The Vanishing Gary Brown (booksvooks TXT) 📖

countenance vanishing as she looks towards the heavens. The smoke-serpent-fire thing, reborn from a thickening pool of fire and ash, rises once more and looms over her. It has transformed into a greater, darker manifestation of its former self, as though denouncing the angels and the life forces in its midst. It attacks, then engulfs her…

Once again, as always, she awakens to the strain of the scream as it catches in her throat.

Claire bolted upright in bed. She clutched the bedcovers with white-knuckled fists, her body shaking, bedsheets saturated with cold sweat, gasping for breath. Though five years had passed since her parent’s untimely death, the events of that evening remained as hauntingly vivid as if they had happened yesterday.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment in the darkness, waiting for her thundering heartbeat to slow, then slipped into her housecoat, wrapped it tightly around her, and stared out the bedroom window. The bright glow of the moon had drawn a gossamer blanket over the sleeping inhabitants of the small town. In the distance, a silver ocean sighed and waned. She pondered the dream and its meaning. Over the years, she sought the answer to a simple question: Why? Why did her parents have to die such a horrible death, and why had she been commanded by fate to be there at that specific moment in time? Had she been drawn to bear witness to her parent’s death by forces too powerful for her to comprehend? Was there a greater, higher purpose? So many years later, the answers still eluded her.

She returned to bed, tried to fall back to sleep, couldn’t. She picked up her phone from the nightstand and checked the time. The bright white numbers read two forty-five. She closed her eyes, drew several deep breaths, exhaled slowly, tried to calm herself.

It’s only a dream, she told herself. Just a dream.

Cocooned in the comforting warmth of her housecoat, she drifted off to sleep.

The glare of the numbers hung on her retina. In her subconscious, they peered at her.

Eyes of fire.

Rising through a column of smoke and ash.

11

THE AROMA OF fresh-brewed coffee filled Claire’s bedroom. Her first waking thought was of the previous night’s events and Walter Pennimore’s frightening revelation; that her parent’s death had not been an accident, that most likely their killer was still out there, and that now he had a name.

Kre.

Kelly Patterson opened her bedroom door, coffee cup in hand.

“How are you feeling, kiddo?” she asked as she set down the steaming cup on the bedside table.

Claire loosened the sheets and propped herself up. Kelly fluffed her pillow to make her more comfortable.

“I’m okay. What time is it?”

“8:25.” She sighed. “Ever thought maybe you should have picked a safer profession? Say bomb disposal expert or something?”

“What do you mean?”

“At least you can look at the timer on a bomb and see when it’s going to explode. People, on the other hand, are a whole different matter. Like this Pennimore guy.”

Kelly handed Claire her iPad. The headline story in the Google newsfeed read MURDER AT THE MENDELSON. “I’m making breakfast,” she said. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

Kelly hugged her. “Good. You need to eat. It’ll be ready in fifteen.” She tapped the tablet’s screen. “Looks like you made the headlines.”

Claire tapped the PLAY icon and watched the news coverage of the previous evening’s events at the Mendelson Clinic. The reporter who had interviewed Inspector Maddox at the scene spoke of the murder of the security guard at the hands of Walter Pennimore. Maddox praised Claire and told of her ‘heroic attempt to talk down the troubled man at substantial risk to her own personal safety.’ Police photographs inserted into the video showed the draped body of Walter Pennimore being wheeled into the coroner’s van. Pictures of Walter Pennimore, Claire, and the murdered security guard, Clarence Demmings, were also included. Claire studied Demmings picture and listened as the reporter provided background information on the brave man. Married. Two small children; a girl eight, a boy ten. He had been working evenings at Mendelson for the last three months. He and his wife were expecting their third child, and his family needed the extra income the part-time job provided. Now she was alone, soon with three small children to care for. Clarence Demmings had given his life to save hers, yet she had only known him well enough to say hello and goodbye. Claire paused the video and took a screenshot of Clarence Demmings. He was good-looking, black, in his mid-thirties, with kind eyes and a smile that belonged to a man satisfied with life. She saved the screenshot. She had missed the opportunity to know Clarence Demmings in his lifetime. Now, she wanted to be sure she never forgot him.

The telephone rang. Kelly answered the call. In her work as a literary agent, she represented many authors, and the last few weeks had been extremely hectic. One of her authors, Martin Belgrade, had recently released a new book that was quickly climbing the charts.

Claire strolled into the kitchen, sat at the table, nursed her coffee, and listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Yes, Martin, I’m excited too. It’s going to be quite a night. How many? We’re expecting about one hundred, mostly industry types. I’ll be sending a limousine to pick you up at 7:30. You don’t have to worry about a thing. That’s my job. Just have fun and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you around 8:00. Take care, Martin. Bye for now.”

Kelly hung up the phone.

“Sounds like you’ve got a busy night planned,” Claire said.

“Yep,” Kelly said. “That was Martin Belgrade, my latest success story and one of the finest authors I’ve ever represented. Plus, he’s a genuinely nice guy. To tell you the absolute truth, if I wasn’t representing him, I’d jump his bones in a heartbeat. You wouldn’t be able to pry me off him with a crowbar. The man is totally hot.”

“Single?”

“Oh yeah. Tall. Blue eyes. Muscular. The athletic type. Wears a suit