Vengeance

  VENGEANCE

  by

  George Willson

  Text copyright 2016 by George Willson

  Adapted from the original unproduced screenplay of the same name by George Willson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  First edition, April 2016

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Tasha and the girls

  because one should never

  forget why one does what

  he does.

  Join the mailing list

  Keep up with future releases at

  www.georgewillson.com

  Also by George Willson:

  City Of Phase

  The Off-Worlders

  Coming soon in The Maze:

  The Kursas (August 2017)

  False Invasion (September 2017)

  Ancient Visitors (September 2017)

  The Terraformers (October 2017)

  PROLOGUE

  A Detective’s Memoir

  As I considered how to write this narrative of the case that gripped my hometown of Bluffs, Colorado, I wasn’t sure how much detail I should go into. I didn’t know if I should stick to just the facts that I knew, or fill out the various parts with some sort of dramatization of what the people might have said in those situations to which I was not a direct witness. Having always enjoyed crime recreation shows like Unsolved Mysteries (perhaps that’s showing my age a bit much), I figured I had enough information about the people involved to make an educated guess as to what they might have said.

  So that being said, you may well know that what follows is my tale based on the case documents, eye witness testimonies, evidence, surveillance, and a host of other pieces of media associated with the case that began with the murder of Hank Michaels and proceeded to many others. I have changed the names of those that survived to protect them from any harassment that could befall them from overeager readers who want to know more. I assure you that once this full tale is told, there will be no more to tell.

  For my own credentials and participation, I was the detective in charge of the investigations as they spiraled out of control and deepened with every passing day. I saw every body, every wound, and every person who was remotely connected to this investigation over the course of many years. I spoke to them repeatedly and recorded every word. Well, almost every word. I started to take careful notes and recording them once I saw how big it was getting. Even then, I had no idea to what extent it would grow.

  The first part of this started quite a few years ago in a neighborhood that had a reputation for being quiet and peaceful. Picture the most idyllic neighborhood in the most idyllic setting, and you would see the home where Hank and Athena Michaels had made their lives. But as all stories of this nature tend to be, the perfection of the Michaels household was not as it appeared. Hank harbored many secrets that Athena never could have imagined, and even when she started scratching the surface, the rabbit hole got deeper.

  But rather than get too far off track, let’s start the night before I got involved. The night when this journey that occupied several years of my life began.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Killer Night

  It started in that quaint, idyllic neighborhood where trees line the streets, the lawns are well-groomed, and cars are neatly packed in their garages every night. Nights just like this one. On this particular night, there was only one thing out of place on this perfect street, and that was a second hand, three-door, Ford in probably the ugliest shade of yellow that Detroit had ever produced parked at the curb in front of one of the houses. Now, there was nothing special about this car from its balding tires to its Bluffs University parking tag hanging from the rearview mirror, but if you knew this neighborhood, you would know it didn’t belong here.

  The reason it didn’t belong was because the car was owned by a Miss Jody Yule, one of the myriad of pretty, barely twenty year olds that occupied the University campus every day, and the house belonged to her professor of psychology, Hank Michaels. Since the time was two o’clock in the morning, her presence was definitely not academic, though one could argue it could have had an effect on her grade.

  Hank Michaels was a handsome thirty-three year old, and from his expression, it was clear that he knew it. His muscle structure was of the sickening Photoshop-worthy variety that makes the girls swoon, and his voice rolled out like a hypnotist. He did, in fact, have a course study in hypnotism during his own college years, so that may have contributed to his manner of speaking, but it would be more accurate to say that he used his degree in psychology to persuade every female body that he found the least bit attractive directly into his bed. This was a skill he had not only mastered, but considering how many women I learned he had on his roster, I would say he had it down to an art.

  On this occasion, Hank and Jody lay next to each other following their nightly activity to this point, still breathing heavily. Though the lights in the room were off, they had the curtains open to allow the light from the moon and the street to pour into the room, which they felt added an element of getting caught since theoretically, anyone could see what they were doing, even though it would be physically impossible without some technology. She rolled over and rested her nude form on top of his, allowing their sweat to intermingle and the nerves of one to feel every inch of the other.

  “You like that?” she asked seductively, planting a kiss on his lips.

  “Mmhm,” Hank responded in a very satisfied manner. She ran her finger in a circle on his chest.

  “So, how long can I stay tonight?” she asked, a bit of concern bleeding into her voice.

  “I told you,” Hank said without a hint of hesitation, “All night.”

  “I was just making sure you didn’t ‘schedule’ anyone after me,” she said doubtfully, her expression resembling the girl she really was, despite her age. Hank smiled and gently ran his fingers down her smooth face, barely visible, but so attractive in the dim light.

  “Not tonight,” he smiled moving his hands down to rest on her bare hips.

  “Good,” she said more jubilantly. She kissed him long and full on the lips pressing her body hard against his before jumping out of bed and stretching momentarily beside him, knowingly allowing the light from the outside to barely highlight the lines of her body. He stared at every inch of her, desiring her once again. He reached out and touched her fingers as she stepped away.

  “Where’re you going?” he asked, propping himself up on an elbow and reaching out to take hold of her body. He caught her hand again and pulled her close enough to kiss the space between her breasts. She grabbed his hair and held his face close for a moment before pushing him away.

  “What?” he asked innocently.

  “I thought I’d get cleaned up while you recharge for round two,” she said with a laugh while running a finger up his leg. She kissed him again before sauntering out of the room.

  Hank sighed, placed his hands behind his head, and rested on his pillow to stare at the ceiling with a smile. He turned his head to look out the window and saw what looked like a person standing there. He only saw a dark outline, but it looked like the person was dressed completely in black, complete with a black hood, which gave the appearance of the person having no face.

  In a panic, Hank rolled over to his nightstand to find his glasses. Because the image was blurred in his eyes, he couldn’t be sure of what he saw, so he wanted to get another look. With his glasses in place, he turned back to the window, but no one was there. He breathed a sigh of relief and stared back to the ceiling to g
ive his racing heart a chance to slow back down from the fright that the shadow of whatever it was had caused. Part of him could swear something was there, but he was quite willing to attribute it to a trick of the light.

  The bathroom in this house was not directly connected to the master bedroom, but rather it was just another room in the hall where there were closed doors to two other bedrooms. An effort had been made to bring the bathroom out of its simple institutional white to some level of homeliness with a shelf decorated with plastic plants from which hung a red towel. The toilet lid was hidden under a red fuzzy cover that matched the red fuzzy carpet that wrapped around the front of the toilet base which helped grant a little warmth against the feet on the white tile floor. The vanity was littered with a combination of toothbrushes, an electric razor, a makeup bag that was open and spilling various makeup items, mouthwash, and a half bottle of hand soap. The mirror was framed, in a way, by more of the same plastic plant life that adorned the shelf. The cabinets under the sink retained their deep stained brown along with an ivory colored marble sink and countertop to offset the white of the rest of the room. Even the shower where Jody now stood bathing in the stream of warm water only seemed half-finished as the shower curtain was not built-in as part of the house but one of those expanding curtain rods to add a shower curtain to a tub that never had one, even though it has a shower head installed.

  Jody stood behind the semi-transparent shower curtain, calmly basking in the warmth flowing from the faucet over her body. She relished any opportunity to shower anywhere other than the dorms, so she was taking her time. Too many times in the dorms, someone would just walk in or the hot water would suddenly run out, which made showering more of a chore than a method of relaxation. Glancing at the shampoo that Hank had in his shower, she couldn’t resist using it, and slowly lathered up her hair.

  She had closed the door behind her when she entered, not so much to keep Hank out, but more to keep the steam from the shower in so that the heat from the water would last a bit longer once she stepped back out of its protection into the open air. She was initially unaware of the door opening since she was still concentrating fully on the task of clearing the shampoo from her hair, and so she never noticed the shadow that entered the room, its movements just visible behind the curtain. The suds from the shampoo trickled down her body to the tub floor unaware of the shape slowly growing on the curtain as it approached her. She placed her face under the stream of water to rinse the shampoo from her eyes when she felt a slight breeze as a hand drew back the curtain. She assumed the best and laughed.

  “You silly boy. I told you I had to get cleaned up.”

  Instead of feeling Hank’s body wrap around her again, however, there was nothing. Not even a word from what she thought was someone standing right behind her in the shower. She knew she had felt a breeze of some kind. She rubbed her hands across her eyes to clear the water and turn her face to the direction of the opened curtain. She saw an indistinct shape through the steam and the water still clouding her vision.

  “Hank?” she asked uncertainly. After all, she thought, who else could it be?

  The shape became only as clear as a shadow and fear gripped her as she realized that this strange figure was not Hank. Her first instinct was to cover herself, but she barely had a chance to do anything as the shadow whipped a knife across her throat spilling blood all over the tub and curtain and depriving her of the breath she would need to scream. She reached out for the shadow that stepped away from her as darkness poured down all around. The end came quickly as the shower washed the blood down the drain, and she fell to the floor of the bathtub. She never felt the impact of her head against the faucet.

  Hank had heard her voice a couple of times, and while he found it odd, he also thought she might be singing quietly to herself as he did on occasion as well. She had told him before of her love for his shower, and he had no need to rush her. He only became concerned when he heard the familiar sound of someone falling in the bathtub. The thud was unmistakable, so he immediately sat up and listened for her.

  “Jody?” he called out, waiting for an answer. “Jody, are you ok?” he said again as he got out of bed and felt around for his pajama pants. While they were the only two people in the house, if she were hurt, he didn’t want to deal with the awkward instance of trying to help her in the nude. He found his pants and pulled them on as he walked to the bathroom. He still hadn’t heard any other sound from her, so he was growing worried.

  He opened the bathroom door which wasn’t latched and looked toward the running shower. A splash of red ran down the inside of the curtain which was pulled completely closed, and Hank felt his stomach leap into his throat. He hopelessly said her name once more as he reached for the curtain while reading what he might find on the other side. In his heart of hearts, he hoped this was another stupid college prank, and that she would spring up saying that she got him. His gut, however, knew what he would find and at the same time, he wondered how he would possibly explain how this student ended up in his shower in the middle of the night. He knew what he was doing, and knew very well how to keep all this on the down low, but he had to admit to himself that the idea that any of these midnight lovers might hurt or even accidentally kill themselves did not occur to him. He reached the curtain and took a deep breath.

  Like tearing a band-aid from a wound, he ripped back the curtain and saw her. It was nothing that he expected. Her eyes stared lifelessly to one side as she bled from both a wound to the back of her head, and more shockingly, the one that had clearly killed her which was across her neck. His mind reeled as the implications of this flashed across his mind. Someone had snuck in here and killed her. It could be anyone. He knew he had pissed off a lot of people in his life, and a lot of those people lived around here. Who would the police think did it? Him? Even if they didn’t charge him, this would ruin him. He’d never teach again. Not here anyway. He looked down the rest of her perfect body, remembering how it felt when it was warm and alive only moments ago.

  Then the thought occurred to him that he had seen someone outside of his window right before Jody was killed. That someone might still be in the house, and it might not matter what they would charge him with if he were dead as well. He needed to call the police for better or worse and take his chances. Better to be disgraced and alive than dead and gone. He could talk his way into a position somewhere else if it came right down to it. He staggered backward a step before he turned to run into the living room.

  Most of the living room lay steeped in darkness as he felt his way to a table at the end of his couch where he had left his cell phone. All he needed to do was dial 911, and even if the killer came up behind him, he could put them on speaker phone and tell them something. He pressed the button to awaken it, but nothing happened – it remained dark. He held down the power button, and after a long moment, the loading screen popped on. The killer had turned off his phone. It would not be able to make any kind of call at all for at least a couple of minutes while it booted. He knew he had left it on. He also knew he had charged it, so it had not just shut off. Someone had turned it off.

  He considered looking for the cordless phone that he knew was normally on the nightstand beside his bed, but he remembered that he and Jody knocked it off its cradle at some point, so he’d take just as long looking for it on the floor or under the bed as he would waiting for his cell phone to boot up. Besides, he was here now, and he didn’t know where his intruder was. He tried to put the idea out of his mind and stared at the unchanging loading screen, desperately muttering “Come on! Come on!”

  He heard a sound from the direction of his bedroom. It wasn’t much – just a shuffle, but he knew what it had to be. His stomach found its way back into his throat as he turned to face whatever stood behind him. He gasped almost involuntarily as he saw the dark figure shadow he had previously seen at his bedroom window standing in front of him. It would be staring at him if it had a face, but it appeared in the dim light of th
e room as little more than a dark space – a shadow among shadows. He braced himself, expecting the worst at any moment, but instead of attacking him, the shadow figure reached up and removed the mask that obscured its face.

  Hank stared in disbelief. Even in the dim light, he knew the person standing in front of him, and what horror he had felt only moments before turned to a more terrified confusion. Not only was this the last person he expected, but he never thought her remotely capable of such an act.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Ensuring your vows are fulfilled,” the figure responded in a low whisper that would have allowed a listener to decipher that the figure was female, but little else as to her identity. She had nothing to conceal from him, but undoubtedly, speaking in her own voice would have broken the mood she had to be in to do what she felt needed to be done.

  She revealed her large butcher-style knife, Jody’s blood still staining its surface. This was what he had expected, but the shock of the killer’s identity caused Hank to stumble as he moved away from the woman who approached him. He bumped against the end table where he had previously kept his phone, lost his balance, and fell to the floor. His mind was gone. His feelings numb. The end was inevitable now. The final shock of the “who” was what killed him more than his own foolishness. Every bad decision rained down upon him in an instant as he thought about what must have led him to this point. Yet in his final moment, he decided that he had fun with his life, and though she hated him for it, that was her problem. Frozen on the floor and lost in his memories of everybody he had touched, he smiled as she leaned over him and raised her knife.

  Her first blow punctured a lung, but did not kill him. The pain was excruciating as she forced the blade through his skin and pulled it slightly down to slice across the nerves again as she pulled it out. She hit him again on the other lung, pulling it out the same way. She hit both sides of his lower torso, and he screamed at each insertion, but still, he did not die. She stabbed his shoulders, arms, legs, and stomach, and he realized that she was missing everything vital on purpose. He would bleed out eventually, but until she cut something that the body needed to survive, he would not die. This was her revenge: to cause him as much pain as possible before he finally died. His psychologist brain thought it was little more than petty, and he laughed at her, secretly hoping she would end it. She might say that she wanted him to suffer as she suffered, whatever that might mean. She ran the blade into his groin, and he very nearly vomited in pain, finally doing so once she gave the blade a twist to drive that point home, and yet, he still lived. Finally, she ran the knife into his heart and gave it a twist. Hank’s body spasmed once and with the guttural sound of air leaving his punctured lungs, he died, grateful to be released at last.