Tragedy at silver creek, p.1
Tragedy at Silver Creek, page 1
TRAGEDY at SILVER CREEK
The stand-alone sequel to
The Monster of Silver Creek
BELINDA G. BUCHANAN
Copyright © 2015 Belinda G. Buchanan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a book reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Credits
Cover photo courtesy of
© Jarek78 | Dreamstime.com –
Frozen Lake In Moonlight Photo
Cover design by Belinda G. Buchanan
TRAGEDY at SILVER CREEK
Chapter One
Cheryl Collins breathed sporadically through her mouth and nose, trying, without success, to ease the contraction that was currently slicing through her body.
“You’re doing great, Cheryl.”
Grimacing, she looked between her parted knees at Dr. Jensen, whose gloved hands were resting against the innermost part of her thighs, as he studied the fetal monitor beside his shoulder. Two nurses—one, a thin redhead with a diamond stud protruding from the fold in her chin, and the other, an older, frumpy brunette with a dour expression—stood on either side of him, staring at her nether region.
Cheryl closed her eyes, wishing that the intimate act of giving birth did not have to involve being seen naked by half the staff of Memorial Hospital.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart.”
The familiar touch of Jack’s hand swept across her skin, yet she chose to keep her eyes shut, fearing that any movement, no matter how small, would bring about another contraction.
“All right, Cheryl, on the next one, I want you to push.”
Jack slipped his arm behind her shoulders. “On the next one, you push.”
Cheryl felt her lips fold in on themselves as she glanced over at her husband. For the past two hours, he had been repeating everything the doctor had said. “Jack?”
“I’m right here,” he answered, patting her on the forearm.
She clutched the front of his shirt, uncaring that she’d also grabbed a handful of his chest hairs, and pulled him towards her. Pausing to draw a shallow breath, she then proceeded to tell him to shut up in the nicest way possible—only to have her words replaced by a cry as another contraction took hold.
“Give me a big push, Cheryl.”
Jack helped her sit up, and she bared down the best she knew how.
“Okay,” said Jensen, watching the monitor, “relax for a moment.”
Exhausted and drenched in sweat, Cheryl let go of Jack’s shirt and fell back against the bed, hoping that the next one wouldn’t come for a while; however, in reality, she knew that she probably had a minute, at best.
As those precious seconds ticked by, the sun began to filter through the open slats of the dark metal blinds, enveloping the tiny room in a suffocating heat. Cheryl pressed the side of her cheek into the edge of the pillow, seeking comfort in the coolness of its cotton fabric as she waited for the inevitable to return.
“It’s almost over,” Jack whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Incapable of answering him at the moment, Cheryl moved her head up and down in the hopes that it resembled a nod. Earlier this morning, she had been awakened, from what could only be described as a restless sleep, to find her side of the sheets, as well as the mattress, soaking wet; it was a discovery that had brought her, along with a frantic Jack, to the emergency room. Now, five hours and ten centimeters later, she lay in a hospital bed—with her legs spread perversely apart—about to deliver her first child. It was a moment that was as surreal as it was sobering, as the last two weeks had been the hardest she had ever known.
The sound of the baby’s heartbeat echoed off the sterile white walls, causing a surge of desire to suddenly rise and fall inside Cheryl. She was a firm believer that joy, as well as hope, could come in many different forms, and it was for this reason that she found herself eagerly anticipating the arrival of her daughter. Her excitement was momentarily shelved, however, as the pain that she had become all too familiar with wrapped itself around her stomach and began to twist it.
“I need one more push,” Dr. Jensen urged. “Come on, Cheryl…big, big push!”
Grasping the edge of the bedrails, Cheryl waited for Jack to sit her up, and then, with her teeth clenched, she pushed. She pushed until her legs trembled.
“Okay, stop.”
Cheryl dug her fingernails into the palm of Jack’s hand as the activity at the foot of the bed increased. Her breath fell in and out of her in jagged fragments as she kept her eyes locked on Dr. Jensen, searching the crevices in his face for the slightest hint of distress, as time—which had been passing all too quickly just moments before—stood utterly still.
A feeble cry sounded, shattering the thick silence surrounding them. Relief, in the form of a single sob, came tumbling out of Cheryl’s mouth as ten quivering fingers attached to two tiny arms appeared in her line of sight.
Dr. Jensen thrust a small pair of scissors into Jack’s hand. “Cut here,” he said, pointing.
The blood drained from Jack’s face as he looked down at the bluish braided rope that bound his wife to his daughter. The color of his skin went from white, to ashen, to gray as the scissors sank into the cord. Three ragged snips later, it finally relented.
“Great job, Dad.” Jensen seemed to be smiling behind his mask as he took the scissors out of his trembling fingers.
Dropping his hand, Jack hurriedly retreated to the safety zone behind Cheryl’s right shoulder.
The nurse finished wrapping the infant in a blanket and walked around the bed, offering Cheryl a stoic smile as she placed the baby in her outstretched arms. Pressing her lips to her daughter’s forehead, Cheryl closed her eyes, pausing to give thanks to God for her…and for allowing Jack to be by her side.
“She’s beautiful.”
Opening her eyes, Cheryl forcibly blinked back her tears as she watched Jack caressing the tips of the baby’s fingers with his own. For one, fleeting moment, he seemed happy—yet before the smile had fully formed upon his face, it began to fade, and she saw the sadness returning to it as the memory of what he had lost settled back into his heart.
Wanting so badly to take his pain away, Cheryl reached up and touched the side of his cheek, but upon feeling his jaw tighten realized that it was an effort in futility and stopped. Withdrawing her hand, she shifted her gaze back to her daughter, refusing to let the darkness overshadow this blessed day.
The nurse with the piercing in her chin leaned across the bed. “Mrs. Collins? I’m going to take your daughter to the nursery where they’ll get her cleaned up and weighed.”
“Wait,” said Jack, reaching into his pocket. “Can I get some pictures, first?”
“Of course,” she answered, taking a step back.
Holding the baby close to her cheek, Cheryl sank farther into the pillow and offered Jack a weary smile. When he had finished with the pictures, the nurse scooped up the tiny bundle and walked away, leaving her arms empty and cold.
Jack stared at the screen for a long time before speaking. “You gave me a beautiful little girl,” he said in a voice that was as uneven as it was broken.
Feeling her own emotions beginning to churn, Cheryl quickly swung her attention over to Dr. Jensen, who was still sitting between her legs, in the hopes of finding a distraction. She watched with pretend fascination as he placed an instrument, coated in her own blood, on the tray beside him and stood up.
“All done,” he chirped, removing his mask.
Jack cleared his throat but made no motion to move out from behind Cheryl’s shoulder. “Thanks, Doc,” he said, offering him an appreciative nod instead.
“It was my pleasure, Collins.” Jensen stripped off his gloves and ran his fingers through a disheveled mop of silver hair before coming around the side of the bed. “I’ll check on you later, young lady,” he said, peering down at Cheryl with a pair of bloodshot eyes.
“Thank you.”
He wrapped both of his hands around hers and squeezed. “Be good now.”
“I will.”
After giving Cheryl his trademark wink—which in the beginning she’d found creepy but now had come to anticipate—Jensen turned and disappeared from the room; yet, as the door swung closed behind him, she was unable to shake the feeling that this time he had done it out of sympathy rather than habit.
The older nurse, whose only interest seemed to be that of doing her job as efficiently and rudely as possible, removed the sheet that had been covering Cheryl’s stomach and upper body, causing a shudder to roll across her shoulders as the cool air blowing down from the vent surrounded her. Out of the furthest corner of her eye, she noticed Jack shifting his feet as the woman began wiping away the blood from her thighs and perineum. She touched the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention. “Would you mind calling my parents? I know they’re dying to hear back from you.”
A look of gratitude, mixed with embarrassment, flooded Jack’s face as he gave Cheryl a small nod. His blond locks f
Cheryl’s sight grew blurry as she watched him turn and walk towards the door with his right arm pressed tight against his side. The tears that had pooled in the rims of her eyelids silently began to spill down her cheeks. It was far from over.
Chapter Two
Katie Winstead sank to her knees and heaved, emptying the morning’s breakfast into the bowl below as her fingers grasped the rim of the porcelain. Before she could draw a breath, her gag reflex kicked in, sending another glob of the acidic bile up her throat.
When she was finished, she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes, doing her best to ward off the impending tears as she pulled her knees to her chest. Her life hadn’t exactly turned out the way she’d planned, and she found herself resentful of the choice that she was being forced to make—along with the reason why. A sudden shudder tore through her as she thought about the consequences and the painful reality that no matter what she decided, the outcome was going to hurt her either way.
There was a soft knock upon the door. “Katie?” said a still, small voice.
Jerking her head up, Katie was relieved to see that she had at least managed to turn the lock behind her, as the last thing she needed at the moment was for the girl that worked for her to come in here and find her sobbing on the floor.
Another knock sounded—its tone louder and more forceful than the previous one. “Katie?”
“What is it, Mary?” she answered, reaching up to flush the toilet.
“The guy’s here to fix the oven.”
“All right,” she said, wiping her eyes, “I’ll be out in a minute.” Using the top of the tank for leverage, Katie pulled herself to her feet and stepped over to the sink. Making a cup with her hands, she hurriedly splashed the water on her face, letting its coolness soothe the burning in her cheeks.
After using a paper napkin to absorb her remaining tears, she drew a deep breath and opened the door, hoping that the red blotches on her face would go overlooked. The pretend smile she had placed on her lips immediately began to waver, however, as the smell of her own pastries brought on another bout of nausea. Swallowing hard, she forced the corners of her mouth to stay in an upright position as she strode across the floor.
The morning rush was over, but there was still enough of a crowd to make the short walk to the kitchen uncomfortable. Subtle glances, sharp looks, and loud whispers were cast in her direction as she passed by table after table. Quickening her pace, Katie slipped behind the counter and lunged herself through the open doorway, where she found a man’s large posterior sticking out of her lower oven. She cleared her throat to get his attention. “Did you find the problem?”
Upon hearing her voice, the man wriggled backward and got to his feet. “I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said, hitching up his pants. “Which do you want first?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Katie replied, being in no mood to mince words.
A frown formed upon his pudgy lips, seeming disappointed that she wasn’t going to play along. “Your heating element’s gone out.”
“How soon can you replace it?” she asked pointedly.
“Well, that’s the bad news,” he replied, scratching at the black stubble that was running amok on his face. “This is an older model. I’ll have to order the part.”
Katie bit down on the inside of her cheek. His inability to give her a straight answer was why she hated repairmen in general. “How soon?” she repeated.
“The company I deal with is usually pretty quick,” he said, letting his eyes roam along her chest as he spoke.
She gathered the ends of her cardigan together and crossed her arms. “So, does that mean you’ll have it by tomorrow…or the next day…”
“Should be here by Friday,” he said, bending down to gather up his tools, “but no later than Monday.”
Katie stifled a sigh, doing her best to hide her irritation. “Will you let me know the minute it comes in?”
“Sure will.” He picked up his toolbox and turned around. “You know, I used to repair this for the previous owners all the time.”
“Really?” she said, feigning interest.
He patted the side of the oven affectionately and nodded. “There’s probably not a part in her that I haven’t replaced or fixed.”
That explained a lot. “Is that a fact?”
“Sure is. They ran the place for twenty years, you know.”
“No, I wasn’t aware,” said Katie, glancing at the clock on the wall. She needed to get busy baking for the afternoon crowd, and with only one oven, it was going to take twice as long. She began edging her way towards the door. “Well, thank you for coming—”
“Yeah, they were the nicest couple you could ever hope to meet,” he said, resting his hand against the oven. “Bob handled the business end, while his wife, Opal, did all the baking.” He looked past Katie’s shoulder, focusing his eyes on the contents behind the counter. “She used to make the best doughboys.”
Katie resisted the urge to shiver as she watched him licking the drool off his lower lip. “Well, I can’t say if mine are better, but you’re welcome to have some—on the house, of course.”
The man’s chin disappeared into the rolls of fat surrounding his neck as he gave her a grin. “That’s really nice of you, thanks.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she said, hoping that he would put forth as much effort into fixing her oven as he had in finagling a free snack.
Making her way out front, Katie plucked five doughboys from behind the glass, yet as she began placing them inside a paper sack, she found herself wishing that she could just shove them into his meaty little hands instead. It wasn’t that she minded giving away her items—it was the fact that the bag, which was pink in color and had her logo printed on it, cost more than the doughboys themselves did. “Here you are,” she said, forcing a smile.
He brought the bag to his nose and breathed in. “They smell wonderful.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy them,” she replied, walking him to the door. “And you’ll call me as soon as you know about the part?”
“Oh, sure thing.” He stepped out onto the sidewalk and gave her a nod. “Have a nice day now.”
Katie let the door swing closed on its own and watched as he hurriedly threw his tools in the side of the van before opening up his prize. In one bite, the five little doughboys were decapitated and then devoured. It reminded her of the scene with the giant from The Odyssey—the only difference being, the repairman had two bulging eyes instead of one. Her revulsion turned to anger when he crumpled the sack in his fist before tossing it into a nearby trashcan.
He then climbed into his van and, after taking a moment to lick his fingers, started the engine and pulled away from the curb, giving her an unobscured—and unwanted—view of the police station across the street. Unable to turn away, Katie felt her eyes being drawn to the plate-glass window to the left of the station’s concrete steps.
The back of her throat began to ache as she remembered how she used to stand in this very spot, wondering if Nathan could see her from his office. She would occasionally catch sight of him running down the steps on his way to answer a call; his long and slender frame would be rigid as he hurried towards his truck, yet his brown locks would be flopping loosely above his brow.
“Katie? There’s a reporter for you on the phone. He says he’s with the Billings Gazette.”
Katie pressed her fingers against the glass, desperately trying to keep him in her sight.
“Katie?”
Nathan’s image faded as quickly as it had come, escaping through the gaping hole in her heart. “Please take a message for me,” she said, wiping at her eyes. Upon hearing Mary’s retreating footsteps, Katie reluctantly turned and began heading towards the kitchen, but the burning sensation in her stomach, combined with the wide-eyed stares from her customers, made her stop. After doing an abrupt, and rather awkward, about-face, she strolled as casually as she could into the women’s bathroom and locked the door, where she once more assumed the position in front of the toilet.
