The Cold Road (Book 1)

Chapter Twelve

The weather changed considerably as James headed home after the request of Plant for him to finish settling in before making too much of a nuisance to Franks

He arrived at the place that would be his home and let himself in. Wallace and Veronica Lamb, the two friends who agreed to let him stay in their basement were still out. He found a beer in the fridge and sat down at the kitchen counter, his phone in front of him in case anyone should ring. He imagined Franks would not, and he doubted any of the other officers or Plant would.

Outside, the blue sky was gone and the white clouds were almost black and covered almost every inch of the sky. From the living room window, James watched it roll in. Either it would rain, or it would snow. He did not know which, but it would be quite a storm.

The backdoor blew open, startling James. He turned, his hands dropping to his holster out of instinct. Loud, laughing voices filled the house, mixed with the sound of stomping feet, and then his two house mates burst into the living room.

'Hello, James, you made it! Good to see you again,' exclaimed Wallace Lamb loudly as he came forward and embraced James in a stiff hug. 'How was the trip down?'

'Yeah, it was good,' replied James, relaxing.

'I thought you'd be at the station?' said Wallace, pulling up a kitchen stool and sitting down.

Stepping forward, Veronica Lamb shook James's hand, a dazzling smile on her face.

'You watching the storm coming in, Jim?' she asked. 'It looks like it will be a big one. I don't know if it's cold enough to snow, yet.'

'It'll have to be a lot colder to snow,' replied James, returning to his stool. 'It's been blowing up today, sure, but I don't know. Why should I be at the station?' he asked, gazing at Wallace.

'No reason,' his friend shrugged. 'I figured you would have a lot to do, what with Geoff...' he trailed off, glancing sadly at Veronica who looked at the floor.

'We heard,' she said quietly.

'Yeah,' murmured James. 'Me too. Franks' on it. It's his case, not mine.'

'Right!' exclaimed Wallace suddenly, pulling Veronica towards the kitchen. 'Let's break the monotony with a few drinks. We'll drink to Geoff. How about it?'

'Yeah.' James nodded. 'I'll have a drink. To remember Geoff.'

He took the glass of red wine offered to him and raised it in a toast. While Wallace drank, he looked out the window again at the passing day. At the end of the day, there was just another one about to begin. It was the same for death, he reasoned. There was life and there was death. At the beginning was life and at the end was death, but another life always came into existence to maintain the unbalance left behind by the sudden removal of life.

Even so, such a sudden removal of life was bound to cause a disruption. Soon, if the police did nothing, the killers would begin striking more and more, and the people would revolt. He looked at Wallace, chatting and laughing with his wife of four months. He was clutching a glass of wine in his hand, his second glass. It was affecting him. Before, only two townsfolk had been murdered, the rest were missing persons or hitchhikers. They were tragedies, but there was no actual connection between the victims and the town. Now that another of their own had been taken, things were so much more real than before. If Wallace was acting like this, then how had the others taken Geoff White's horrific dissection? How would they react for Lindsey Perette?'

'Tell me about this cult.' Placing his glass on the kitchen counter, James retook his seat and stared hard at the startled couple before him. 'I was told a few boys discovered a couple of pentagrams out in the forest with some melted candles. Tell me the rest of it.'