FICTION
The Death of Henry James Part 7
A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Roberto De La Cruz Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett
My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson. And I’m Roberto De La Cruz, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
After aimlessly driving around the outskirts of Fort Stockton for almost an hour, we finally found a motel that fit both our expense report submittals and at least most of our basic creature comforts.
The most unnerving part was simply getting out of the car and registering, then finding our rooms. We knew whoever was stalking us was still out there, waiting for the most advantageous moment to strike without being caught or seen.
Fortunately, and we hoped it was still the case, we had Manny and Robert as a backup. If they’d done their jobs right to this point, the assassin wouldn’t know they were being watched.
We’d agreed to meet in the tiny foyer of the motel after getting settled in and grabbing a quick shower and change of clothes. But even that brought a nervous, unsettling mood. It’s difficult to function normally when you know somebody is watching every move you make.
“You ready?”
“Yeah. Did you get a text from Robert?”
“Yes. He said they still have eyes on the car. It’s parked in the corner of the lot. The driver didn’t get out.”
“So they’re just sitting there watching as we go about our business Sunny?”
“Seems to be the case. I told Robert I doubted the driver was going to move from that spot even if we tool around town looking for a place to eat.”
“How so?”
“Because he knows we’re checked in, and he knows we’re going to come back to our rooms eventually.”
“You think it’s going to be tonight?”
“I’m not sure, Roberto. If it was me, I don’t think I’d try it. Too many chances of being spotted.”
Seems as if we were right about one thing. As we got in the car and slowly eased out of the motel parking lot onto the street, several glances in the rearview mirror finally reassured us we weren’t being followed.
Unfortunately, these glances in the rearview did reveal our Casper hadn’t forgotten about us. Sitting in the back seat as if he’d been waiting for us, the transparency of Roy Chambers wavered, his twisted and mangled arms folded across his chest.
In the late evening sunlight, the damage to his neck and face, as revolting a sight as it was, told a story. And although Roy seemed hesitant to tell it, it was clear he wanted the two of us to tell it for him.
“Great. There went my appetite.”
“Let me guess Sunny. Roy’s back.”
“In the flesh. Well, what little flesh is still left on his body. Roy. We’re going to go out to eat. Could you, you know, kind of just disappear for a bit so my stomach can settle?”
“You have to find me.”
“I know Roy, and we will. You may not need food anymore, but we do.”
“I can’t come home until you find me.”
“Just chill Roy. We’re doing the best that we can.”
“What’s he saying, Sunny?”
“The same damn thing over and over. He can’t come home until we find him. I swear to God, Roberto, it’s like a constant sound loop. When Henry and I…”
The silence in the car suddenly became deafening. While one of us gripped the steering wheel and tried to navigate the car through traffic the other living passenger in the car stared straight ahead through the windshield and kept his thoughts to himself.
“When Henry and I came upon a ghost, at least it was willing to talk to us. This damned dead guy seems about as uncommunicative a communicator as I’ve ever had to deal with in my career.”
“Maybe we should start answering his comments with questions, Sunny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, is he still sitting in the back seat?”
“Seems to be his most favorite spot in the whole world.”
“Is he still saying the same thing?”
“What did I just say?”
“Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I know Roberto, but this constant appearing and disappearing and saying the same thing over and over again is starting to get on my last nerve.”
“Okay, try this. Ask him why he wants to come home.”
“Roy, why do you want to come home?”
Several seconds passed, the silence only broken by the sounds of traffic around us as cars honked and whizzed by. Further down the main strip we spotted a restaurant and turned into its lot and parked.
“So, what did he say?”
“Nothing. He’s sitting there with a confused look on what’s left of his face like he wasn’t expecting me to ask that.”
“Ask him again.”
“Roy, you need to answer me. Why do you want to come home?”
“Loretta needs me.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“What?”
“I think we just broke the sound loop. Roy, why does Loretta need you?”
“She can’t move on. When I come home, Loretta will finally get to move on.”
“Loretta can’t move on. Roy says when he finally comes home, his wife will be able to move on.”
“Makes sense, Sunny. Anything else?”
“Yeah, and this doesn’t make sense. Video.”
“What?”
“I heard it plain as day. He said just one word then disappeared. Video.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t have the slightest clue, Roberto. Look, text Manny and Robert to let them know we’re going to grab a quick bite to eat and then come back to the motel and turn in. I’m guessing they’re still somewhere around the motel.”
“Probably, and I bet they plan on sleeping in the car and taking shifts.”
After receiving confirmation from Robert and Manny, that was precisely what they planned to do, we got out of the car and headed toward the main entrance of the restaurant.
We agreed it would be a light dinner, a trip back to the motel, and then an early start the next morning. If we left by seven in the morning, we would most probably arrive at the Palo Duro State Park by noon. Since we knew Roy was a hiker, we realized we would probably have to spend two or three days searching the trails.
As inexperienced as we both were, the last thing we wanted to do was to get stuck on a trail when the sun went down.
Over dinner, we tossed the idea back and forth that maybe Roy had done exactly that. Maybe he’d stayed on the trails too long and hadn’t managed to get back down before night fell.
We reminded ourselves to ask him the next time he chose to pop in for a visit.
Read On — The Death Of Henry James Part 8
Let’s keep in touch: P.G. & Sharon Barnett ([email protected]) © P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
