Short but necessary...we need to set the stage for the chapters to come.

And Praise the Lord!! We signed for our house today!!

Enjoy.

CHAPTER 26

The brutal day was finally moving into the healing night. Lacerations covered just about every inch of his body; not deep or life threatening, but painful and annoying nonetheless. Both eyes were swollen shut after the continuous beating they had taken by unseen fists. The blood that pooled around him had nothing to do with the cuts that covered him, they were minor; it was caused by the missing pinky fingers on each hand.

He knew better than to fail; it had been literally drilled into him ever since he had accepted the "position" that had been offered him. He was a "go to" man for Chief; it was not an easy job, nor an enjoyable job; but it was a lucrative job. The money was great...if you could stay on good terms with the boss.

Unfortunately, Spark's last assignment had gone terribly wrong. It hadn't started out that way; in fact, he would have called it a success the night that he had actually performed it. However, by the next morning - after the smoke had cleared, so to speak - Erik Marchand was still alive and Randi Willows was by his side in the hospital.

But that wasn't the worst of it all...now the police were snooping around and Chief was getting nervous; so nervous in fact, that he had paid a personal visit tonight. Sparks crawled painfully to the bathroom, and hauled himself to his feet; thankful that they had been spared. He was spitting blood, probably from the pounding he had taken in the gut...ruthless and relentless...that was how he would describe it.

The trail of blood on the floor would have to wait until better days, he needed to get patched up and since he knew only one doctor that did house calls, it looked like he would be doing his own doctoring. Looking in the mirror didn't help, as he could not see a thing through the small slits that punctured the swollen flesh.

How had the freak survived? Sparks had no idea; the place had been almost consumed by smoke, if not flames, and any normal person would have succumbed to one of them rather quickly.

The man wasn't normal; that was the only explanation. There was something strange about him, Sparks had noticed that from the beginning - and it had nothing to do with the weird scar on his cheek. His stormy, aquamarine eyes had held many secrets and a soul-searing steadiness that had been very disturbing that night...their eyes had locked on a couple of occasions and Sparks had felt violated in a strange, ethereal way.

Cringing at the pressure, Sparks applied a cold washcloth to his facial injuries, hoping to ward off any further swelling and allow some semblance of relief. He knew his little fingers were missing on both hands, but he still felt them there - helping to hold the cloth to his face. He was a pitiful sight, he knew he was. He stood back from the mirror and felt the cold, hard fingers of fear crawl up his spine...a harsh, defiant laugh came back at him from the mauled features in the mirror and the final words that Chief had spoken echoed in his fevered mind...

"One more screw up Sparks, and you'll be pushing up daisies; snuffing out one more useless life isn't going to make me any difference, I will still sleep at night..." a cold dread had filled the room, leaving no room for excuses or pathetic begging, "...you feelin' me?"

A sharp pain pierced his side and he grunted between clenched teeth, sounding like an animal; oh yeah...he was feelin' it - the pain, the regret, the need to prove himself - when would he ever learn?

A wounded, dismal smile creased his lips; his voice sounded like something from out of a horror film when he finally spoke, "Probably not until I am pushing up daisies."

۞۞۞۞

Quincy Lieberman sat at his desk, his fingers meshed together in front of him; a thoughtful, disbelieving scowl locked into his features. The MA's report lay on his desk; exposed and sickeningly poignant. It certainly hadn't been an easy read, nor a pleasant one - but it had been a necessary one.

It had taken less time than he had thought to get results from the tests. Of course, he had made it top priority from a security stand point; but he was still surprised by the speed with which the task had been performed. He leaned forward, the chair rocking as he did so. The sigh that was barely audible wasn't forged from distraught or fear, but resolve. Whoever was behind this was a coward of the worst caliber; preferring to destroy lives from a distance thinking the ugliness of it would not lead back to him.

Erik Marchand had opened his eyes to the kind of insidious behavior that was going on right in his backyard; inhumane and monstrous behavior that warranted an act of deadly force if need be. This sort of thing was indigenous to larger cities, but Denver...? Even with all the evidence boldly staring him in the face, Quincy still could not bring himself to believe it.

Someone was going to great lengths to get their hands on Willows Peak Ranch; even going as far as poisoning the Windom's - the reason behind that still pecked at his brain like an annoying woodpecker. Where did they fit into the picture? If Willows Peak was the ultimate prize, Quincy understood the random fires and animal deaths that had made Clint begin to take notice; these petty crimes had escalated quickly into something far more sinister...murder.

After reading the report, Quincy had quickly informed the doctors as to the silent killer that had invaded the Windom's; they took what they knew and used it to combat the symptoms that had been plaguing their patients. The doctors waged a full-scale war against it, and in a matter of two days, Mr. and Mrs. Windom had made a surprising turn for the better.

Arsenic...not something that is normally considered in modern day illnesses; Quincy was still reeling from the reality of it. Antimony - an even more archaic poison - had indeed killed Clint and Misty Willows, but arsenic was the culprit with the Windom's. When you mixed the near murder of Erik Marchand into the picture, it all seemed too convenient to right-off as happenstance.

He had only just found out about the testimony that Erik had given once his mind had cleared and the events of that night had begun to focus. The pejorative information he had offered had been difficult to accept in this town where everyone was so closely knit. Quincy worried that there would another attack at the Willows Peak Ranch if this entire situation didn't get nipped in the bud...and quickly.

And then there had been the wonderful news he had heard about Erik and Randi getting married...they were headed to France as of this morning and were to have their nuptials there. Cody had stayed behind, choosing to spend the next four days with his best friend's family; as Erik and Randi were due back Sunday night...late.

In less than a month's time, everything had changed. A foul and fetid evil had been discovered in the area...one that had been silently devouring the peaceful community for reasons that were - as yet - unknown. A new man had come into Miranda Willows life, riding in from nowhere and stealing her heart...he had withstood an attempt on his life that would have taken out a lesser man, but Erik had only been more determined to lasso whatever demons were chasing the woman he loved and make them his own.

He spied the half empty bottle of water that sat on the corner of his desk. He, removed the cap, lifted it in the air, and proposed a toast, "Here's to Erik and Randi; may your years together only increase your love...Mazel Tov!"

He put the bottle to his mouth and drank to their happiness before pushing away from his desk and rising to leave...absently extinguishing the light as he left his office; there was work to be done.

TBC