In the Dead of Night by Aiden James Page B

to God I had my gun with me…but there wasn’t time to sneak inside the house to get it.
    The revved engine continued to announce its presence, echoing eerily into the night air. It seemed to slice through the humidity, making it sound more menacing. Like, ‘step out here and face the music, Jimmy boy!’
    Did I have a choice? Sure…well no, I didn’t. Other than running inside and diving under the covers with my grieving wife in our bed. What about the kids? Other than calling the cops and hiding out in the storm cellar beneath our home until dawn, there wasn’t much else we could do. Definitely nothing that’d keep me from feeling like a real wuss.
    For some crazy, shitty, reason I pictured Max’s smug grin—complete with another slim cigar clinched between his teeth.
    What’s wrong, you pussy-whipped, rock n’ roll wannabe??
    That got me going. I ran out onto the road and stood in the middle of it, all the while the engine rumbled ahead of me in the darkness…less than a quarter of a mile ahead, atop a hill.
    Two halogens suddenly appeared in the darkness. The van. It had to be the same one. Whoever sat behind the wheel flashed the high-beams.
    I tried to shield my eyes from the harsh brightness with one arm. Braced for the inevitable attack of the vehicle rushing toward me, I pictured myself diving into a shitload of thistles and briars inside the drainage ditch next to our mailbox.
    How’d this frigging asshole find me, anyway?
    Not many folks live along our road, since everyone’s property consists of five to fifteen acres of wooded land. Luckily, houselights now came on at the Tanner’s place, directly across from where the van sat.
    The threatening vehicle backed up and swerved sideways, its wheels screeching even louder than the rumble. I could feel the driver studying me through the tinted passenger window. A very queer sensation, I sensed such malevolence …intense rage emanating toward me. Really weird, man, and I recalled what Fiona told me earlier that afternoon about the killer. I also thought about the shadowy figure creeping about our place last night. Could we be next on the killer’s list? I pictured the dude sitting in the van, sizing up a new victim.
    I guess it sucks to be me, or even worse to be Fiona, since she’s a much closer friend to the recently departed.
    A shotgun blast into the air erupted from the Tanner’s porch, and I heard Mac Tanner shout a string of obscenities at the driver. Before old Mac reached the passenger side door, the van spun around and sped off in the opposite direction, its angry rumble soon fading away.
    My neighbor didn’t give up his vigil right away, and to avoid a drawn out discussion with him I hurried back to my house before he noticed my presence. I waited outside my backdoor for nearly twenty minutes…listening to the endless chirping and calls from insects and a pair of tree frogs. But I heard nothing else. Nothing that rumbled, anyway.
    It mattered little that our menacing visitor didn’t come back. For the rest of the night, I stayed on high alert. Even when I slipped into bed next to my beautiful wife, I slept light.
    I would’ve heard a mosquito scratching its ass.
    The dawn’s fiery glow crept in a helluva lot earlier than I would’ve liked.
    Friday was really going to suck...bad.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    Traffic along I-65 north was unusually congested. Or, at least it seemed like it. I mean, doesn’t it always when you’re running a few minutes later than normal?
    That’s all it took to get my Friday morning off to a frigging great start. Well, actually it happened earlier, during breakfast, when Fiona told me a little about what happened around 3 a.m. My tired ass needed yet another cup of coffee to keep the fire going after that. It takes a lot of ‘self-lifting’ to get ready to face any day gig, I’m sure—definitely true for any call center supervisors I’ve ever known. The working consensus from my peers is