The M1 Theory - Brian Hesse (best thriller novels to read .txt) 📗

resting uncomfortably against his lower back.

 “May I help you?” he asked, with a confused expression on his face. The woman standing on his doorstep was, by his approximation, no more than five feet five, with curly black hair, dull brown eyes, and at least one hundred fifty pounds.

  The woman gave Thomas a nervous crooked smile, and extended her hand. “I’m Kathy Brier from SamsList. We talked just yesterday.” She rolled her eyes, in a way that made Thomas think of someone with very little going on upstairs, and continued, “Well we really didn’t talk. We technically texted,” she gave a little laugh, that was more of a snorting, making Thomas cringe. He was prepared to kick her off his doorstep, but not before giving her a lecture on catfishing. He could not believe that she would have the nerve to come to his doorstep after giving such a contrasting description over the computer. Just as he raised his pointed finger up to her face, and begin his condemnations, he quickly changed mental direction and extended his hand. He forced a pleasant smile on his face, and stated, “I was hoping you would show.”

 “Wow, what a great place you have here,” she mumbled.

Thomas looked around and laughed to himself. He realized that this poor creature must really come from a sad background, if she thought that his house was anything more than run down and common.

 “Thank you, I live here alone. My studies at the University keep me busy, but I try hard to keep the place nice.”

  “Wow, so you’re a student. I don’t meet to many smart guys.”

  Thomas thought to himself, “I’m sure you don’t, and if you say wow one more time, I may just bash your head.”

  He said out loud as he took a seat next to Kathy on the couch, “How would you like a beer. Is a bottle ok?”

  Without hesitation she stated, “hell yea, I will have a beer.”

 Thomas was pleased with his meticulous preparation. Immediately after signing off SamsList, and the obvious fantastical discussion with Kathy, Thomas made a thin and clear glue using a touch of flour, water, sugar, and vinegar. He laced the mixture with a small amount of his drug cocktail in just the right amount to cause sleepiness. Carefully, he spread the mixture inside a dark green glass, the same one he just handed Kathy with her closed bottle of beer. He didn’t believe for a minute that even a situationally unaware person like her would accept an open bottle from a guy she just met on SamsList.

  “Here you go, enjoy.”

  “Hey, Thomas, do you smoke pot?”

  “Sure, go ahead and light up.”

  Kathy removed a pipe from the inside of her purse, and loosely packed it with marijuana. Thomas was a stranger to the pleasures of drug intoxication. He always feared not being in control of his immediate situation, so drug and alcohol usage was never an option. However, he thought, I must make a show of it, and at least take one hit. He studied Kathy and imitated bringing the pipe to his mouth and igniting the sweet-smelling weed with her red lighter in his other hand. He immediately felt his head become light, and afraid that he may lose his focus, quickly handed the pipe back to his guest. Thomas coughed in violent spasm’s as his lungs exhaled the foreign smoke.

  “Wow, you really are a virgin,” she giggled, between deep drags.

  Kathy finished smoking, and poured the beer into the drug laced glass. To Thomas’s disgust, she gulped the entire twelve ounces in two large swigs, making loud grunting noises as the beer poured down her, what Thomas thought with disgust, her oversized gullet.

  “So, you ready to take me to the bed?” she asked, batting her eyes, as he perceived, like any common whore on any dirty street corner in the world.

   Thomas stalled as long as he could. He did not see any visible signs that the drug was taking effect.

  “The bedroom is upstairs. Let’s get comfortable up there,” he stated, in a voice devoid of emotion, as he started toward the spiraling staircase. To his relief, he could hear Kathy begin to yawn.

  “On second thought, let’s just use the couch. Hon.” As she began to yawn again.

  Thomas watched at the bottom of the stairs as Kathy walked to the couch, plopped down without extending her arms to break her fall, and started to snore loudly with her face deeply imbedded into the plush green velvety fabric of the couch pillow.

  “What the fuck happened?” she asked, slowly lifting herself off the couch, and sleepily rubbing her eyes.

  Thomas was sitting on the matching green fabric chair across from her. “It looks like you passed out. I’m surprised though, you only had one drink. That stuff you smoked must have been pretty strong,” he stated in as casual a tone as he could muster.

   Kathy, touched the top of her head and rubbed back and forth exclaiming, “Shit, I have the worst headache ever!”

   Thomas began to perspire under the arms, as he watched her rub her hand over the half inch diameter hole in her head. The surgery, like the first, only lasted approximately twenty minutes, and the liquid skin was still only half an hour old. Upon completion of the procedure, Thomas gently dragged Kathy, straining his back, up the stairs and back to her position on the couch. Thirty minutes of recovery, and she was conscious complaining of a pounding skull.

  “I don’t know. We were ready to go upstairs for some fun, and you just walked back to the couch and fell asleep. I considered calling the ambulance, but I am sure you want to be discreet. Besides, you were snoring loudly, so I assumed everything was ok.”

  She sat back on the couch and ran her eyes across the front of her clothing.

  No doubt checking for signs of molestation, he considered.

  “No, I did not take advantage. Unconscious girls are not my thing. Besides, I figured we will have an opportunity to do this again. Can I see you safely to your home?”

   This seemed to have brought down her guard, and suspicion.

  “I guess I have just been under some strain lately,” she said with a confused expression, still running her hand over her head. She continued, “I just must have had a bad reaction to the alcohol, weed, and as I said, a lot of stress. You can see me home. I have a confession to make. I only live six blocks away.”

   Thomas walked her home, taking her hand in his. He noticed that she looked at him with an expression that reminded him of a wounded animal looking sadly, appreciatively, at its lifesaving caregiver.

   I have her now, he thought, without the slightest shadow of guilt. As they stopped in front of a dilapidated green and white building with intermittent missing pieces of siding., a storm door off its one hinge, and a roof that looked as though it constantly leaked, Thomas began, “I hope we could see each other again. Let’s do it right next time, and see each other in public.”

  Feeling her last remaining defenses crumble like a castle made of sand in the face of a sea churning with romantic notions, she agreed to see Thomas in one week, in a public setting.

Hello Mr. Marlow

  “Hello Mr. Marlow, I’m Detective Sandra Becks. Can I come in and talk?” Sandra held out her hand to the towering muscled Mr. Marlow. This is something she normally would not do when face to face with a suspect, especially a serial murderer. In this case, she figured that such a risk was calculated carefully and would go a long way, she hoped, to bringing down his defenses.

  “I already went over all this detective. My little angel was killed in a horrible accident.” Sandra could see his eyes begin to well with tears. For an instant, she felt a flash of deep sympathy well within her. The sight of a the large muscled heavily bearded man, standing in his plaid shirt and suspenders, no longer intimidated her. Talking of his daughter’s accident transformed him from a murderous Paul Bunyan type of monster, into a very sad, lonely, gentle giant. She quickly brought herself back to reality by recalling the pictures of almost a dozen dismembered bloody pieces of gore that, she knew by now, was the bloody work of this sensitive giant.

 “I know sir, and I am so sorry to bother you. I just have a few more questions about Mr. Drew.

  Sandra backed a few inches away as she watched the earlier transformation abruptly reverse. His features grew dark upon mentioning the name of the punk ex con who killed his little flower.

  “Come in, but I need to be at work at the lumber camp in a few hours.”

 “I won’t keep you long, girl scouts honor.” She said, holding her two fingers up in the characteristic peace symbol of the scouts.

  This gesture seemed to bring the other face back to the man. He smiled, a smile that made her feel warm, and invited. “Come in detective.”

  Sandra quickly absorbed the surroundings, including all avenues of escape, if it came to that. The home was plain and ordinary. Much like, she already knew, homes characteristic of a small country farm. Very nice, and clean Amish hand crafted couches and matching chairs. Very few decorations adorning the humble settings. Characteristic, she considered, of a home without the creative touch of a female.

  “Have a seat detective. I hope you don’t mind me going back and forth as we talk. I have my little rituals before leaving out the front door,” he stated out loud, as he walked to the kitchen, as if talking to himself.

  “I don’t mind at all. It’s good to see a man who actually works for his pay.” she stated in her best flattering voice.

  “Yea, you’re a big city girl. I bet you run into mainly flimsy boys in the big city.”

 She thought to herself, and then stated out loud, “You got that right.” Her tone of voice gave away that she was experienced with meeting too many disappointments in her time in the city.

  “Well the clock is ticking detective. What’s on your mind?”

  He sat down on the sofa, just a few feet from her own position on the cherry wood Amish chair.

  “You are aware, that Eric Drew has been identified as the tenth victim of a serial killer.”

   He looked at her without a twitch, or a bat of the eye and said, “Oh, you mean that character, the Lumber Jack killer?”

   She considered his dark hypnotizing eyes and thought, the best poker face I ever encountered.

   “Yes sir, the Lumber Jack killer.”

  “Well, I can tell you, I can honestly see why you are here. Here I am an actual sort of modern day Lumber Jack, and the bastard who hurt my little girl is dead. I would suspect me too. I’m just surprised it took so long for you to catch me.”

  Before Sandra’s flight response could kick in, Mr. Marlow closed the distance and slapped her with an open hand across the left temple. She felt the world spin, as she tried to force herself up with all her power. Dizzily, she reached into her purse, and pulled out her .45 caliber automatic pistol. For what seemed like an eternity, she managed to strain all the muscles in her arms and legs, bringing herself to a kneeling position. She looked toward the kitchen, and saw Jack standing just a few feet from her position.

  Why didn’t he strike, she thought, with mixed feelings of gratefulness, and confusion?

 Sandra leveled the .45 at the darker silhouette of the two figures she saw standing with what she perceived as a long-handled ax dangling from his right hand.