The Somnibus: Book I - Finding the Mark (A Paranormal Thriller) Page 2

  Hurrying to the truck, I rechecked the photographs. My mother’s palms appeared normal in the pictures, and I found nothing strange about my father or the other people in the images. The creepy guy seemed to be the only one with that blemish.

  I jumped when my cell phone chirped from the passenger seat. The caller ID lit up. I didn’t expect his call so soon.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Michael. It’s ….”

  “I know who it is,” I interrupted. “Well, what’s left?”

  “I think you’re going to be surprised. It’s not final yet, but after the note is paid off, and the fees are cleared away….”

  “Of course, the fees,” I again interrupted.

  He cleared his throat before continuing. “As I was saying, after everything is paid off, you should get a check for around $400,000.”

  I waited for him to correct himself. The house appraised at $350,000 last year and had a remaining mortgage of $50,000 on the property.

  “Are you there?”

  “Ummm yeah. How much?”

  “I thought you’d be shocked. It appears as though the buyer wasn’t interested in the lowest price. When the bidding opened at $75,000, a hand went up immediately. The offer was for $450,000. Well, needless to say, that was the fastest auction I have ever attended. No other offers were made.”

  My attitude toward Barnes and the situation took an abrupt turn for the better.

  “Who was it?”

  “A pleasant gentleman, Mort Bell. He’s been a long-time customer at the bank, kind of a quiet person. He’ll be coming by the house tomorrow and wondered if he could meet you.”

  “For $400,000, I’ll take him to dinner and hold his hand, maybe more.”

  He laughed on the other end of the line. “Well, I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I’ll let him know you’d be happy to meet him tomorrow. Is two o’clock okay?”

  “That’s fine. It’s not like I have to work or anything.”

  “Okay, I’ll let Mr. Bell know you’ll be there. I’m glad it worked out. Truly, your parents were good people.”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering.

  “Thanks. I know I’ve been a bit of a prick through this, but I hope you understand, it’s the situation, not you. It’s nothing personal.”

  “No problem, Michael. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I had no idea what I would do with the money, but the urgency of the job search was gone and I still needed to find an apartment. I spent the rest of the afternoon scrolling through the classifieds, searching the next higher price range, but nothing too expensive. A few places were available, so I called and made an appointment for the next morning.

  I drove back home. The house now belonged to someone else, and I felt like a trespasser.

  -Chapter 4-

  Barnes left plenty of food in the fridge after the auction. Cheese and cracker trays were stacked in the mostly-empty space, while the other section held ice-cold bottles of Bud Light. I didn’t drink often, but that night it seemed only appropriate. It was a bittersweet moment: I had an answer for my immediate financial situation, but it had come because of the death of my parents.

  I emptied several bottles in celebration of my new financial position, and with the hopes of drowning some of my sorrow. It wouldn’t be enough money to live on forever, but it would certainly hold me afloat for a while.

  After the fifth empty bottle found the recycling bin, the celebration ended. My mind’s eye flashed happy memories of my childhood.

  I pictured myself playing on the tire swing out back, and Dad doing yard work while Mom pushed me. It was never high enough.

  “Higher, Mommy!” I would shout while the wind raked through my hair.

  She would say that I nearly touched the sky. As a child, I thought I did touch it, at least once.

  My mind broke free from the memory, but so did the tears. The recollection of my childhood, mixed with alcohol, overwhelmed me. My emotional see saw deposited two more bottles in the recycling bin before I’d decided I’d had enough.

  My feet carried me awkwardly up the stairs to my bedroom. Sliding open the drawer to my nightstand, I pulled out Mom’s stone, and held it tightly in my palm as I bounced my way from wall to wall back downstairs. I cried all the tears I had and passed out in the recliner, stone in hand.

  I woke in the middle of the night with my hand burning and bright lights zooming toward me. Wind blew past me as the lights streamed by. The honking of cars finally broke the haze of my mind. I found myself standing in the middle of the interstate with cars rushing by at a violent speed. Eyes darting back and forth, I looked for a safe way to run. My mind ordered my body to get the hell off the road, but it refused. I had no control of my actions, my bare feet seemingly cemented to the asphalt.

  My feet straddled the reflective white line in the center of the road. The sound of a big rig horn raised my chin, a giant truck bearing down on my left side. Staring at the grill of the fast-approaching truck, I thought if I just stayed on the centerline, maybe he would miss me as the other cars had.

  As that thought settled in my mind, my left foot picked itself up and took a giant step to the left, my right foot followed. The truck’s wheels locked, its ass end swinging wide, sure to swipe me from the road. The driver had no choice but to hold his course because cars were on both sides. He could kill many innocent people, or just the asshole standing in the middle of the road.

  I closed my eyes and waited for the impact. The blast of the horn grew louder while the ground shook as the tires struggled to find traction. Suddenly, my eyes flew open and my feet broke free. Relieved to have control again, I leaped to the right as the deafening horn and 18 screaming tires faded into the distance behind me. More cars headed toward me, with horns in full concert, but I maneuvered my way to the safety of the shoulder. The driver saved his rig and somehow avoided everyone else on the road.

  I stood well clear of the road while my heart settled from my throat. My head spun, trying to put together the scattered pieces of the last few minutes. My stomach twisted and spilled the Bud Light and cheese from earlier onto my bare feet. I stood in the unkempt grass wearing only a grey pair of boxer briefs and a fresh coat of wretch on my feet.

  As I smeared the vomit from my chin, my mind scrambled to remember how I’d ended up on the highway. The death of my parents and packing up the house must have left me exhausted, the combination of those things causing me to sleepwalk.

  The lights from town sparkled in the distance, and a jet scraping overhead told me I was near the airport. The reflective green sign of an exit lurked down the road, maybe a mile away.

  Following the exit ramp, I walked toward a convenience store with a cab parked out front. The driver stood outside his cab smoking a cigarette and I contemplated whether I should approach him or not. I had no choice, I had to get home.

  “Can I get a ride home? It’s been sort of a tough night.”

  The driver surveyed me while taking the last drag of his cigarette. He emptied his lungs before he replied.

  “That’s obvious,” he snickered. “Where you headed?”

  “5612 Tumbler Drive.”

  “Hop in.” He flicked his cigarette to the ground. “But get in the back.”

  I grinned and hopped in the back of the cab.

  The vehicle headlights splashed onto the porch when we pulled into my driveway, the front door hanging open. The driver waited while I went into the house, found my wallet on the kitchen counter, and went back to pay him. On the way back outside, I noticed my mother’s stone lying on the floor next to the recliner in the living room. Picking up the stone, I went outside to pay the driver. I handed him a twenty for the fare, and an extra ten for not asking too many questions.

  I headed straight to the shower. As the grime and puke swirled down the drain, the confusion continued to spin in my mind as to how I’d ended up on my little midnight excursion. Again, I landed
on the only logical conclusion: my drained mental state contributed to my sleepwalking, and that’s how I’d made my way onto Interstate 95. I stepped out of the shower and went to bed. I had to catch a couple of hours sleep. It was 4 a.m., and I had an appointment at eight to see an apartment. My eyes shut as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  -Chapter 5-

  I spent the morning touring apartments only to find something wrong with each one. Having no luck, I headed home to have lunch before Barnes came over with Mr. Bell.

  My mind wandered, wondering why Mr. Bell wanted our house so badly. With the real estate market still in the tank, I expected to get less than the appraisal, but to get a hundred grand more was insane. The house hadn’t been foreclosed on yet, but it was still an auction, and I prepared for a lowball offer.

  My eyes kept finding their way back to the clock, time seemed to crawl along that afternoon. Two o’clock finally came, and it brought Barnes and Mr. Bell with it.

  The doorbell rang and I paused before opening the door, not wanting to appear too eager.

  The rug caught on the corner of the door as I greeted them.

  “Michael, how are you?” Barnes said.

  “Good, just let me get this,” I looked down at the rug.

  “I’d like you to meet Mr. Mort Bell.”

  My foot struggled to pull the rug from under the door. It finally broke free and I greeted Barnes and Mr. Bell.

  “Hello. I’m….” The words caught in my throat and my ears pounded at the sight of the visitor. As if transported by magic from the photographs, the creepy guy stood before me holding out his right hand, the marked palm presented for me to shake.

  “Michael. You okay?” Barnes asked.

  “It’s good to meet you Mr. Black.” The stranger tipped his chin.

  “Yes. Um, glad to meet you. I’m sorry. I’ve had a rough couple days.” I reached to shake Bell’s hand. I half expected a jolt, or flash, a spark, something when our palms met, but it wasn’t that dramatic. The lackluster shake left me feeling somewhat disappointed.

  “Come on in.” I stepped aside to allow the two men through the door. Bell removed his hat and unbuttoned his sport coat. He walked through the foyer and into the living area. Sitting on the couch, his head swiveled side-to-side, surveying the room.

  “Would you like to check out the rest of the house Mr. Bell?” I asked.

  “Please call me Mort. I’ll have plenty of time. I won’t stay long, I’m sure you have plenty to do before the move.”

  “Well, yeah. There’s still a lot to do before the end of the week.”

  “Well, you can take your time. There’s no rush as far as I’m concerned.”

  Barnes leaned forward and jumped in on the conversation. “Let’s not forget, Mr. Bell, the contract states payment is due in full by the end of the week.”

  That struck good old Mort the wrong way. Mort didn’t acknowledge Barnes, but snapped back. “Don’t lose your trousers. I have the bank’s check in my pocket. You’ll have it before we leave today.”

  Embarrassed, Barnes settled back in his seat.

  “As I was saying, Mr. Black,”

  “Please, it’s Michael.”

  “Fair enough. My point was, if you need more time, just name it and we’ll come to some sort of resolution. I do have some work to do, but I only need a small space for my computer, and an area for a few books. I’ll need a bed of course, but any of the four bedrooms will do.”

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Bell,” I caught myself. “I mean Mort. You mean like a roommate?”

  He laughed, and my cheeks warmed.

  “What I mean is that you can take a little longer to clear out your things. I think I’m past the point in my life where I would have a roommate, a male one at least.”

  The corners of my mouth rose. Barnes kept checking his watch every few minutes. The next time he checked the time, it prompted a response from Mort.

  “Do you have somewhere better to be?”

  Barnes lowered his wrist. “No, Mort. I….”

  “It’s Mr. Bell, and I would appreciate if you stopped putting the rush on me. I’m paying the bank good money, so I would like at least 15 minutes of your undivided attention.”

  Barnes straightened his back and pushed his plump chest out just a little. He furrowed his brow and pressed his lips together while he sat shaking his foot.

  “Let’s get back to you, Michael. How much time do you need?”

  “I don’t know. Once I get my money from the bank, I should have enough for a down payment, and I hope to find an apartment within a month.”

  “Fine. You have your month.”

  “Thank you so much. If I can get it taken care of before then, I certainly will.”

  “Fine,” Mort pushed himself up from the couch and heading into the kitchen.

  “Alright Barnes, come get your check,” Mort reached into his jacket and retrieved his checkbook. He wrote the check out and held it in a way that made it clear Barnes was to come get it.

  Barnes sat still before finally taking the hint. He got up and scurried into the kitchen. He folded the check and slid it into his pocket.

  “Well thank you, I appreciate you taking the time to meet me,” Mort’s eyes held mine in a tight grip. “It looks like we’re going to get a chance to know each other a little better.” He placed his hat on his head.

  Mort walked out of the kitchen and stood by the door, waiting for Barnes to open it. He gave me a wink as Barnes scampered in front of him. Barnes held the door open before following behind him into the driveway.

  I stood in the doorway as they stepped off the porch.

  “When would you like to bring your stuff over?”

  “I’ll get your number from Barnes and give you a call. I’ll bring my stuff over before the end of the week.” He stepped into the passenger side of the Mercedes.

  “Sounds good. Thanks, and I’ll talk to you later.” I waved with my right hand.

  Mort rolled down the window as they pulled out of the drive and stuck his right arm out of the window and gave a wave back. My smile straightened when the mark on his palm caught my eye.

  “Be safe tonight, Michael,” he said as the car backed into the street.

  Tonight? What the hell did he mean by tonight?

  -Chapter 6-

  My palms were sweaty and my stomach light when I answered the door. I had no idea what to expect over the next couple of weeks. Mort was a stranger and I needed to be cautious, but he had an odd familiarity that made me comfortable.

  “Hi, Mort. Good to see you again.” I held the door open and waved him in.

  Mort stood there with his lips pulled back to reveal his somewhat aged teeth. They were all there, in one form or another, except for one on his right side. He removed his hat and stepped into the foyer.

  “Hello, Michael. Is this a good time?”

  “As good a time as any,” I stuck my head out the door, searching the street for signs of a moving van.

  “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

  “Oh, I have my computer and some clothes in the car. I held the movers off until you’d had time to get yourself in order. Would you mind helping me grab my things?”

  “Of course not.”

  I followed him to the driveway.

  “Which room do you want?”

  “You tell me. Whichever room is easier for you.”

  “Well, the first room at the top of the stairs has a bathroom. I think that would work. I don’t have much stuff in there, and there’s a connection for the internet too.”

  “Sounds good.” He opened the back door.

  I leaned in and took the computer tower from the back seat. Mort grabbed an armful of clothes and followed me back up the porch steps. I carried it up the stairs and set it down on the floor. About to leave the room I paused when I saw him running his finger over the window frame. His fingers explored every inch of the wood before inspecting the lock.

  Mort reached in
to a box he had at his feet and pulled out a cordless drill along with a handful of long screws. He proceeded to load the screws into the window frame, sealing the window shut.

  He turned around, and his eye caught my curiosity. “I like to be secure.”

  “Obviously. Are you going to do that to the entire house?”

  “Not likely, though I do like to have one room that I can rely on to keep me protected.”

  “You mean like a safe room?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s as good a way as any to put it.”

  “Okay,” I shook my head. With a furrowed brow I left the room and closed the door. The unmistakable zipping of screws being buried somewhere in the doorframe echoed down the hall. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Mort spent the rest of the afternoon in his room, and I continued packing up my parents’ things until dinner.

  He’d been quiet for a couple of hours and I thought he may be hungry. I went up to his room and knocked on the door. After a few more knocks, I pressed my ear to the door. Nothing.

  “Mort? You want to come down and get something to eat?” The room’s dead silence increased my heart rate. The door squeaked as I nudged it open, and with all the work he’d put into securing the room I wondered why it wasn’t locked. His silhouette slouched in the corner of the dark room. I opened the blinds to get a better view.

  He sat with his back pressed to the wall. The slight rise and fall of his chest told me at least he wasn’t dead. Carefully stepping toward him, pulse racing, I knelt at his side and my foot crunched on the metallic links of a chain. Tension pounded in my ears as I followed the course of the binding that led behind him. It fed through a well-attached I-bolt anchored to the wall. The straps around each thigh were secured to a thick leather belt upon his waist, the harness locked at the buckle by a large combination lock.

  Mort’s eyelids fluttered but didn’t open, his breathing deep but controlled. His right hand made a fist while his left hand hung at his side. Lowering my head to his chest, I searched for his heartbeat while mine rose into my throat. I fell backward when his body convulsed. I scurried to the nearest wall and pressed my back against the corner as his entire body shuddered. His legs thumped the floor while his arms quaked and head jumped from side to side. Saliva escaped from the corner of his mouth while he struggled against his confines.