stuff.”

“What do you think about the security video?” Randi asked.

Donahue looked at her and asked,

“What do you think?”

Randi thought for a moment then said,

“I don’t know. Something feels off.”

“Exactly,” Donahue responded.

“It feels almost like we’re being told a story by someone who wants us to think this is a serial murder when it’s really something else.”

“What do you want to do?” Randi asked.

“Until we have more to go on, I guess we follow the breadcrumbs.”

Donahue held up the bottle and said,

“Let’s head over to the place nearby that sells this.”

Unsettled: Episode 76

Holding a large suitcase in each hand, Nick Woodman stood alone in the empty room on the seventh floor of Excalibur Hotel and Spa. He put down both suitcases and walked over to the window.

Moving the window shade a little to one side, he looked over the park to the spot where Willoby would be giving his speech.

Near one of the larger oak trees, a small boy was playing Frisbee with his dog. With each throw of the toy, the boy laughed with delight when the dog jumped into the air and caught the flying disc. Suddenly a gust of wind caught the Frisbee, pulling it into a tight arch and causing the dog to change its path quickly to catch it.

Woodman took out his note pad and read over his notes. Removing a pen from his pocket, he scribbled a small note then put away the pad and pen. As he let the shade fall closed, he stepped over to the suitcases he had brought with him.

Woodman picked up one suitcase, positioned it sideways on the table, and opened it. Inside were a collapsible tripod and rifle mount. He removed one piece at a time and began assembling the equipment. Halfway through, his cell phone rang. Woodman checked the caller ID and tapped the button for speaker. Knowing Woodman wouldn’t speak, the caller began talking.

Woodman listened as the voice of the caller came through the phone speaker.

“We have a problem,” Charles Heath said. “I just received word that Freedom and Family League, some save the environment group, started trouble at the park where Willoby is speaking. Word is he’s already considering moving the event to a safer location or canceling it all together. I shouldn’t have to explain why this will be a problem. If Willoby backs out and you fail to complete the contract on him, the client will have no reason to pay. I need you to take a detour and deal with the band of domestic yahoos threatening Willoby. All of them! No one left behind to pick up the cause.”

The phone went silent as Woodman stared at it, waiting for further instructions.

“Are you there?” Heath asked. “Are you even listening? I know you don’t talk, but grunt or something so I know you’re listening.”

Woodman stared at the phone for a moment longer.

“Anything?” Heath pressed.

Woodman freed his hand and snapped his fingers twice.

“I’ll take it,” Heath said. “Get it done.”

The call ended and Woodman began breaking apart the equipment.

Once he returned the tripod and mount to the suitcase, he took out his note pad, flipped to a new entry and began making notes.

* * *

As the news played in the background, Thaddeus Wicker sat in a plush barrel chair and studied newspaper clippings, copies of police sketches, articles printed from conspiracy websites, and grainy photos. He had collected everything he could find about the Blackdog Vigilante and affixed it to the hotel wall.

“He’s a hunter,” Thaddeus said, “and if I were a hunter like him, where would I feel the safest?”

“Daddy?” Teresa called out.

“Not now, pumpkin,” Thaddeus replied.

He stared at the wall a bit longer then said,

“I wouldn’t feel safe at a police station or any other emergency response office. But homeless shelters would allow me to slip in and out without being noticed.”

“Daddy?” Teresa called out again.

“Not now, my sweet,” Thaddeus replied.

His attention returning to the wall, Thaddeus said,

“A newspaper or other published media would provide information but might ask too many questions.”

“Daddy!” Teresa finally snapped.

“What is it, my dear?” Thaddeus asked, rising from the chair.

“I’m bored!” Teresa said. “When are things going to pick up?”

Thaddeus removed his glasses, folded them, carefully slipped them into his pocket, and filled his glass with water.

“Patience, my dear,” he said. “You must be patient.”

“But I’m tired of waiting,” Teresa whined.

“My dear,” Thaddeus said, “when you hunt a deer, you must either wait for one to cross your path or you must find it and kill it. The same may be said for killing a mouse or a raccoon. You cannot rush these hunts. You must set your trap with the proper bait and wait for the innocent to stumble into the trap. If you are fortunate, they will become aware of the trap just before the spring triggers and the trap slams shut.”

Teresa smiled at the thought.

“However, when you are an alpha predator, you must operate differently. You cannot hope to catch him unaware, and you cannot bait the trap with just anything. You have to find something that appeals to him. Something that tickles his predatory senses. He has to believe he is the hunter, not the hunted.”

Thaddeus Wicker walked back to his chair and put on his glasses.

“And that requires timing and finesse.”

He continued starting at his wall of collected information on the Blackdog.

When the hotel room phone rang, Teresa reached over and lifted the receiver.

“Hello?” she answered.

After listening for a few moments, Teresa held out the phone and said,

“Daddy, it’s for you.”

“I’m busy right now, sweetie,” Thaddeus said.

“It’s that Barnett guy,” Teresa said.

Thaddeus let out a sigh of exasperation and stood up. He put his glasses away and walked over to take the phone from Teresa.

“I do not wish to be bothered when I am on a hunt,” Thaddeus scolded.

“Things have changed,” Lawrence Barnett explained. “I need the vigilante dealt with now.”

“This is a serious predator we are talking about, and my process must be taken seriously in order to be successful,” Thaddeus said.

“I don’t have time for you to dance around the subject,” Barnett said. “Deal with the vigilante soon! I’m running out of time, and I don’t want any delays.”

“You cannot rush perfection,” Thaddeus said. “If this is going to be done right, I need time to set up properly.”

“I don’t have time for your garbage. If you can’t handle this, I’ll pay someone else to do it,” Barnett said.

Thaddeus squeezed his eyes shut and yelled silently in frustration. After a moment, he exhaled and said,

“Fine. I will move up my timetable.”

“You do that,” Barnett said.

When the call ended, Thaddeus looked at the phone and said,

“Spare me from troglodytes and philistines.”

Returning to his chair, Thaddeus said,

“Dear, get with your brother and inform him that our schedule is being accelerated. We need to go ahead and set the second part of the trap.”

Teresa smiled and said,

“All right, daddy.”

Unsettled: Episode 75

The early morning sunbeams warmed the bedroom window, calling the sleeper to a new day. The light worked its way through a small opening in the drapes that a weary traveler had carelessly closed. When a noisy woodpecker flew to the window and began drumming on the glass, a lump buried under a thick blanket grunted and stirred.

The woodpecker chirped and cackled then drummed again before flying away to seek a more appreciative audience.

Beneath the bundle of blankets and piles of clean, unfolded clothes, a woman shifted and fell back into sleep, filling the room with a deep rumbling snore. A few minutes later, the woodpecker returned and set about drumming on the window, determined to awaken the woman inside.

From beneath the blanket, the woman grumbled and growled,

“Let me sleep!”

Refusing to yield, the woodpecker chirped, cackled, and rapidly drummed on the window’s glass.

Snorting her frustration, the woman threw off the blankets, turned her body, and sat up, kicking her feet off the side.

Only a few hours ago, Debdie Martin had finally fallen asleep. A late class followed by a creepy encounter had left her unable to rest.

She ran her fingers through her hair and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

When she tried to stand up, she lost her balance and fell back onto the bed. After a second try, she rose and walked over to the window.

Throwing open the drapes, she peered out through one eye and tried to focus. The woodpecker, startled by the sudden movement, fluttered its wings and flew to a nearby branch.

Debbie reached down, removed the lid from a metal trash can beneath the window, and filled an empty cup with birdseed.

The woodpecker flew from the branch to the railing of the porch and patiently waited while Debbie unlocked the window and opened it.

“Elvis,” she said, “I told Hannah that feeding you was a bad idea. Now you expect it.”

Elvis was a downy woodpecker, the smallest and most common of woodpeckers. Scarlet head, white belly, black and white wings, he looked nothing like Elvis. But the first time Hannah Sullivan saw him, she decided he resembled Elvis.

Debbie dumped the birdseed into a little wooden box and stepped back while Elvis ate his fill. Soon he was off without a thank you or a second glance.

“Sure,” Debbie said. “Just leave me.”

“Hannah ditched me for some guy last night, and now you’ve gone too,” Debbie said with feigned hurt feelings.

The last time Debbie and Hannah talked, Hannah had left Debbie waiting on the phone while she answered a knock at her door. Hannah was Debbie’s best friend, but she was always leaving Debbie while she chased after some cute guy. She had left her at parties and movies, so why not leave her hanging on the phone?

Debbie should have stopped putting up with this kind of treatment a long time ago, but because of Hannah, Debbie saw the Coldwater vigilante. She had abandoned Debbie at a movie, running off with some guy she met at the concession stand. When the movie ended, Debbie had to find her own way home.

Low on funds, Debbie decided to walk. Besides, her apartment wasn’t far away. About halfway home, she had realized someone was following her. When she began to walk faster, the man increased his speed as well. Terrified, Debbie started running. When she flew by an alley, she noticed a shadowy figure nearby. Assuming it was the man’s partner, she tried to run faster. But when she heard a scuffle then silence, she risked a look back before she turned the corner. Both men had vanished. Debbie didn’t know what to think, but she kept running and didn’t stop until she reached home. She called the police, but they couldn’t do anything. When Hannah came home the next morning, Debbie told her what had happened.

Glad Debbie was safe, Hannah swore she would act better, and until last night, she had been.

“Old habits, I guess,” Debbie thought.

Debbie staggered back to bed and fell in, working herself under the blankets and covering her head, determined to get the sleep she had lost last night. After a moment, she found the perfect spot and closed her eyes.

She was just drifting off when someone knocked at the door.

Determined to fall asleep, Debbie decided to ignore it.

But when the knock came again, she called out in frustration,

“Hannah, if you locked yourself out because you left your keys at some guy’s house again, I don’t care. Crawl in through the window.”

“Deborah Martin?” a man’s voice called out.

Debbie popped her head out from beneath the blanket and glared at the door.

“Having your boy toy ask me to let you in won’t work. You ditched me. I’m mad and going back to sleep!”

“Deborah Martin, I’m Detective Adrian Donahue with Coldwater Homicide. I need to speak with you, please,” the man said.

Afraid of what she was about to hear, Debbie rolled out of bed and with the blankets still wrapped around her feet, she struggled to walk to the front door.

When she opened the door, she saw two plainclothes detectives holding out their badges.

Sensing something was wrong with her friend, Debbie asked,

“What happened to Hannah?”

“I’m sorry,” Donahue said. “She died last night.”

* * *

Once Debbie was able to compose herself, Detective Randi Lawrence asked,

“When was the last time you spoke with Ms. Sullivan?”

“I was walking to my car last night after class. One of the students made me uncomfortable, so I called Hannah,” Debbie said.

“Do you remember the last thing you said to her?” Lawrence asked.

Debbie thought for a moment then answered,

“I was telling her about a guy I ran into at class. It was after midnight. The class started with a documentary, and the teacher kept us late to discuss it.”

Donahue walked around the room taking in everything as he jotted notes in a pad. He noticed that Debbie’s side of the room looked disheveled. The bed was a pile of blankets and clothes. She had books stacked up by a small desk with post it notes and papers waiting to be blown about the room by a sudden gust of wind though the open window.

The other side of the room was much neater. Aside from an unmade bed, it looked clean except for the space by the door. On one side was a pile of dirty clothes, and a nightstand that had been knocked over, sending books spilling onto the floor.

“How often did your friend frequent a place called the Aquarium?” Lawrence asked.

“Almost never,” Debbie said. “She doesn’t like fish, and the stamps they put on your arm take forever to wash off. She only went there when it was for a guy.”

“Was she seeing anyone special?” Donahue asked. “The owner recognized her but said he never saw her with the same guy.”

“Hannah had a habit of playing the field. She was known to be a sucker for a cute smile and a fancy car,” Debbie said.

“Was there anyone who paid her special attention?” Donahue asked. “Anyone who might stand out in your mind?”

Debbie thought for a moment then said,

“I don’t think so. She had a lot of fans and ex-lovers, but as far as I know, none of them ever stalked her. Why?” Debbie asked.

Lawrence looked at Donahue then asked him,

“What is it?”

Donahue’s gaze had settled on the overturned nightstand and books. He said,

“I believe she was murdered here.”

Unsettled: Episode 74

Birds scratched the ground in search of food while others perched on the branches, filling the air with their songs. But when they heard Marquez’s footsteps on the winding path, they took to the air. The path led between rows of purple flowers, and every few feet an ivy covered archway curved above the stones.

Marquez hated security detail. For heaven’s sake, she was a homicide cop. She brought in drug dealers, arrested gun traffickers, and solved murders, tangling with violent, desperate killers. She had no time to babysit some politician with one hand on the Bible, as he swore loyalty and dedication to the people, while his other hand signed contracts and made deals that would benefit only himself rather than the people he swore to protect.

“Detective!” a young man called out.

Marquez turned to see a uniformed officer running toward her.

Quickly looking at his name tag, she asked,

“What is it, Officer Hill?”

“We have protesters,” Hill said.

“Are they interfering with the setup?” Marquez asked.

“Not yet, ma’am, but they are dangerously close. They are interfering with civilians passing by,” Hill answered.

“As long as they are not harming anyone or causing a disturbance, they are free to protest,” Marquez said. “Just keep an eye on them.”

The officer nodded,

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hill,” Marquez said, “where’s your radio?”

“I left it in the shop,” Hill admitted.

“Go get it now and keep it with you,” Marquez ordered. “You need that radio to call for backup.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hill said before turning and running back toward the patrol car.

As Marquez watched him leave, she sighed in frustration.

“He’s not going to find it,” a man’s voice said behind her.

Marquez jumped and spun around to see Billy standing behind her.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Marquez snapped.

“That would be no fun,” Eddie said.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to be with Mavis?” Marquez asked.

“She left town for a few days,” Billy said.

“Why?” Marquez asked.

“Because we told Rory it would not be safe to stay in town,” Jack answered.

Marquez was getting used to Billy and the Others, as Mavis called the voices. Four different ones came out of Billy. Normally she’d be freaked out, but this time she was just annoyed and concerned.”

“Why is it not safe in town? And why won’t that officer—,” Marquez began.

“Aaron Hill,” Jack interrupted.

“Why won’t Officer Hill find his radio?” Marquez continued.

“He and his wife are separated,” Jack informed.

“What?” Marquez asked confused.

“Why are they separated?” Victoria asked.

“It’s probably just a trial separation.” Jack said.

“Or she’s moved on to greener pastures,” Eddie suggested. “And by greener, I mean younger and more fit.”

“Would you guys focus?” Dylan asked.

“That’s so sad,” Victoria said.

“Guys!” Marquez snapped.

The others went quiet and Billy said,

“I was listening.”

“Why won’t Hill find his radio?” Marquez asked.

“Because while Officer Hill was on the phone with his wife, his radio fell from his belt and someone picked it up before he realized it was missing,” Eddie explained.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Marquez asked.

“Because I was following the thief,” Eddie said. “For a bit, anyway. Then I got bored.”

Marquez grunted in frustration.

“Can you tell me anything about the thief?”

“Average height, thin build. Walked with a slight limp on his right leg. He wore a hood, so I didn’t get a good look at his face. Based on the color of his hands, he was Caucasian.”

“Anything else?” Marquez asked.

“Yes,” Dylan said. “He was wearing a black hoodie with the letters FFL on it in green.”

Marquez took only a moment before she said,

“Freedom & Family League.”

“Who are they?” Jack asked.

“Some protest group that claims Willoby is guilty of bribery, extortion, embezzlement and half a dozen other crimes,” Marquez answered.

“Are they dangerous?” Eddie asked.

“They have crossed the line a few times, but mostly the charges were disturbing the peace and vandalism,” Marquez answered.

“Sounds to me like they are preparing for something bigger,” Jack said.

Suddenly an explosion went off.

Marquez grabbed her radio and asked for a report as she ran in the direction of the explosion.

“A small bomb went off in a trash can,” someone answered over the radio.

When Marquez reached the portable bleachers, she saw green smoke floating up from one of the trash cans.

“Anyone hurt?” she asked the nearest officer.

“A few minor burns. Nothing serious,” the officer said.

“Any idea who did this?” Marquez asked.

“Green smoke plus the FFL protesters nearby suggests Freedom & Family League. A certain giveaway, if you ask me,” another officer said.

Marquez hurried to where the protesters had gathered, but when she reached the spot, they were gone.

“Detective Marquez,” Officer Hill called, hurrying over to her. “About my radio.”

“You can’t find it,” Marquez said.

“How did you know?” Hill asked.

Marquez didn’t answer his question but instead asked,

“The protesters who were here, where did they go?”

“I was keeping an eye on them until the explosion went off, but when I looked back, they were gone.”

Marquez searched the area and saw a black hoodie lying in the street. She pushed through the panicked crowd, pulled on a pair of gloves, and grabbed the hoodie.

Inside one of the pockets, she found a note.

We shall not rest until Taylor Randolph Willoby is punished for the crimes he has committed. This city deserves a true leader who will fight for the rights of the people, not just the rich and powerful. Consider this a warning.

Marquez looked up and said,

“Looks like this won’t be a boring babysitting job after all.”

“This sounds serious,” Jack said.

“Need help?” Dylan asked.

Marquez turned to Billy and said,

“Officially, no. But unofficially, I might need help.”

“Detective Marquez!” one of the officers called out.

Marquez turned to see an officer waving her over.

“Finally! Something to do,” Eddie said. “I was growing tired of stalking people. By the way, Marquez, your milk expired and that cheese you bought the other day is dreadful.”

“I wanted to try something new,” Marquez said, heading over to the officer.

“Wait a minute,” Marquez said as she stopped. “Were you in my house?”

But when she turned around, Billy was gone.

Unsettled: Episode 73

Like the chaos of an orchestra warming up, conversation filled the air and overpowered the music played from a nearby car radio. A crowd had gathered on the beachfront boardwalk, whispering traded rumors as they gawked at a woman’s body lying in the sand. Police officers encircled her and warned onlookers to stay behind the police tape. Suddenly a breeze blew across the water, sending sea spray from the crashing waves onto the crowd.

Randi Lawrence drank from a bottle of apple juice while she waited for her partner. Shortly after her promotion to detective, Randi had moved to Coldwater. Believing in her natural talent of reading people and proud of the high score on her exam, she decided that Coldwater Police Force was a good fit for her. So far, though, working homicide in Coldwater meant mostly reading dead bodies.

The crimes in this beach town were bizarre and the motives stranger. Coldwater wasn’t the first crime riddled town she had worked in, but it was the first with an urban legend.

As Crime Scene examined the dead woman’s body, a car pulled up across the parking lot. Randi recognized it at once. It was her new partner Adrian Donahue. Donahue didn’t seem like the kind of person to be a homicide detective. He was upbeat, positive and ate healthy.

When Donahue exited his vehicle, Randi saw he was carrying a bottle of green goo. Typical for him. He took a sip from the bottle then hit the button on the wireless key remote to lock the car.

The car horn honked and Donahue smiled as he walked over to Randi.

“When I was a boy and my mom would let me drive, I always hit the lock button on the key remote three times as we walked away. It was pointless and bugged my mom, but it always made me smile,” Donahue said.

“What are you drinking?” Randi asked. “I’ve seen people drink that stuff before, but I never knew what it was called.”

Donahue looked at the bottle and explained.

“This is a green fruit smoothie. My wife Eden says it’s a great way to incorporate leafy greens into my diet, and it’s a rich source of vitamins and minerals.”

“It looks gross,” Randi said.

Donahue laughed and agreed.

“It does look like it expired long ago, doesn’t it?”

He took another sip from the bottle and asked,

“So what have we got?”

“Okay. So far we have the body of a young woman discovered this morning by a jogger,” Randi said.

Randi led Donahue through the crowd, past the police tape, and to the body.

Donahue handed his drink to one of the uniformed officers to hold while he pulled on a pair of gloves. As Randi caught him up with what they knew, Donahue bent down and carefully looked at the woman’s body.

“She was found lying on the beach with her feet in the water. I can tell you that’s a designer gown she’s wearing. No shoes, hair spread out and arranged, and fresh makeup,” Randi said.

Donahue looked over the woman, taking care to touch the body as little as possible.

“No id or clue as to how she got here,” Randi added.

“She was carried,” Donahue said, standing up.

“Sorry?” Randi asked.

“She was carried here. Killed somewhere else, I’d wager,” Donahue said.

“There are some apartments across the highway. She may have come from one of them,” Randi suggested.

Donahue looked toward the apartments and shook his head.

“No. She was a college student. Likely lived on campus nearby.”

“How can you tell?” Randi asked.

Donahue bent down again and lifted the woman’s arm. He pointed to an ink mark on her wrist that resembled a faded fish tail.

“See that?” he asked. “It’s a door stamp for a nightclub called the Aquarium. It’s near the local campus, and its largest clientele is college students. They give you the door stamp so you don’t have to wait to get back in.”

Randi looked at Donahue with surprise.

“The walls there are giant fish tanks. Eden loves the sea, so she loves going there,” Donahue explained.

“How can you tell she was carried?” Randi asked.

“A hunch,” Donahue said. “No shoes and her feet don’t look like they’ve seen too many rough surfaces. Plus there’s no sand on her ankles. Unless she threw her shoes into the water, the killer brought her here.”

Randi had to admit she was impressed.

“Anything else?” Donahue asked.

Randi looked at her notes and said,

“Yea. There was a note left on the body. Crime Scene has it. Hold on.”

Randi looked around for the investigator who had removed the note from the body.

“He took it,” she said, nodding toward an older man with a gray crew cut.

Donahue thanked her and walked over to the tech. Dressed in a disposable jumpsuit, the man smiled when he spotted Donahue.

“Shelby, how’s the family?” Donahue asked.

“Adrian! Susie and the kids are fine,” Shelby answered. “How are you and Eden?”

“Oh everything’s good. How has Susie been since Jacob and Lynn left for college?”

“The empty house is driving her crazy,” Shelby said. “She’s already adopted two cats.”

Donahue laughed.

“If I don’t do something soon, I’ll be sleeping on the couch. The cats are slowly taking over my spot on the bed,” Shelby said.

“I’ll have Eden give her a call. She has plenty of exercises that should help Susie deal with the sudden change,” Donahue said.

“Thanks, man,” Shelby said.

“So you found a note?” Donahue asked.

“Yes,” Shelby said. “Just a minute.”

Shelby stepped away for a moment then returned with the note in a sealed plastic bag.

“Found this in her hands,” he said, handing the bag to Donahue.

“The bruising around her neck would suggest she was strangled. Is that correct?” Donahue asked.

“Correct,” Shelby said. “I estimate somewhere between nine and midnight last night.”

Donahue read the note.

“Beauty is a curse. The cosmetic companies and the fashion industry subjugate society and force us into their concept of beauty which leads to social grouping and toxic behavior as well as mental disorders for those who don’t live up to the narrow beauty standards. The government won’t do anything to stop the destruction of our children because beauty is an eight hundred billion dollar a year industry. I won’t stop this until the standards have been reset and the world acknowledges that true beauty comes from the inside.”

Donahue handed the note back and said,

“Thanks, Shelby. Tell Susie I said hi.”

While Shelby went back to what he was doing, Donahue stepped aside with Randi.

“What do you think?” Randi asked. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone killed because of love.”

“True,” Donahue said, “but something doesn’t fit. The note is too formulaic. Sounds like somebody ran an internet search on unrealistic beauty standards and just wrote a note based on what they found. There’s no passion. The handwriting is clean. Usually when you’re passionate enough to kill someone and pose their body, you can’t relax long enough to write cleanly.”

“Think it was staged?” Randi asked.

“Could be. But it’s possible this was a crime of passion and the killer is trying to cover it up. Let’s go to the college and see if anyone recognizes her,” Donahue suggested.

Donahue retrieved his fruit smoothie from the officer and headed for his car.

Randi had to admit she was surprised by Donahue’s theories. He didn’t act like the typical stale homicide detective, and frankly, she liked the novelty.

Unsettled: Episode 72

“And that,” the professor said with a pause, “is how Germany’s invasion of Holland changed the landscape for quite some time.”

Debbie furiously took notes, hoping she wouldn’t miss one word of what the professor had said.

Hoyt, seated beside Debbie, quietly tapped on her desk, and whispered,

“I’m recording everything, so don’t worry.”

Debbie smiled and brushed her hair back as she mouthed,

“Thank you!”

“When the Germans invaded Holland,” the professor said, “they did so under the guise of protecting the Dutch from the French and English.”

As Debbie continued to scribble notes, her hand began to throb. She put down her pencil and began stretching her fingers to relieve the cramp. Hoyt reached across her desk, took her hand in his, and began to massage it.

Debbie knew she should take her hand back, but she loved the feel of his hands on hers. She couldn’t help but notice how cute Hoyt was and how soft his hands were. He had said he was recording the lecture, so she decided just to enjoy the massage instead of taking notes.

When class ended, Debbie slipped her notebook into her backpack and hurried outside. Storm clouds in the dark sky hid the evening moon, and the wind began to pick up.

“So how come you’re the only one taking notes with a pencil instead of recording them or typing on a laptop?” Hoyt asked as he walked up behind her.

“My father believes in hard work,” Debbie said. “He insists that if I have everything handed to me, I won’t respect what I have.”

Hoyt laughed and replied,

“My dad thinks the same way. I know the family business backwards and forwards, but he wants me to pass these boring classes and get a degree just to teach me to respect an education.”

Debbie smiled and said,

“Well I need to get some sleep. I have an early morning class. Thanks for the massage.”

When she turned to go, Hoyt asked,

“You can get home a little late, can’t you? I was headed to a party and I’d hate to arrive solo.”

Debbie liked the idea of going to a party with Hoyt, but something about the way he looked at her sent shivers up her spine.

“Maybe next time.”

“Are you sure?” Hoyt asked.

The smile Hoyt flashed at Debbie made her even more uncomfortable.

“Yep. I really need to go,” Debbie said.

Debbie smiled and then hurried away. She had parked her car pretty close to the building, but with the dark sky and threat of rain, she was uneasy. She had seen enough movies to know that she could be in danger. She secured her bag over her shoulder and pulled out her cell phone.

A quick tap on the screen and her best friend answered the phone.

“Hello?” Hannah’s sleepy voice said.

“Hannah, wake up! It’s Debbie.”

“Why are you calling so late?” Hannah asked.

“I just had a super creepy encounter with a guy in my class,” Debbie said.

“Who?” Hannah asked.

“Hoyt something,” Debbie said. “I don’t have his last name. If something happens to me or I don’t show up in the morning, tell the police to look for a guy in my World History class named Hoyt.”

“I told you not to take night classes,” Hannah scolded. “Every girl who gets kidnapped and killed is taken while she’s walking alone at night.”

“I know, I know, but I had to. I need this class, and the only time I can take it is at night,” Debbie said.

“Well, personally, I don’t understand how you can—.”

Suddenly Hannah stopped talking.

“Hold on. Someone’s at the door,” she said.

“Hurry,” Debbie said. “I’m freaking out here.”

Debbie listened while Hannah answered the door.

“Hello?” Hannah called out.

Hannah called out a few more times while Debbie raced to her car and climbed inside. She quickly locked the door and started the engine.

“Hannah, are you there?” Debbie asked.

After no one answered, Debbie said,

“Hannah, if you left me on hold to make out with some random guy, I will kill you!” There was nothing but silence on Hannah’s end.

Frustrated, Debbie looked at the phone and said,

“Fine. You’ll pay for ditching me.”

She ended the call, put the car into drive, and pulled out of the parking lot just as it started to rain.

* * *

Somewhere in the night, the rain had stopped, leaving the trees bowed down with water and the sidewalks wet with leaves torn from their branches. Clark Sherman, owner of Sherman Rentals, sat at his desk going over the invoices from the week before.

In a city full of rich kids, Sherman never rented many limos or cars.

He laughed and thought,

“Most people around here just buy a new car.”

Freddy, one of the new mechanics, crossed the threshold into Sherman’s office and tapped on the door.

“Boss?” Freddy said.

“Please don’t call me boss,” Sherman asked.

“Sorry, chief,” Freddy replied.

When Sherman peered over his glasses with a look of annoyance, Freddy recoiled.

“Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Sherman said. “What is it?”

“There’s some dude standing out front looking at the limos,” Freddy said.

“So rent him a limo,” Sherman suggested.

“That’s the thing. He ain’t talking to nobody. Just standing there taking notes.”

Sherman looked out the window and saw a thin man towering over everyone.

“Tall thin guy?” Sherman asked.

“Yep, that’s him,” Freddy said.

“What does he want?” Sherman asked.

“I don’t know, boss. Like I said he ain’t talking. Creeps me out. Should I call the cops?” Freddy asked.

Sherman stared at the tall man a moment longer and said,

“Not yet. I’ll go talk to him. Keep an eye out. If anything happens, then call the police.”

Sherman locked his computer and got up from his desk.

Everyone in the office was staring out the window at the tall guy.

“Is business so bad that we have nothing better to do than stare out the window?” Sherman asked.

He put a smile on his face and walked across the parking lot to the tall man.

Sherman measured five feet five inches, and the man was at least a foot taller and thin as a rail.

“I knew a guy like you in high school,” Sherman joked.

“Once when I was playing hide and seek, he ducked behind a fruit tree and dang near disappeared,” Sherman said with a laugh.

The tall man didn’t look up, laugh or even flinch. He just kept taking notes.

“Interested in renting a limo?’ Sherman asked.

“This one is your classic Cadillac limousine,” Sherman said, “but most people nowadays go for the stretched Lincoln or a Hummer.”

The tall man looked over the vehicle then continued to take notes, oblivious to Sherman’s rhetoric.

“So what were you looking for exactly?” Sherman asked. “I could set you up with a great deal.”

The tall man’s response was to make a few more notes, slip the notebook into his coat pocket, and walk away without a word.

As a confused Sherman watched the strange man head down the street and disappear around a corner, he said,

“Well that made absolutely no sense.”

Unsettled: Episode 71

Chad Jennings pushed the dining cart to the elevator and pressed the button. Humming to himself, he patiently waited for the doors to open. When the elevator bell sounded, he pushed the cart inside and with a gloved finger pressed the button for the seventh floor. As the doors closed and the elevator began its climb, Chad let his curiosity get the better of him and lifted the cover to see what room 728 had ordered. The tray held a bowl of steamed rice, a raw fish wrapped in aluminum foil, and a bottle of water.

Chad lowered the cover and thought,

“I guess they don’t eat much.”

It was nearing sunset, the time of day when the hotel staff were at their busiest with supper orders. Invariably, at least one of the guests made an odd request. This order was typical.

The elevator stopped suddenly on the fifth floor and the doors opened. Valerie Maddox, one of the hotel housekeeping staff, stepped in pushing a cleaning cart.

Six months ago when Chad started working at the Sierra Hotel, he assumed the maids and cleaning staff would be mostly old women. He knew that was a Hollywood cliché, but he never expected Valerie. She was the highlight of his day, but so far he hadn’t gotten up the courage to speak to her. The only time he was charming was in his head when he sat at home alone. He had written page after page of poetry about how beautiful Valerie’s eyes were but had never read her any of the verse.

Valerie reached across and pressed the button for the eighth floor.

“Hey, Chad,” she said, music in her voice.

Chad shyly smiled.

“Early order?” she asked. “It’s kind of late for lunch and too early for dinner.”

Chad managed to laugh.

“Some people have different schedules I guess,” she said. “What’d they order?”

When she reached for the tray, Chad stopped her.

“Just steamed rice and a raw fish,” Chad said.

Valerie rolled her eyes and joked,

“Rich people.”

The elevator stopped on seven, and Chad waited for the doors to open before pushing out the cart.

“Bye, Chad,” Valerie said, as though she were singing.

When Chad nodded and tried to reply, he discovered that he could only grunt.

Once the elevator doors closed, Chad rebuked himself for his timidity.

He pushed the cart to room 728 and knocked twice announcing,

“Room service.”

The door swung open to reveal a young blonde barefoot girl with her hands resting on her hips in a seductive pose. She wore a white terrycloth robe that barely covered her.

“Yeah! Room service!” she said, looking at the cart.

Stepping aside, she motioned for Chad to enter. He pushed the cart into the room, removed the service order slip, and handed it to the girl. As she signed the paper, she gave Chad the once over.

“You’re cute. Anyone waiting for you at home?” she purred.

Chad tried to appear confident as he shook his head no.

“Daddy can I keep him?” the girl yelled to someone in the bathroom.

“No!” a man’s voice replied. “You lost all interest in the last one, so I had to deal with it.”

“Please?” she whined.

“Not till you learn to properly take care of one,” the man yelled.

The girl pouted and handed Chad the order slip.

“Too bad,” she said, as she ran her polished bright pink nail across Chad’s lapel.

Although the girl was very attractive, there was something unnerving about her that made Chad’s skin crawl. He took the order slip and hurried out of the room.

* * *

“Daddy,” Teresa Wicker said. “Your water is here.”

“Good,” Thaddeus Wicker said as he stepped out of the bathroom.

With the bottle of spring water in one hand and the bowl of rice in the other, he stood at a table looking over notes, newspaper clippings, and grainy surveillance photos.

Teresa unwrapped the aluminum foil and started eating the raw fish.

As she chewed, she walked over to the table and glanced down at the photos. Every shot was of a figure so blurred that she couldn’t tell whether it was a man or woman. She noticed that in every shot, the figure wore something different.

“Who is that?” Teresa asked.

“Right after a terrorist attack in Coldwater killed numerous people and leveled quite a few buildings, the residents of this richest of the rich beach property found themselves dealing not only with an uptick in crime but also with a vigilante creature of sorts. Since then, a shadowy figure appears seemingly out of nowhere to dispense justice.”

Thaddeus stopped and looked at his daughter as she spit out the fish bones.

“Must you do that right next to me?” he asked.

Teresa dropped her head and softly answered,

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Thaddeus turned his attention back to the photos and continued sharing information.

“Word started to spread that the figure was called the Black Dog, named after the spectral or demonic hell hound from folklore. Some believed the Black Dog to be a guardian or a demon loosed from hell to punish the wicked. Some people have claimed they were framed by the Black Dog. There was even a doctor who killed herself after being set up by the Black Dog.”

“How do we stop a demon?” Teresa asked.

“We don’t stop a demon,” Thaddeus said. “Thankfully he isn’t one. I’m not even certain he’s one person. Different movements and different patterns suggest he might be many people pretending to be the same person.”

“But we’re supposed to stop one person, not a group,” Teresa said, tossing the rest of the fish in a nearby trashcan.

“Correct,” Thaddeus said. “So we shall treat it as one person.”

He continued to stare at the papers for a few moments longer before he said,

“Alright. I believe I have it figured out.”

Straightening his back, he said to his son,

“Truman, I have a list I need filled out and brought back to me.”

Thaddeus tore off a corner of paper and started scribbling some notes on it before handing it to his son.

“Truman, I need you to bring me a long black coat and matching gloves. Also, bring me a mask. Something durable. You’ll be using it more than once. And I will need a young woman, hair color isn’t important, who is about college age. Be careful and remember exactly where you pick her up because you will need to get more from the same location.”

Truman took the list and left the room.

“What are you thinking, Daddy?” Teresa asked.

“The Black Dog has training. That much is obvious. Several have died by his hand, so he has no concern for human life. His weakness, though, is his desire for justice. This vigilante sees himself as a righteous hunter, and those who break the law and hurt the innocent are his prey.”

“So?” Teresa asked.

“So we will give him something to hunt.”

“Excellent!” Teresa said. “What can I do?”

“You can’t just kill a large animal. You have to trap it first. I will need a suitable location. Some place large and empty but with enough obstructions to convince the Black Dog that he has the upper hand. Then I will use that belief to trap him,” Thaddeus said.

“I’ll find something, Daddy. Don’t worry,” Teresa said.

“And find me some disposable mercenaries. If the Black Dog doesn’t have a challenge then he will suspect a trap.”

Teresa nodded and hurried in the bathroom to dress.

Looking down at the papers, a smile slowly worked across Thaddeus’ face as he said,

“And the hunt begins.”

Unsettled: Episode 70

Rory looked at Billy’s note he had found on his dresser. The message was simply,

“Come up to the third floor. Come alone.”

Carefully stuffing the note into his pocket, he grabbed his pistol and slipped it into the other pocket of his jacket.

“You may trust him, Mavis,” he thought, “but I don’t. Not completely.”

Making his way down the hall, Rory moved cautiously past each door until he reached the red oak spiral staircase that led up to the third floor.

The third floor was a renovated attic with a polished wood floor, antique leather furniture, covered with white sheets, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling like a sparkling jewel. Although no one lived here, the space was as clean as a hospital with not one spider web or speck of dust to spoil the order.

Rory looked around and saw an open doorway opposite the staircase that led to a balcony where sunlight washed across the floor.

“This is a bad idea,” Rory told himself. “I should have brought Mavis. At least he won’t hurt her.”

He cleared his throat, put his hand into his pocket, and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the pistol.

“I don’t know where you are,” Rory called, “but if you try to take me out, I can promise you will hurt afterwards.”

He slowly walked towards the open doors, his boots thumping on the wood floor. Focusing on every piece of furniture, expecting to see something move, he inched his way to the balcony.

As he shielded his eyes against the sunlight, Rory slowly stepped out onto the balcony.

When his eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight, he saw that the balcony was empty. Turning around, he spotted Billy sitting on the roof next to the balcony.

“You can put your pistol away, Mr. Tavish,” Jack said. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

Tightening his grip on the pistol, Rory said,

“I saw your note. Why did you ask me to come up here and why alone?’

“We need your help,” Jack said.

“Need someone to help strap you down?” Rory quipped.

With a chuckle, Jack answered,

“No. We need you to get Mavis out of the city for a few days.”

“And why is that?” Rory asked.

“Something is coming,” Eddie said.

Rory looked out over the tops of the estate trees.

“What’s coming?” he asked.

“Something malicious! Something evil!”

“How do you know?” Rory asked.

Billy smiled and Eddie said,

“Because we can sense it. Like a predator knows when it is being hunted.”

“If something evil is out there, we should face it, not flee,” Rory said.

“No!” Dylan returned. “Billy won’t be able to focus if he thinks Mavis might be in danger.”

Rory stared at Billy for a moment as he turned everything over.

“We must be free,” Eddie said. “Free to hunt as we please. We cannot do that if we are worried about her.”

Rory took a step back. Eddie had always been a little creepy, but this time he was over the top.

“All right,” Rory said. “Well, she hasn’t seen Deborah since she had the baby, and I’ve been meaning to check in on Ray anyway. He’s been travelling a lot.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tavish,” Jack said.

Billy sniffed the air and grinned. Slowly he turned his head toward Rory and said,

“This is going to be fun.”

Rory felt a chill run down his spine. He would welcome this time to get away with Mavis and try to convince her that Billy was dangerous.

* * *

When Nick Woodman entered the lobby of the Excalibur Hotel and Spa, he stood still for a long moment and took in everything. Then he pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, opened it, and jotted a few notes. Tucking away the notepad, he walked towards the elevator, his black shoes clicking on the polished marble floor, punched the button and waited. In a few moments, the elevator bell sounded and the doors opened. Nick stepped into the elevator with a man holding a briefcase and a woman who reached out and pulled a young girl closer to her to make room.

Nick pressed the button for the seventh floor and stared straight ahead. Music came across the speakers as the numbers on the digital readout ticked up.

Suddenly the little girl gently touched Nick’s pant leg before her mother could stop her. When Nick looked down at her, the child asked,

“See my new dress? Mama bought it for my birthday party. I’m going to be six. There’s going to be cake, and Kool-Aid, and balloons, and a clown, and then we’re going to swim in the pool. Mama bought me a new bathing suit too. It’s pink with white dots on it. Pink’s my favorite color. What’s your favorite color, Mister?”

“Molly,” her mother said, “don’t bother the man.”

“Sorry,” the mother apologized to Nick. “She’s so excited.”

Just then the elevator reached the seventh floor, and without a word, Nick stepped out and looked around as the elevator doors closed once again. Removing his notebook, he took a few more notes before putting the book away and walking to the end of the hall. He turned right, stopped, and began to count his steps. When he hit twenty, he turned toward the nearest room. He tapped twice on the door and waited.

A moment later, the door opened and a young woman looked at Nick and said,

“That was fast. I just ordered.”

When he didn’t respond, she asked,

“You’re not room service, are you?”

Nick didn’t answer.

Growing a bit uncomfortable, the woman asked, “What can I do for you?”

Nick reached into his right breast pocket and pulled out a brochure. He handed it to her and turned to walk away.

When the woman looked at the brochure, she saw that it was one of many found in local restaurants and grocery stores.

Nick began slowly walking down the hallway. After the woman closed her door, Nick circled back, walked to the next room and knocked. After a few moments with no answer, he reached into his pocket and was about to withdraw some tools when he heard steps on the other side of the door. Quickly he grabbed another brochure and waited.

The door opened and a little boy stood looking up at Nick.

The boy’s blonde hair was tussled as though he had been napping. As he rubbed his sleepy eyes, he asked,

“Yes?”

Uncertain what to do, Nick handed the boy a brochure then turned and walked down the hall. When he heard the boy close the door, he circled back and tried the next room. After a long wait, no one answered so Nick removed the tools from his jacket and opened the door. He stepped into the room and looked around. It was quiet and roomy, perfect for his needs. He took out his notebook, made a few notes, and walked to the window.

Pulling up the shades, he peered out the window. He had a perfect view of the park. Stands were being setup, flags unrolled, and signs positioned announcing the election rally of Taylor Randolph Willoby. Police patrolled the park, while others clustered in groups to receive instructions. Nick made a few more notes then closed the drapes and left the room behind.

Unsettled: Episode 69

The wind swept over the rooftops of the city then down through the trees, lifting the leaves and sending them drifting to the ground in a merry dance. When the breeze caught the bowler hat of Lawrence Newton Barnett, inviting it to join the fun, Barnett held tightly to the brim with his left hand while he held on to his newspaper with the other. Seated at a bench in the park across from City Hall, he read yet another story about the Black Dog. This time, the vigilante saved an elderly couple and stopped a murderous granddaughter and her boyfriend.

“I am so sick of reading about his,” Barnett grumbled.

Looking up from his paper, he glared at City Hall and growled,

“It’s your fault! You should do something about it, but you’re not. I guess you have better things to do than stop criminals. You’d rather let somebody else do your job.”

Barnett folded the paper and rested it on one knee as he picked up the cup of coffee he had balanced on his briefcase.

When he lifted the cup to his lips, he saw a strange man standing close by. The man stood well over six feet and looked dangerously thin. He held a small notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Barnett noticed that he was staring at City Hall.

“You’re wasting your time.”

The thin man turned and looked at Barnett with a deadpan expression.

“They aren’t going to help you. Not in this town,” Barnett said.

The thin man looked back at his notebook and made a few notes before walking away without a word.

Barnett watched him leave then scoffed and said,

“Weirdo.”

Just as he went back to his paper, someone said,

“Excuse me.”

Barnett lowered his paper for a moment and saw that standing in front of him was a tall woman wearing roller skates. Her long hair was tied back into a high ponytail and she wore long bell bottom jeans and a loose shirt that exposed her pierced navel. She looked at Barnett and smiled.

“What?” he asked.

The woman paused for a moment then asked,

“What’s up?’

“I’m busy,” Barnett answered.

He returned to his paper, indicating that he had no interest in talking.

“You waiting for someone?” the girl asked.

Barnett ignored her.

“Hey, mister,” the girl said.

Barnett pretended to read his paper, hoping she would give up and go away.

“Hey,” the girl said, slapping at the paper.

“What?” Barnett barked.

“Who are you waiting for?” the girl asked.

“Who says I’m waiting for someone?” Barnett responded.

The girl shrugged and said,

“You look like you are.”

“If I say yes,” Barnett returned, “will you go away?”

The girl shrugged and said,

“You can try.”

Barnett rolled his eyes and answered,

“Yes, I am waiting on someone, and I’m very busy. Please go away.”

Barnett went back to his paper and struggled to read. He knew the girl was still there, staring at him.

Finally in frustration, he lowered the paper and asked,

“Why are you still here? I answered your question so you’d go away.”

The girl shook her head and said,

“I said you could try. I didn’t say I would leave.”

“Look, little girl,” Barnett snapped, “if you knew who I am, you would leave right away.”

The girl bobbed her head to music that only she could hear and then asked,

“Who are you?”

“I am a very impatient man, and you are wasting my time.”

“I believe it was Leo Tolstoy who said the greatest of all warriors is patience and time,” a man’s voice said behind Barnett.

Startled Barnett whirled around and saw Thaddeus Wicker standing behind the bench.

“It’s about time,” Barnett complained. “I am an important man. You mustn’t keep me waiting.”

“You are nothing more than a scared animal hiding in the tall grass, hoping the dogs don’t find you,” Wicker said.

Ignoring the insult, Barnett asked,

“Where have you been?”

“I have been learning that knowledge proceeds to victory,” Wicker said.

“What was so important you had to keep me waiting for thirty minutes?” Barnett protested.

“Thirty-five minutes, to be exact. I have learned that your arrogance and inflated sense of self-importance and disdain for mankind will be your downfall. I could have killed you six times, my son could have killed you ten times, and my daughter. . . ,” Wicker trailed off.

“What about your daughter?” Barnett asked.

Suddenly he felt the blade of a knife pressed to his throat.

“I only need the one,” the girl said.

“Teresa,” Wicker said, “release him.”

“But, Daddy,” the girl pouted.

“Now, dear,” Wicker said.

After a moment, the girl grunted and removed the knife.

“Lawrence Barnett, my daughter Teresa Wicker,” Wicker said.

Barnett watched as the girl crossed her feet and gave a bow.

“Go entertain yourself, dear,” Wicker said. “Lawrence and I have business to discuss.”

Teresa waved to Barnett, said goodbye, and skated away, still carrying the curved seven-inch blade she had held to his throat.

“Nice girl,” Wicker said, “but if she doesn’t lose that bloodlust, she’ll never find a good boy to settle down with.”

Wicker walked around to the front of the bench and sat down next to Barnett.

“Of course I thought about you,” Wicker said, “but I’m afraid she would tire of you in a week and likely kill you or cook you or both. You never really know what she’ll do next.”

“Mr. Wicker,” Barnett said, “I need your help with a problem.”

“I’m aware of that,” Wicker said. “What seems to be your problem?”

Barnett opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder.

“This city has a problem with a stray dog, and I need it put down,” Barnett said.

“Wicker took the folder and opened it to see a newspaper clipping about the Black Dog.”

“A costumed vigilante?” Wicker asked with amusement. “Am I to capture him in a giant death trap? Or perhaps I should just paint a giant X on the floor over which hangs a giant anvil.”

“This guy is no joke,” Barnett said. “No one has seen him. No one has captured him, and some don’t even think he’s human.”

Wicker stared at the clipping for a moment then said,

“Intriguing.”