Evil Agreement Page 2

  “We’re still too far south and we’re not high up enough. I really can’t be certain of the elevation.”

  “Okay, let’s go then.”

  They pressed forward. After about a half an hour of climbing and following the path, Julia stopped and pulled Michael to a stop as well.

  “Do you smell that?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I think it’s coming from in there. It smells like burned wood.”

  Julia left the path and headed directly up the side of the mountain from their position. Michael followed close behind.

  “Look, Michael, the branches are broken, and see the scuffed up pine needles. Lots of people went through here recently.”

  “God, Julia, you’re good.”

  “Save your gratitude for later. I’m just trying to get this detour adventure over with as quickly as possible.”

  About a hundred yards from the path they came into a clearing. The grass was all matted down. In the center of the clearing they spied the charred remains of a huge bonfire. The bonfire had been set up inside a ring of huge boulders. To the high ground side of the fire ring sat an altar made of weathered stone. Michael carefully approached the stone altar. The surface was smooth and measured about three feet by eight feet. The surface seemed heavily stained. Julia bent down and retrieved a swatch of white cloth, which was trampled into the grass next to the altar. The piece of cloth was a strip about one inch wide and ten or so inches long. One end was jagged as if it had been torn.

  “Julia, what is that?” asked Michael as he left the altar structure and headed over to the nearby woods, on the upper slope.

  “What do you see?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wait for me,” said Julia.

  When the two of them reached the edge of the woods they stood before a wrought iron gate. Beyond the gate was a small graveyard. There were several headstones visible from where they stood.

  Michael opened the gate and stepped inside the graveyard. The gate opened silently.

  What, no creak or screeching sound? thought Julia.

  Michael went silently from headstone to headstone. He seemed to be reading the engravings on each.

  Julia walked quietly behind. The place gave her the creeps.

  Tapping Michael on the shoulder she said, “Can we go now?”

  “Julia, did you notice what these headstones have in common?”

  “Besides marking someone’s grave?”

  “Yeah. Look it seems that everyone buried here comes from one family, and according to the engravings, they all died on the same day, October 31, 1843. Humph! That’s All Saints Eve you know, Halloween. Isn’t that fascinating?”

  “Michael, please, I want to get going.”

  “Okay, okay”

  Michael stood up and they headed out of the graveyard. Michael closed the gate’s latch. They walked past the altar and the site of the bonfire and headed down the slope, to the woods and the path that lay beyond.

  Since the graveyard, Michael suddenly couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Julia. Now walking behind her, he couldn’t help but notice her tight-fitting jeans. He felt an erection coming on.

  A guy can’t be expected to hike up and down mountains with a boner, thought Michael.

  “Hey, Julia. Let’s stop for a while and grab a snack and a drink.”

  “Okay, Michael. But only for five minutes, then we have got to move on. I want to put some distance between us and this place.”

  Once she removed her backpack Michael moved in on her. He felt a keen sense of arousal at just the sight of her. Kneeling behind her he began to rub her neck with his powerful hands. Before she could resist he had his right hand inside her shirt groping her breasts. She looked up at him and he bent over and embraced her in a passionate kiss. She could feel his erection pressing against her back. He began to unbutton her shirt.

  “Michael, not here, not now, please!”

  “Julia, where’s your sense of adventure?” he said with a leering grin.

  “But...” Julia felt herself exploding with a sense of her own sexuality. She had never felt this way before.

  Before there could be any more conversation they fell into each other’s arms and were soon engaged in removing their clothes, everything except for their hiking boots.

  Michael sat down and pulled her on top of him. He pushed up against her while she pushed down upon him. They could feel each other’s heat. The experience was dizzying.

  In the nearby woods stood three pairs of eyes, two men and a thirteen-year old boy watched the young couple with growing anger. The young boy felt another urge as well. He noticed he was becoming aroused. He didn’t want the elders to notice so he closed his eyes and struggled with his condition. He didn’t want them to think he was weak.

  Meanwhile, Julia had been placed on her back against the gentle slope of the ground. Michael spread her legs and slowly entered her. His rhythm was slow and deliberate. Julia was looking up directly into the sun. It was blinding in its intensity. Despite her own rhythmic passion Julia was developing a feeling that someone was watching.

  She turned her head to look to the woods, nothing!

  Michael pressed against her with increasing energy. He leaned over and began a long, tongue-probing kiss.

  Julia responded to him, but couldn’t escape the rushing feeling that someone was watching them. She opened her eyes and was startled to see, standing behind Michael, the large figure of a man silhouetted by the bright summer sun. She immediately saw this figure was swinging something at them. Before she could warn Michael, she felt a heavy blow to Michael’s head, and the force caused their heads to knock. Michael’s entire body suddenly went stiff.

  Pushing with all her might she rolled Michael off of her. She sprang to her feet and found herself facing two men. One appeared to be a game warden while the other was dressed in coveralls and a sweat stained gray shirt. She glanced down at Michael.

  Why doesn’t he get up? Michael is lying on his back fully naked, still erect, with his boots on and with his eyes closed and his tongue sticking out.

  “Michael!” she screams.

  She tries to cover her nakedness by quickly picking up Michael’s shirt and holding it up against herself.

  The man in coveralls used his right boot to turn Michael over. Sticking out of the back of his head is a garden hoe blade buried half way into his skull. At the end of the blade is a small broken wooden shank, which was once part of the hoe’s handle. There is blood pouring out of the wound along with gray matter that could only be one thing, Michael’s brain.

  “Michael,” she screams again.

  “He’s dead, Walter,” said the man in coveralls who is holding the now broken remainder of the hoe’s wooden handle.

  “Well, Bob, you know what you’ve got to do.”

  From the look on their faces Julia knew exactly what they had in mind. They were now going to kill her. She turned and ran back up the hill across the clearing where the bonfire had been. The two men ran off after her.

  She stumbled once and as she got back to her feet she could feel a hand touching her shoulder. She twisted away and scrambled to her feet. She sprinted to the altar. Soon the three of them were circling the altar. She had to duck underneath the altar once to escape their grasp. She desperately wanted to talk to them, to perhaps talk her way out of this nightmare. During the pursuit, they never spoke a word.

  Her body was glistening with sweat. Her heart beat thundered inside her chest. She was very near to a full panic. The men were also getting out of breath. They were slowing down. She saw her chance. She broke back down the hill. Running downhill could be tricky, especially when one was as tired as the two men were. She glanced back over her shoulder. They were at least fifteen yards behind. They were splitting up, as if to flank her. She now felt she could increase that distance easily.

  As she turned to look downhill once again, a gunshot rang out. A single bullet pierced her throat. The
shot came from the boy’s 30-30 rifle. The bullet’s path continued upward before exiting out the back of her skull. In the brief moment before she collapsed and died, her eyes caught sight of this young boy standing about twenty yards in front of her with his rifle pointed straight at her.

  Julia’s naked body collapsed to the ground.

  “Nice shot, Sammy,” said the Game Warden.

  4

  It was Tuesday July 28, 1997 a humid overcast day in Boston. Aaron Bailey had arrived early for his one thirty appointment with the attorney. He had driven up from his condominium in Middleborough, Massachusetts, down near the Cape, where the weather was a good deal more bearable. He still couldn’t believe his maiden aunt, Laura, had passed away. He learned from her attorney that she had died from breast cancer just about a month ago. She had been living on Matinicus Island off the coast of Maine for the past fifteen years. A neighbor had discovered her body when she had stopped by to look in on her. She had died a couple of days before, according to the sketchy details Aaron had been able to gleam from the attorney. The attorney, sounding pompous and without emotion had informed him, in an all too brief telephone conversation that he had been named in her will.

  He held the small piece of paper in his right hand on which he had written down the appointment details. Folding it up, he slipped it back into his sport coat’s right side pocket. He stepped towards the brass-trimmed revolving door and pushed it open to the lobby of

  Two International Place, a large ornate building, adjacent to Boston’s Rowe’s Wharf. He walked across the polished imported marbled floor to check the wall mounted registry. He was to meet Attorney Michael Lowenstein at the law offices of Phinney, Cohen, Rudledge and Shearer at one thirty. The building’s registry confirmed that the law offices he was seeking were located in suites 1604 through 1624. He moved towards the bank of elevators located on the opposite side of the lobby. Aaron pushed the up button for the elevator and in a moment a soft “ding” could be heard as the number six elevator’s doors swished open. The elevator car was already occupied by three extraordinarily attractive women. They were quietly talking to themselves. He stepped inside the elevator, moved against the right side as the elevator doors glided to a close. The women stole sideways glances at Aaron.

  His eyes were mesmerized by the women’s short business skirts and their all too obvious attractive legs. Their perfume blended into a new aroma that drifted all about the confined space of the elevator car. The women knew he was looking at them even though he was trying to be careful to not let on that he was. The elevator bell rang twice more, which noted the arrival on the requested floor. The doors opened and the women stepped off the elevator. Aaron was about to follow when he noted from the control panel that the elevator had stopped at the thirty-second floor. Aaron had forgotten to push the button to select the sixteenth floor. One of the three women, a brunette, was looking back at him and smiling. As the elevator doors closed he felt himself blushing. He now selected the correct floor and the ride resumed. He straightened his tie and for the first time since he had entered the building he noticed how cool it was. His clamminess from the humid outside temperatures had evaporated in the cool dry air of this office building.

  An hour later he found himself signing some papers while sitting at the longest mahogany desk he had ever seen. It seemed his maiden Aunt Laura was quite wealthy having invested wisely over the years. The lawyer explained something about a revocable trust and that her estate would not require going through probate. There were a few details about taxes and some charitable gifts his aunt had favored in her estate. The bottom line was that she had left him as the principle benefactor of her assets. Her assets included over two hundred forty thousand dollars in cash, another four hundred thousand in stocks and bonds and several pieces of property located in Maine and Vermont, which were valued at over $1.1 million dollars.

  Aaron asked about her and about the funeral arrangements, but the lawyer did not answer his questions with much detail. At the end of signing the papers the lawyer pulled a large brown envelope out of a manila folder.

  “Mr. Bailey, I’ve been instructed to give this to you,” he said as he slowly slid the envelope across the desk to Aaron.

  “After you have read it through I have been instructed to meet with you once again regarding a property in Vermont.”

  “What is it?” asked Aaron.

  “As you can see, it is sealed under the signature of your deceased aunt. We were given explicit instructions to deliver it to you at this time. We were also directed to advise you to not open it in our presence but to do so in private.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Now, Mr. Bailey, we have completed all that we can today. I will have my staff arrange to file the necessary papers to transfer your name to all of the stocks, bonds and deeds with the one exception of that Vermont property, which we will resolve at a later time. The transfers will take about a month. As we noted earlier, we have prepared to transfer her cash assets to your account at the Fleet Bank. We do recommend that you secure the services of a qualified financial advisor to guide you in setting up appropriate accounts. If you wish, we could recommend a couple of highly regarded firms who specialize in such matters.”

  Aaron nodded his agreement. With that, the lawyer slid a sheet of paper across the desk.

  “Very well, here they are. You’ll find their telephone numbers and the names of key staff who would welcome a call from you.”

  Aaron pulled the envelope and the sheet of paper off the desk. The envelope seemed thick with papers and it felt like there was a key of some sort inside.

  Standing, the lawyer extended his hand to Aaron.

  “My secretary will forward a transcript of our meeting to you today. It should reach you in a few days. We like to provide this service so our clients, who may be unduly stressed from their recent loss, can take their time in reviewing some of the matters we covered in our reading of the will or in executing the transfer of a trust.”

  “That is a good idea!” said Aaron.

  “Please feel free to contact my staff or me once you are ready to meet on the matter of the Vermont property.”

  Aaron felt himself being rushed out the door although he willingly went along. His head was swimming with the magnitude of information that had just come his way.

  He soon found himself standing alone in the elevator—the envelope was stuffed into his left coat pocket and the numerous business cards the lawyer insisted he take were stuffed into the right backside pockets of his “Bugle Boy” jeans. His face was stretched tight from the smile he was now wearing. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped into the lobby with a spring in his gait and he headed straight outside.

  A warm blast of humid air slapped at him. The too bright afternoon sunshine caught him by surprise. He raised his hands to shield his eyes. In a moment he removed his tie and tossed it into a curbside trash basket. He strode off at a brisk pace to retrieve his car, a 1990 Volvo sedan, from the parking garage located three blocks south of North Station. He wanted to quickly exit the city and head back home. He was dying with curiosity to read what his aunt had wanted him to read in private. Within thirty minutes he was back onto the southeast expressway heading back home to the Town of Middleborough.

  The ride back home passed quickly, notwithstanding the usual heavy flow of traffic. Driving into and out of Boston was complicated and arduous enough. The recent added construction caused by the “Big Dig,” a massive construction project designed to put the interstate highway underground that up to now had divided the City, caused commuting to become daily torture for the thousands that had to travel into, around or through Boston. Aaron was grateful that he lived and worked on the “Cape” which is how the locals refer to Cape Cod.

  He was a bachelor and a science teacher at the Town of Plymouth’s John F. Kennedy Middle School. Aaron liked to take long walks—his favorite authors were Tom Clancy and Ian Fleming. His love life was uneventful. He had dated
several women but was unattached at the moment. The one thing he was passionate about was playing bass guitar in a blues band made up of teachers from schools in the area. His band was called, what else, “Detention Time Blues Band.”

  He checked his watch, and decided that instead of heading straight back to his condo he would have dinner at the most upscale restaurant he could think of. He exited the highway and headed directly for the coastal route. Moments later he pulled his Volvo into the parking lot of “The Royals,” Plymouth’s most elegant ocean side restaurant.

  It was just barely five o’clock, yet the restaurant’s lobby already held a small crowd waiting to be seated. Even though he didn’t have a reservation, he decided to try that age-old trick of slipping the host a twenty. He was surprised to find that it worked as he was seated immediately.

  After he was seated at a small table next to the one of the floor to ceiling windows, he pulled out a small vial of eye drops and applied a couple of rewetting drops to each eye. He had taken to wearing soft contacts just three months ago. The woman he was dating at that time, Karen, the school nurse, had told him he looked sexy without his customary glasses. That did it. No more glasses for him. He later found that he enjoyed wearing contacts and wished he had tried them long ago. As he applied the drops a beautiful young waitress stood patiently next to his table. After blinking his eyes a couple of times he turned to his left and was startled to see her standing there. He immediately noticed her captivating smile, long slender fingers and finely sculptured nails.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I startled you,” she said.

  Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

  “That’s okay, really. I was just in a hurry to put in the eye drops.”

  She glanced down at him and favored him with a pleasant smile. She reached across his table and picked up his water glass and poured it full with ice cold water.

  “May I get you something from the bar?”

  “Yes, I, uh, would like a martini, with a twist. Shaken—not stirred, you know, like James Bond.”