Bank Owned (8 page)

18.

Breathlessly, Brian held his wife’s cheeks and tried to get her to look at him. “Angie, answer me! Say something!”

Her open eyes remained cold and distant. Her head wobbled freely on her neck. She wasn’t breathing. Then he saw a leather collar buckled around her neck, so tight it had suffocated her. All life drained out of him at that moment, the moment he knew she was dead. He remained motionless, not knowing what to do. Then he decided to not give up. He’d save her. He’d resuscitate her. She’d live. She had to.

Before he could get her out of the shackles, a low thump from behind made him stand and turn. That’s when he saw him, the man responsible for all of this, a giant of a man, wrapped head to toe in black leather with zippers over the mouth, nose, even the eyes. Brian’s rage became an irresistible force, propelling him forward, fists clenched, throwing a hard roundhouse. He’d teach this guy. Kick the shit out of him. Boot stomp him to death. However, the leather-clad man had other ideas, and he also had the jump on Brian. He stepped out of the way, letting Brian run headlong into an old workbench, scattering the metal utensils and chains and small devices of torment. In the mess, Brian spotted a long, curved blade and snatched it up. He would never get the chance to use it. From over a shoulder, and without him seeing, the intruder came down with an iron bar, cracking his skull.

*****

Thump! Thump! Thump!

With every rap against the back of his head, Brian felt himself descending a little more, then a little more. Down. Down. Down.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Spinning. Sweltering. Struggling for breath. He didn’t want to open his eyes, yet did anyway, and found the fog outside his head thicker than the fog inside. Dense, gray soup, dulling all sound, muting his senses. He knew he was tied spread eagle. To what he had no clue. He didn’t want to think about it. Wasn’t strong enough to shout for help. Couldn’t have even if he wanted to. A round ball, cold and solid, had been shoved into his mouth and fastened tightly by a series of straps.

Turbulence in the smoke and dust drew his attention to an area where a dark and imposing figure stepped into a spot of muted light. Brian had no idea who this man really was. Matt, Angie’s ex-lover, on a mission of jealous murder? He caught the glint of metal, something in the man’s hand. Curved and sharp—the very blade Brian had tried to use. Now it would be turned on him, and at that very moment he knew. Though the tormentor wore a black mask and Brian saw no expression nor felt no emotion, he knew his ultimate fate. He’d never get out of these shackles. He’d never see his wife again. He’d never leave the Castle on Pebble Creek Road alive.

19.

“I LOVE it!” Sherry Angstrom took in a big, fresh lungful of the country and admired the view from the wraparound porch. A hint of autumn flirted with the air, although the apple trees still displayed their bright green leaves proudly. A warm wind blew in from the east, and she swore she spotted a deer. “I just can’t believe such a beautiful house is available...and at this price,” she made sure her husband was listening with a pause and an intent stare.

The realtor went by the script. She could recite this stuff in her sleep. “Over five thousand square feet. Six bed, three and a half bath with wraparound decks, ornate craftsmanship throughout, and the master bedroom occupies the entire third floor,” she paused for effect. “Folks in Vernonia call it the Castle.”

“The Castle,” Sherry whispered. Then she raised her voice to a shout. “We have to have this house, Glen!”

Glen smiled and nodded, but was skeptical. “The asking price is way under market value,” he asked Linda. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. It’s a foreclosure. Owned by Mountain View Bank. But the bank has a few interested parties. You might want to sweeten your offer with a big down payment.”

There’s the catch
, Glen thought. “How big?”

“What does it matter? We have the money in savings,” Sherry looked at her feet when she felt something rub against her leg. A purring, orange kitty with golden eyes was doing figure eights through her ankles. “And who might you be?”

The realtor giggled nervously. “Oh, she lives here. Comes with the house. We’ll throw her in—free of charge.”