Foxvalley: Chapter 5 re-edit

CHAPTER 5: UNSOLVED MYSTERIES

Foxvalley, Colorado
May 27, 8:15 P.M.

The moon gleamed in the midnight sky. The clouds of thunder that ravaged through the valley had already dissipated. Instead a gleaming crescent moon casted light down upon the valley. The lights of Denver shown from the north-east. Stars dotted the night sky. Budsworth stood at the stairs of the library. Darkness engulfing him. The yellow beam from the streetlights lit the road with a charming orange color. Benjamin and Steven Queens stood behind him, a look of confusion plastered on both their faces.

He turned to them, anger in his eyes. “I want you to tell me who the hell that man was!” Shouted Budsworth, anger beginning to overwhelm him. The two of them stayed quiet. “Jesus! He almost sent this whole place up in flames, and you're not going to say anything.” He stepped up to Steven and grabbed ahold of his shoulders. Budsworth was breathing heavily. “Talk to me, God Damnit!” Then his gaze shifted from Steven to Ben. “Ben tell me what the heck is going on here.” Ben only stared at him. His eyes were oversized and filled with fear. Budsworth looked away. His cellphone rang again.

Budsworth reached into his pocket and pulled out the cell phone. Henderson attempting to call him again. He answered the call, and brought the phone up to his ear. “Budsworth what the Hell is going on over there?” Henderson asked, sounding a little panicked.

“I was just asking the librarian the same thing. Say, what can you tell me about someone named Mr. Hackshaw?” Budsworth asked, determined to get the answers he so desperately needed.

“Mr. Hackshaw? Do you mean Marley Hackshaw. Does he look like a Native American Indian by any chance?” Asked Henderson.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Budsworth answered with a sigh of relief. At least he knew who this guy is.

“Okay I’m coming by to pick you up. After that then we can stop by Mr. Hackshaw. See if he knows anything.”

“Actually come and pick me up at Benjamin’s house. I forget to drop him off by his house so he’s been with me this whole time.”

“So what actually happened?” Asked Henderson. Budsworth spent the next few minutes explaining to him what he seen and heard from the Native American man. Ben still stood on the steps giving Budsworth a strange gaze. Budsworth hung up his cell phone and stuffed it back into his pant pocket. Then he returned Ben’s gaze with his own.

“Okay Benjamin common, I need to get you home. You parents are probably worried sick about you,” Budsworth ordered. Steven whispered something into Benjamin’s ear Budsworth didn't catch. Then Ben gave him a nod and quietly advanced toward the passenger side door. Budsworth looked down at his watch. “Saturday, a Saturday night at 8:20 P.M.” it read. He had to get Ben home quickly, no telling how strict his parents might be about curfews. They both slipped into the car. Unlike how he looked on the way there, an unsettled look occupied Ben’s face. Budsworth could tell that he knew something big. He was terrified, because of something he wouldn’t tell, couldn’t tell.

Budsworth backed out onto the road. “I’m going to need you to tell me were you live. Is that alright?” Asked Budsworth. Ben only gave a nod, but never said a thing. Budsworth found it strange, Benjamin had been the most talkative person all day. How did that all change? And so quickly in a matter of fact. After such a long period of silence Ben finally broke through it.

“Left up here at the stop sign,” He ordered. Budsworth did as he said, pulling onto the road named, Hemfeild Rd. Silence infested the road and building surrounding them. Not even a evening cat strolled across the street. Darkness flooded the houses, except for a nightlight near the window of every building. As if it was some tradition of the town to keep a light on every night. The wind outside blew hard against the car, making a whistling sound.

Many houses of different sizes populated both sides of the street. Each one dark, inhabited by one lonely LED nightlight. The people of the town must've not been very much into nightlife, that was for sure. The streetlight emitted a soft yellow beam of light down upon the road. Ben pointed out his window, “Right here,” He said. Budsworth came to a slow stop in front of a single story house. White wall shingles stretched around the outer walls of the house. The front part of the house stuck out with an asphalt driveway beside it. The other part stood only a few feet beyond the driveway. In the front part of the house, closest to the street, stood a red front door. A rectangular multicolored window sat, implanted, into the center of it. The gold color of the door knob looked so authentic that it could trick someone into believing they were actually made of pure gold. A locked window sat in the wall beside the red front door.

Any sight of inside the house remained blocked by a dark blue curtain inside. Hardly any light accumulated from indoors. Only the slightest bit of a blue glow from a LED nightlight. Benjamin thanked Budsworth for the ride, and opened the passenger side door. Budsworth shot his arm over and grabbed ahold of Benjamin’s shoulder. He made a slight, startled jump. His gaze turned to Budsworth, his pupils shrunken and eyes as big as an owl’s. Budsworth sighed, and patted him on the back. “Stay safe kid,” He said. Then he lifted his hand from Ben’s shoulder.

A strange feeling overwhelmed him, he didn't understand. So quiet, Budsworth thought, a little to quiet to be good. Something terrified Ben, and even though he continuously told himself he would find out what’s going on, he himself felt an uneasy feeling screaming from deep within his gut. Something wasn't exactly right with this town. Killers that mocked Native American legends, an Indian who knew a lot more than he put on, probably even the killer himself.

Ben rushed into his house. Another car approached from behind Budsworth. Their brights shined through the back windows of the car, brightening the dashboard. Budsworth could slightly see the outline of the deactivated police lights on top of the car behind him. Sheriff Henderson slammed the door shut to his patrol car as he began making his way towards Budsworth’s car. He stepped up to the window window, and knocked on it. Budsworth rolled the window down, and leaned his head out, peering up at the sheriff . “Is there a problem, Sheriff?” He smirked.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw it. Something dashed across the road. The silhouette of something. Budsworth stared in the direction he had seen it, but the figure disappeared the moment he began to turn his head. The silhouette remained no where to be seen. It was almost as if it dissipated into nothing.

Sheriff Henderson noticed Budsworth’s gaze down the street, he stared down the road, but nothing was there. “What is it?” He asked. Budsworth opened his mouth to answer the sheriff’s question. Before a single thing escaped his mouth a blood curling howl erupted from the forest ahead of them. “You got wolves out here?” Asked Budsworth. Henderson glared down the dead end road, and shook his head.

“No, not that I know of anyway,” he answered. Budsworth heartbeat accelerated, he saw it he knew he did. His eyes centers on a bush beside the corner of Ben’s house. Two blood red eyes stalked him through the pine needles of the bush. Budsworth opened the glove compartment, and pulled out his flashlight. Henderson backed away from the door as Budsworth swung it open. He stood out, one foot out of the car, and on the flashlight. The beam of light fired into the bush. The creature slipped away into the shadows almost immediately.

“Did you see that?’ Budsworth asked. Henderson’s gaze followed the flashlight beam, a look of confusion was on his face. Come on, he must’ve seen that... Budsworth thought. The silhouette in the bush as clear as day.

“I don't see anything,” Henderson finally answered, after having a gander at the neighborhood from where he was standing. “Are you ok Agent Budsworth?” Another howling noise rang from the forest. Thats when Budsworth noticed the dark liquid oozing from Henderson’s ear.

“Henderson, your ear it bleeding,” Budsworth warned him. Henderson raised his hand over his ear. The liquid seeped over his fingertip. It dripped from the ear onto the asphalt of the ground below. Henderson looked down at his bloodied finger. A dab of red blood covered the tip. Then he looked back towards the forest, as if half expecting to see something.

“Do you hear that?” Asked Henderson, holding his bleeding ear. “It’s like a loud ringing noice.” Budsworth heard it, but it didn't sound like no ringing, more like howling. Henderson's hands cuffed over his ears. “Ahh, it’s so loud!” He ached, kneeling to the ground. Budsworth grabbed onto his arms, and glanced into the forest ahead of them at the dead end street. More blood dripped onto the ground below them. Blood was welling out of both Henderson’s eyes and ears now, rolling down his face, dripping down onto the road. Budsworth saw it again, in the forest staring at him with large red eyes. The only thing he could see was the large terrifying eyes. They were oversized. About the size of a small car for each eye.

A car horn awoke Budsworth from his terrible nightmare. Panicked, Budsworth checked around to see where he was. He was still in his car, parked out in front of Ben’s house. A knock at his door that made him jump. Budsworth stared out the window, wide-eyed, at Sheriff Henderson. Budsworth, in a frantic hurry rolled down his window. “We going to Hackshaw’s place or what?” Asked Henderson.

“Huh, uh… yeah.” Budsworth remembered what their initial plan was to do. Henderson nodded then moved away. Budsworth watched him get into the patrol car behind him. It's beams lighting up the back seat. Out of the corner of his eye, Budsworth saw the red-eyed shadow. It was hidden in the bush on the corner of Ben’s house. It’s eyes stalked as they pulled away back onto state road 9. Budsworth could help but think if he’d just had a dream that predicted what would’ve happened if they stayed on that road any longer. The thought unsettled him.

They were heading south towards the edge of town. When the sheriff pulled up onto another gravel road, Budsworth followed. This one led deep into the forest outside of town. The road wound up a mountain on the western side of the valley. Soon Henderson and Budsworth’s cars vanished into the tall pine trees. They drove through the wild wilderness, their headlights on a medium setting.

A coyote sped across the road when it noticed the two incoming cars. Luckily it quickly scrambled to the other side of the road before either of the two vehicles rammed into it. Lived to become possible roadkill another day. A split in the trees revealed a view of the town below. Budsworth definitely found the views of this road stunning, but he had to push on. That Native American knew something, and his determination centered on finding out those secrets.

The trees above them swayed in the wind. They continued to press forward to what soon became a foreboding thick fog. The headlights only lit a few feet ahead of the car, even with the fog lights on. When they passed a curve Budsworth could see a cabin far at the top of the mountain. A yellow glow illuminated from inside, finally somewhere with the lights on.

Their cars came to a stop a few feet from the log cabin. Budsworth put his car into the parking gear. He didn't know about the Sheriff, but he didn't want his car rolling down the hill. He arose from the drivers seat into a cold crisp Spring night. The wind hit like spine-tingling nettles, poking and jabbing at his skin.

He and Henderson advanced towards the front door of the lit-up cabin. On the wall hanging over a cliff stood a window with a beautiful view of Foxvalley below. A view that left Budsworth a little envious.. Henderson stepped up to the front door and pounded in four hard knocks. “Hackshaw! We need to have a talk with you. It's the police, open up Hackshaw!” No one answered.

“C’mon Mr. Hackshaw we’re only here to ask a few questions. That all. Now can you just come and answer the door,” Budsworth announced, still no answer. “Or else I’ll let myself in.” Budsworth shouted in. Still there was no voices nor movements.

The door into Hackshaw’s cabin busted open, snapping the lock in the process. Henderson watched Budsworth make his way in without a care. After a few short second he invited himself in. Budsworth already started searching through the kitchen. He frantically opened kitchen cabinet after kitchen cabinet. When he found nothing, he’d slammed the drawers shut. “Damn,” He cursed under his breath.

Across from the open door of the house stood the archway to the living room. Budsworth entered through there. A bookshelf sat in the corner of the room. He checked there first as Henderson was busy looking at the television mechanisms such as a blue-ray player and a VCR player. Budsworth flicked one book out after the other, hoping to find something behind them. Nothing.

“Hey, Budsworth,” Henderson called to him. Budsworth turned to Henderson. “Ever heard of a blue-ray player counting backwards?” Budsworth froze, counting backwards… that's weird, especially from a Blue-ray player.

“Get out of here now! GO!” Henderson stood for a few long seconds before nodding, and rushing out through the busted front door. Budsworth hurried to the blue-ray player. Indeed, it was counting backwards from three minutes in large red digital numbers. He hoped it was only a false alarm, but something told him their Indian friend booby trapped the house. Budsworth took a closer look at the player. He pressed the eject button. It wouldn’t ejected. He pulled out his pocked knife, and pried it open. Inside hid a box connected by several wires. He knew it Hackshaw hooked up a bomb to catch him off guard, maybe even kill them. The display counted back quickly, now at two minutes left. Budsworth looked over the four wires spread out across the blue-ray player.

A different color painted each wire. Budsworth knew at one time which one he had to cut, but had learned it during military school. Except he never deactivated a real one. It’s been eleven years since he learned about bombs. Out of everything he had learned, he had forgotten about deactivating bombs. Oh, which on, which one… Budsworth panicked, the yellow or the blue one, the yellow or the blue one? The red one, he concluded reaching his knife in to slice the wire in half, but his knife instead sliced through the blue wire.

The display on the timer sped up significantly, going from two minutes to one in no more than 20 seconds. “Ohhh, Shit,” Budsworth said. With no more time wasted he dashed towards the front door. The moment he flew through the front door frame the blue-ray display hit zero. Henderson ducked as a bright flash erupted from inside the cabin. The force lifted Budsworth from the ground, and slammed his back into a tree on the edge of the forest across the gravel driveway. The windows of the house shattered as bright orange and red flames flung out of the building. Dark black smoke rolled from the flames up into the dark star covered sky.

Henderson stood up off the ground, leaning over, trying to regain his breath. “What happened in there? I thought FBI agents knew what to do with bombs,” He asked. Budsworth lifted himself up off the tree. A large splinter implanted itself into his back, leaking blood. Budsworth reached over, and with a grunt, pulled it out. Luckily it wasn't too implanted into his flesh, just enough to spill a little blood,

“No, we get serial killers. The bomb squad are the ones to deactivate the bombs, successfully anyway. I studied it, but I had to take the test twice, I failed the first time,” Budsworth grunted. He arose, his back roaring with pain. A smear of blood painted his arm red. When the cabin exploded a pebble grazed his skin. A glass fragment grazed the top of his head, which now leaked a thin streak of blood over his forehead.

Henderson pulled his flip phone from his back pocket, and dialed the fire department, Budsworth stepped up to the burning house. Pieces were falling to the ground infested by inferno. “Yeah hello… We need some help up here. A cabin exploded and set on fire. If we don't take care of it quick the fire will spread into a wildfire… it’s up on Hackshaw’s house. Okay thanks, hurry.” Henderson hung up his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

Budsworth took a few steps closer to the building. The heat slapped his face forcing his forehead to sweat heavy drops. He kicked a fallen log in front of him. It smashed through the wall and fell through the burning floor of the cabin. “What are we going to do now?” Asked Henderson.

“I still need to go by the clinic to check out the evidence,” Budsworth answered. Henderson gave a nod in acknowledgement. The sound of firetruck horn echoed through the mountains. Budsworth could see the truck rushing down state road 9. People stood outside their houses and watched the firetruck fly by. Budsworth and Henderson returned to their vehicles. A thick smog rolled over the mountain, produced from the flames of the cabin. The sirens and horns sounded even closer. Red and white flashes lit up the mountains cliffs. The red firetruck roared by and came to a stop in front of the burning cabin. Henderson turned his car back off the gravel road onto state road 9. Budsworth followed close behind in his black Ford Taurus.

Town residents were standing out in the center of the silent streets, mesmerized by the pillar of smoke rising up into the nighttime sky. It blocked the moon from view, casting the valley into an internal void of darkness. Even the street lights hardly seemed to do anything compared to the heavy smog filling the valley. Budsworth pulled into the parking lot of the Foxvalley Medical Clinic. The building itself remained hardly able to be seen. Smog surrounded everything. Hazes of yellow surrounded the windows and front doors of the building through the fog.

A lit-up sign stood on the roof of the building, enveloped with a white haze. A blue medical symbol stood to the side, and next to it read in bold green letters, “Foxvalley Medical Clinic” they both stood up from their cars and headed towards the front door. Two barely noticeable bushes stood on both sides of the sidewalk, laid out in from of them. The lights inside shined bright through the fog, but the information desk seemed vacant. The doors slid closed behind them when they stepped into the vacant waiting room.

“Doctor Reynard,” called Henderson, splitting the silence. No answer returned, not as of yet anyway. Budsworth stepped up to the information desk, pained a yellowish color of wood. A glassy countertop reached all across the top surface. To the side, atop the desk, sat a flat screen computer. A blue light glowed from behind the power button. The front-center of the desk held a wooden plaque made of a dark colored oak wood. It read in white letters, “Foxvalley Clinical Information Desk.”

The door into the waiting room finally flung open. A women stepped into the room In a blue doctor gown. Her, almost mystical, wavy scarlet hair descended down her back and halted just at her hips, which where wide. She stood just about 6 feet. Her lips were a bright shade of red lipstick. A pair of thin edged glasses cover Denver her brown eyes. On the side of her gown hung a name tag. It read, “Doctor Lehman C. Reynard.” A stethoscope laid wrapped around the back of her neck.

“Doctor Reynard,” Henderson stepped up to her, grabbing her hand. A special sparkle lit in his eyes. To Budsworth, he found it a no-brainer, Henderson liked this women. She gave him a gracious smile. Then her gaze shifted over to FBI agent David Budsworth.

“Well Mr. Henderson, who’s this with you?” She asked, in a soft, soothing voice. Henderson turned to introduce her to Budsworth. Budsworth couldn’t lie, he also found it pretty easy to tell why Henderson liked her so much. Even he found her attractive, but not really much of his type. Including how he never dated since his wife died all those years ago. He knew he should just let her go, but it was hard, and now with the death of his partner the feeling was even more prominent.

The whole reason that he hasn’t dated anyone else is that he can still feel her. Even after a whole decade he goes to bed at night feeling her breath against his skin. He always figured it as a physiological thing. Ghost didn’t exist, but he couldn’t doubt seeing the waving figure out of the corner of his eye in the graveyard the other night, or the times he felt the bed settle like someone lying down beside him.

“So what did you find out about that blood at the crime scene?” Asked Henderson.

“The blood on the gravel driveway and on Mills’s gun belongs to Mills. The blood found on the couch belonged to Henry Johnson,” Reynard explained. She gave Budsworth another look over when she had finished speaking to him. Her eyes searched him up and down, and she gave him a smile. Henderson must've noticed. He gave Budsworth a much more sinister look. She stepped up to him. “So what’s your story?” She asked. A great big grin stretched across her face. “FBI agent in this small town, lucky me,” She flirted, rolling her hands over Budsworth’s arms.

Budsworth, starting to feel a little uncomfortable, rose his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I have something I need you to do. I got some more evidence from the crime scene I need someone to look into,” Budsworth told her with a rattled sigh. Reynard reached into his suit and pulled out the colossal of evidence backs, making sure to touch a specific place on his chest in the process. A big smile stretched across her face.

Reynold looked own at the evidence, then back up at Budsworth. A long smile across her face, a sparkle in her eyes. “I’ll be right back, agent…” she seduced, rubbing her hand on his chest. Budsworth gave off an uncomfortable smile. Finally after what felt like a couple hours Doctor Reynard finally stepped back into the hallway she had came from. Henderson stood next to the door. His stood with one foot on the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was fixated on Budsworth standing in the center of the room.

“I take it, you're a hit with the ladies back at home,” Henderson grinned, jokingly. He tried to hide his green eyed monster, Budsworth could see him trying to close the eye lids of the monster. He was trying to hide his inner emotion about how he felt, but didn’t do to good of a job doing it. Budsworth looked up at him without a word said. “In any relationships back at home?”

“I did. The last time I loved someone was ten years ago-“

“TEN YEARS!” Henderson interrupted him, surprised. “You made that women’s eyes melt the minute she walked in here. How could you have only loved someone ten years ago? What happened?”

“Back then I didn't work with the FBI, instead I was in college to become a lawyer. Besides college, I worked at a grocery store there in Pennsylvania,” Budsworth explained, “One of the co-workers there was a beautiful women. Most beautiful women I'd ever seen. Within a few years we were dating, then we got married. It was a great time. We loved it and wanted to create a family of our own.” Budsworth made a heavy sigh.

“Wow, that sounds great. What happened?” Asked Henderson. Budsworth’s gaze shifted onto the tiles on the waiting room floor. He heaved to the nearest chair, and took a seat down on the blue cushions of it. He made a deep sigh. Henderson could see that it hurt him to drag these terrible memories out.

“One day I awoke in the hospital. That night we were in a back alley. I was found unconscious with my head against a dumpster. My wife, she was dead, covered in animal bites and claw marks. A biologist mentioned that the bites belonged to a dog, but no wild dog they’d known of. When I got out of the hospital I returned to the alley, and found evidence someone was watching us. It was a foot print someone left in the mud. My guess is he let his animal attack us so he wouldn't get his own hands dirty. Since then I’ve promised never to let such a thing happen again,” Budsworth explained. Then he let out another deep thoughtful sigh. “Well that's the past,” he said, “the past is the past.” He stood from the chair, “and there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“Did they ever find the guy with the animal?”

Budsworth shook his head, “nope, the FBI thought just some stray attacked us. I know it wasn't though.” The door into the waiting room reopened. Doctor Reynard stepped back into the room. She gave Budsworth a wink. Oh god, not again, Budsworth rolled his eyes. Reynard handed Henderson a collection of papers.

“The candle wax contains a mix of Johnson’s and Mill’s blood combined in it. The blood Budsworth collected belonged to Markus Johnson...”

“Markus! You found a trace of Markus? According to what we found, he had disappeared without a trace. Now we have some blood. I think we’re getting somewhere,” Henderson said, his face surprise stricken.

“What about that strange substance I found all over the place. The clear gooey one?” Budsworth asked. Not an element of surprise at all on his face, unlike Henderson.

“Saliva,” Shaw answered, “not human though. You should take it to Mrs. Leeway. She’s the town veterinarian. She should be able to figure out what it belongs to,” Budsworth nodded, and remembered that he left the shotgun and pistol from the crime scene outside in his car. He hurried out of the door behind him. Reynard watching him like a hawk, as he stepped out in front of the backdoor of his car. Budsworth opened the back door. On the leather seat was the blood-stained pistol he gathered gotten from the crime scene, but the shotgun was missing.

Budsworth search up and down the leather back seats and even the front seat cab area. Still the shotgun remained nowhere to be seen or found. Budsworth reached in from the open drivers seat, and popped the trunk open. A light repelled from the back, inside the truck glowed a yellow light. A yellow haze formed around it in the nighttime smog. Budsworth opened the trunk the rest of the way. lightbulbs shined out from the crack of the trunk onto the road below. Unfortunately he still didn’t find the shotgun. Something happening to it, someone took the evidence.

Budsworth slammed the trunk close, and headed back into the clinic. He halted as soon as he heard a familiar sound amongst the night air. Howling, rising out of the forest from a distance. Budsworth made a slow turn, looking into the abyss of endless smog. Two red cat-like eyes watched him. They stood only about half his height, but intimidating none-the-less. As soon as his eyes slid close in the middle of a blink the two red glowing eyes had dissipated in the night. Startled, Budsworth stumbled back. His heart skipping a beat. Just about tripping over the sidewalk behind him. He wasn’t dreaming again, was he? What the hell is that thing, the words raced through his mind, and what the hell does it want with me?

A odd feeling came over him. It was out there. It stalked him, and it couldn’t be anything normal. Another howl tore through the silence. Budsworth inhaled, maybe his mind just pulled a trick him. The impossibilities of anything like that out there stalking him was high. He turned back toward the clinic. Budsworth stepped into the clearing of the waiting room. There stood Reynard. She held her hand over her ear. As well as Henderson, who lowered his hand. Something blood red pained his fingertip. Henderson rubbed his finger around in it. “Strange,” he broke the silence.

“What’s going on?” Asked Budsworth. It came to him. This all happened in that nightmare he suffered through earlier. The howling, the bleeding of the ears, the blood red eyes stalking him. What did it all mean? He looked at Doctor Reynard, eyes wide of fear. Reynard must've seen it. She removed her hand from her ear, and placed it on his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him, removing the hand from his arm, and looking down at it. Blood rested on her fingertip as well. “So what is it you need help with now.” She said, putting on the best of a smile she could. Budsworth handed her the pistol he’d gotten from the crime scene. She took it from his hand, and looked down over it. “I take it that, this must belong to Deputy Mills.” She said.

“Yeah, I’d like for you to take some finger prints from it,” Budsworth asked her. She gave him a passionate nod, and left through the door she had just exited form. When she left, her hand covering her beelding ear again.

“Do you hear that?” Henderson asked, lifting his hand back over his ear.

“I had a dream about this,” Budsworth told him. Henderson’s eyes pointed directly at him, and his hand raised off from his ear. He lifted his foot off the wall and took a few paces toward them.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“Back when I dropped Ben off at his house, I guess I must've fallen asleep. I had this dream, where you came up to my car-”

“But, I did come up to your car?”

“Yeah, but this was different. You see when we starting talk about what to do next I thought I saw something. Like a shadow with red cat eyes. Then I asked you if you saw it. You said, ‘no’. Then when I flashed my flashlight at it, it had just disappeared.” Budsworth began pacing around. Holding his hands on his head. His eyes wide-eyed and fearful. “Then I heard this type of howling, and I also heard it out there,” Budsworth explained, pointing at the doors outside. “Just when I was out there only seconds ago there was this howling sound, like a wolf, but more higher-pitched. In the dream you heard it, and began bleeding from the ears. You said that it was so painful, and it forced you to your knees. Then I saw it. The red eyes of that creature. This time they were much larger.” Budsworth lifted his head from his hands, glaring at Henderson. “I'm I going crazy?” He asked after a brief, silent moment.

Henderson only stood in silence staring at him. It wasn't disbelief flooding his eyes, but freight. “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for everything going on. You said you heard it out there, did you see it?” Henderson finally asked, “I mean now, not the dream.”

“When I checked for the shotgun in the truck I heard it. When I turned around, there the eyes were. They were about half of my height off the ground, and they were staring me. I felt almost as if it knew me,” Budsworth explained, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. Doctor Reynard stepped through the door at that second. She stepped up to Budsworth.

“I got a couple different fingerprints from that gun. I must admit I'm surprised of what I found,” She pointed out, turning around to beckon Henderson to come closer so he can better hear her. He sat down in the waiting room chair across from Budsworth. “The oldest fingerprint actually did belong to deputy mills, but the second one is the real kicker. I think I may have found the kidnapper.” She handed Budsworth a paper she had unfolded form her pocket. “Mr. Steven Queens,” She announced.

Henderson look at her with complete awe. “Queens? He seems so nice. I wouldn't think he wouldn't have the bone in his body needed to do that,” He said. Budsworth looked down at the paper. On the top right hand side it had Steven’s picture. Under it was a file of him.

Name: Steven Queens
Date of Birth: 11/13/48
Occupation: Foxvalley Public Library Librarian
Health: no health issues
Criminal record: DUI

Under that it told a deep summery looking into Queens health, and various doctor visits. “Well Henderson, looks can be deceiving. So you record files on your patients, and the police allow access for information on the criminal records?” Budsworth asked.

“Ever since disappearances in 56 we've been always doing it like this. The clinic more of works as the forensics for the FPD now,” She answered. Budsworth handed the paper back to her, and stood up from his seat. Just when they were about to leave Reynard stopped him. The doctor snatched his arm, not allowing him to leave. She wrote down her home phone number on a sticky note and handed it to him. “Here you go. If you find out what’s going on here I want you to tell me, and if you want to do anything with me. That'll be fine my me,” She seduced with a wink.

Budsworth gave her an awkward smile, and removed the small piece of paper from her hand. He stuffed it in his pocket and made his way out of the building. Budsworth and Henderson stepped out, slamming the glass double doors behind them..

They drove up to the Foxvalley library. Budsworth pulled back in alongside of the road. The tires of his car pounded up onto the sidewalk. Sheriff Henderson pulled in close behind him, only inches from each other’s bumpers. Red and blue lights danced in the midnight from atop Henderson’s patrol car. The drivers side door of the black Ford Taurus swung open, as Budsworth stood up. A dark smoke rolled into their views in front of the dark building. All the light that lit the building only about an hour ago now didn’t let a single stretch of light out through the windows of the brick walls. Budsworth rushed up the marble stairs. Henderson followed closely behind. He carried a long rifle in his hands. One hand on the underside of the barrel, the other on the trigger, ready to fire. Budsworth stepped up to the glass front double doors.

He raised his fist, and smashed it against the glass repeatedly… no answer. He did it again… still no answer. Budsworth grabbed the door handle, and tried to pull it open. It would budge. Queen must've locked it. “Stand back,” Budsworth warned. Henderson took a few paces back, and leaned against a large white pillar standing behind him. Budsworth raised his foot, and smashed open the doors. The double door busted apart, revealing the darkness inside. Budsworth pulled his pistol from his holster, fished his flashlight from his pocket. The beam of blue light, protruding from his flashlight, sliced through the darkness.

Pitch darkness flooded every corner of the building. The only light shined from the flashlights Budsworth and Henderson carried. “Hello,” called Budsworth into the darkness. “Steven Queens, if you’re here, this is FBI agent David Budsworth, you seen me earlier today. I'm here with the sheriff. We only want to asked a few questions. Don't make this any harder for you.” He held his pistol at his waist, but continued to firmly hold the trigger. If Queens did do it, and that shotgun belonged to him it all made sense. He must’ve found the perfect time to retrieve it from the back seat of Budsworth’s car. A loud CLANK came from behind the information desk. Budsworth swerved his Glock in the direction of the sound, he began taking slow steps towards where the sound originated from.

He and Henderson climbed over the desk into a small room hidden behind it. Budsworth searched around the small room. Books filled every bookshelf up against the walls, lots of books. A whole variety of fiction and non-fiction all mixed together. He notice something peculiar on the floor. Budsworth reached down, and removed a violet rug laying over the floor. Under it laid a trap door in the ground. “Well, well, what do we have here?’ Budsworth asked, drifting his gaze up towards Henderson. “Here, take this,” He ordered, handing Henderson his flashlight. Budsworth looked down at a padlock keeping the door shut. He stood up from his position, and aimed his pistol down at the lock. The sound of gunshot rang through the library as his pulled the trigger. A bright flash fired from the barrel of the pistol. The padlock, snapped and twirled off under a bookcase. Budsworth reached down, and grabbed ahold of the handle. Henderson handed him back his flashlight. He lifted the trapdoor up out of the floor, and flashed his flashlight down onto the floor below.

He hopped down, Henderson followed closely behind, landing the floor with a THUD. A string dangled down in front of Budsworth. He reach up into the darkness and pulled the only thing he could see, a thin white string hanging down for the he ceiling. A naked lightbulb above them kicked out the darkness. Dozens of filing cabinets filled the room. A few books laid, neatly stacked upon each other, above a desk in the far corner of the room.

Henderson stepped up onto one of the filing cabinets, and began searched through it. He pulled out a vanilla folder with a few documentations in it. “Budsworth, you might want to take a look at this…” Henderson announced from behind him. Budsworth stepped up beside Henderson, and looked down that the papers in the folder. Budsworth snatched the files out of his hands for a closer look. His eyes widened in confusion and terror, these files belonged to the FBI, how did Stephen Queens get ahold of them. It didn’t make any sense.

“This can’t be. This information is classified. It's for the bureau’s eyes only,” Budsworth said. He closed the folder, and handed it back to Henderson, who immediately reopened it, and began reading through it. Budsworth searched through another filing cabinet on the opposite side of the small room. He noticed a mysterious blue object hidden inside. Budsworth reached in, and pulled it out. The object glistened in the shine of the basement lightbulb. “Wow, what is this?” Asked Budsworth, moving the object closer to his face. The magical blue glow it propelled felt almost hypnotizing.

Budsworth could tell from the texture of it that it must’ve been made from crystal. The crystal looked molded into the shape of a howling wolf. A black neckless strap went through the tip of the crystal. The crystal let off a warm feeling in his hand, as if it were emitting its own heat. Then a pain throbbed through Budsworth shoulder. He dropped the neckless back into the cabinet, stumbling back holding his painful shoulder. His hand was warm and sticky from something just below his shoulder on his chest. He lifted his hand, and look down at where it once was. Blood was seeping through his clothes where the pain was rising from.

Henderson turned to him, in shock from Budsworth’s sudden movements. “You alright agent Budsworth?” He asked, worry shone in his eyes. Budsworth, nodded, and removed his shirt from his shoulder, revealing a bloody tattoo. The tattoo looked like the image of a fox. It's snout was aimed up at a moon, and partially open, as if it were howling to the moon. Budsworth own blood seemed to paint its canine teeth red. The redness of the fox’s fur seemed to be painted by his own blood. Bruises replaced the black legs of the creature. “What the hell?” Henderson asked, looking down at the newly forming tattoo. The sound of thumping eroded from upstairs, like footsteps in the silence. Someone stepped down into the basement with them, and closed the trapdoor behind them. Budsworth slipped the pistol out of his holster. He aimed it towards the door, clenching his teeth in an attempt to ignore the pain, The man than turned back around to face them.

Steven Queens stood on the last step in his thin edged golden glasses. His eyes widened in shock of them being there. “What are you doing here?” He asked, “In my personal belongings? Don't you need a warrant to investigate down here.”

Budsworth looked up from the fox tattoo. “I don't need a warrant. It’s called probable cause. I don't know about you, but about a couple hours ago someone tried to set this place on fire, and I'm going to get to the end of it,” Budsworth growled. His teeth clenched together from the excruciating pain in his shoulder. Queens face changed from surprise to worry when he noticed the blood and bruises on Budsworth’s shoulder.

“What the Hell happened to your tattoo?” He asked. Budsworth stood up from the wall he leaned on. Pain surged through his shoulder as he did so. He pulled himself up in front of the filing cabinet he found the crystal in.

He reached in, and pulled out the light blue, wolf-shaped neckless. “I saw this, picked it up. Then this happened,” Budsworth explained. Queens eyes only grew wider. “What is this thing anyway?”

“It’s one of those necklaces I told you about. It’s the only one I could find. I found it up in Alaska four years ago. Some professor in North Carolina told me about it,” Queens explained. Henderson stepped up to him and grabbed both of his arms. “Whoa, what are you doing?” asked Queens. Henderson glanced at Budsworth, as he pulled out his handcuffs.

Budsworth crossed his arms the best he could. Pain still bursting from his shoulder. “Steven Queens you will held for probable kidnapping, suspicion of murder, and possibly shooting a deputy. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do will be held against you in the court of law.”

“What? I did no such thing. You’ve got to believe me. Henderson, you know me. Tell this city dwelling dick, I'd never do that, I'm no killer. Come on, you've got to believe me,” Steven wined as Henderson took him away. Budsworth stepped out onto the stairs up to the library’s double doors. In his hand he held his overcoat. A rip in the shoulder of his white button-up shirt revealed the strange tattoo below. His black and blue striped tie hung loose from around his neck, untied.

He followed Henderson to his patrol car. Henderson lowered Queen into the back seat of his patrol car. “I'm telling you I had nothing to do with those guys. I swear, common let me go…” Henderson slammed the door shut in his face before he could plead anything else. Henderson took a few steps back in front of Budsworth.

“I have to admit it, I would've never thought the town librarian would've done it,” Henderson told him. “Well I'm going to take this guy back to the station. Thanks for your help today. We could've never done it without you,” Henderson said. Budsworth gave him a kind, polite nod. Henderson turned and began heading back for his car.

“Hey Sheriff,” Budsworth called. Henderson turned back to him. “What’s a place do you know of in this town I can stay the night?”

“The Foxvalley B&B downtown. Trust me, they have nice rooms, and a wonderful breakfast. Oh, and they have the best donuts,” Henderson grinned before getting into the driver seat of his car. Budsworth watched them pull out onto state road 9, and drive off into the smokey fog. Budsworth looked back down at the new fox tattoo on his shoulder. Then he put his suit overcoat back on over his ripped shirt.

A sigh rolled out of his mouth, another day of hard work. It ended a bit strange, with unanswered questions, like why there was a tattoo of a fox in his shoulder. He did get it for free, so that’s nice. He always wanted to get a tattoo at some point, probably not a fox, but better than nothing. Or so that’s what he though at that time. He opened the driver’s side door of his Taurus, and slid into the seat.

Budsworth open the glove box, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He the shadow he saw in the backseat through the rear view mirror caught his attention. There was a man sitting back there, or a silhouette of man anyway. Something about the silhouette reminded Budsworth of someone. He felt like he knew this mysterious figure. His eyes drifted into the back seat, no one sat in the back. He glared back at the rear-view mirror.

Once again, it had disappeared. Budsworth looked down at his pack of cigarettes. It felt light in his hand, empty. Which confused him, he had more cigarettes only seconds ago. It felt heavier when he pulled the box out from the glove box.

Budsworth sighed and tossed the empty pack of cigarettes through the open driver’s side door. It landing outside, tumbling down the sidewalk. He slammed his door closed, and started his car. It didn't take anymore then ten minutes before Budsworth pulled into the parking lot for the Foxvalley Bed & Breakfast. A yellow haze ejected from the windows inside. It casted light onto the grass below in the darkness. Budsworth stepped up to the glass front door. A bell above the door rang as he pulled it open. The cleric hurried up to the desk. His smooth black hair that parted mostly onto one side. A pleasant smile plastered on his face. Budsworth figured his to be Mexican, mostly due to his think brown skin. “What can get you?” He asked in his Mexican accent. He sounded like he didn’t really know English all that well.

Budsworth stepped up to the desk, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “I’d like to get a room. Have any available?” Asked Budsworth, pulling seventy dollars from his wallet.

“Yes sir, it be 65.50 for night,” He answered. Budsworth nodded, and handed him the wad of seven 10 dollar bills. The clerk took the money and stuffed it into a cash register on the desk top, he handed him back his change in return. He opened a drawer in the desk, and pulled out a pair of keys. “Room B11. Upstairs on right,” The clerk explained, before he sat back down in a chair up against the desk. Budsworth nodded and took the keys from him, he headed upstairs. The hallway upstairs itself was inviting, vanilla yellow wallpaper stretched across the walls, a dark red wood nailed to the top and bottom edges of the walls. Brown wooden doors stood down each wall, guarding the doorways into the rooms. A golden sign hung from them, telling their numbers. B01, B02, B03… B09, B10, B11.

Budsworth stepped up to the door with the golden B11 plaque screwed onto it. A V-shaped light stood beside the door, hanging off the wall. It eerily flickered as Budsworth unlocked the door with his new key, and the door swung open. Light from the hallway casted onto the brownish-red carpet inside. A window sat in the far wall. It overlooked the smog infested parking lot below.

Budsworth gave out a sigh, and gently closed the door behind him. He flopped down on the bed on the center of the length of the room. The back of the wood log bed pressed up against the side wall. A large beautiful painting hung above it in a golden frame. On the painting glowed the image of a moose overlooking a valley in the mountains. Beside the bed stood a wooden log end table. A digital alarm clock blinked red atop the end table. Beside it glowed a lamp. The wooden carving of a wolf occupied the bottom of the short lamp stand. A carving of a log laid dormant beside the Wolf, who appeared to be howling up into the thin leather lamp shades.

Budsworth shifted off the bed. He removed his overcoat, and tossed it on a green armchair in the corner of the room. He began unbuttoning his shirt, and made his way for the bathroom. The bathroom door stood beside the door into the guest room. The door already stood wide open, revealing a white room inside. Budsworth unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, and folded it up. He set it down, neatly folded, beside the sink. He looked back at the tattoo on just under his shoulder.

Then he glanced down at his watch. It read, “Saturday, 11:28 P.M.”. Water rushed out of the faucet, splashing into the walls of the sick. Budsworth watched the water circle the outer side of the bowl. It plunked down into the drain in the center of the sink. Budsworth pulled his hands under the rushing water, and splashed it over his face. Water droplets dripped from his nose, as he reached up and tightened the nobs on the sink. The lights in the room began flickering rapidly. Budsworth rolled the towel over his face, then peaked up at the ceiling lamp in the middle of the room. It flickered a few more times then dimmed dead. “Damn, cheap lodging.” Budsworth stepped out of the restroom, mumbling softly under his breath. Then the sound of a growl ripped through the darkness. Budsworth made a immediate stop. His heart began beating faster. He took a slow turn, facing the creature behind him.

Red eyes glowed in the darkness. The growl got louder as the eyes advanced on him. Budsworth’s eyes widened as he remembered the creature from his dream. Budsworth sped off towards were he had left his pistol. He snatched the holster from the end table beside the bed, and yanked out the pistol. He pointed the pistol in the location he had last seen the creature. Where did it go? He wondered. Not even its glowing eyes shone.

Then a high pitched growl eroded from beside him. Budsworth twirled around. His pistol facing the creature. Stinging Pain shot through his hand as something knocked the pistol from his hands. It flew across the room and landed on the ground, setting it off with a BANG! Blood pumped out of a slit blood vain at the back of his hand. Quickly, his bleeding hand darted into his pant pocket, and pulled out a survival knife. It flipped open with the press of a button. Something in the darkness leaped at him.

Budsworth tumbled back on the ground. His head slammed into the wall behind him. The red glowing eyes enclosed on him. Budsworth reached out, and blindly swiped his knife. He felt the warm blood streak onto his hand. The creature made a yelp. Then the eyes crossed back at him. Hatred glowed in them. The horrifying feeling of something clasping down on his neck caught him by surprise. It began violently ripping him to shreds, blood splattering onto the wall behind him. A thin layer of scarlet red paint splashed up onto the window above his dying body.

A phone call awoke Budsworth from his second nightmare as soon as the phone blad. His eyes darting around trying to understand all that had taken place. Budsworth sprung from the bed, a sharp pain surged through his arm. Budsworth uncovered his right arm. Blood poured out of a clean slit through it. Budsworth reached over, and picked up the phone. “Yes?” He answered.

“Budsworth, it’s Henderson. There’s been a murder,” Henderson explained. Budsworth’s face turned cold with worry.

“Okay, where did it happen?”

“No worries, you don't have to go anywhere. It’s Francis José, the desk clerk of the B&B,” Henderson said. Budsworth looked down at the wound in his arm. It bled profusely. Blood gushed out onto the bed. The cut looked so clean, like as if someone had tried to cut him with a knife. A pain surged on his tattoo. Budsworth unbuttoned his shirt, and looked at it. A red mark now crossed one of the fox’s forelegs, as if a knife had cut it, much like the cut in his arm.

A high pitched howl sounded through the walls of the B&B. Budsworth looked out the window down at the road below. The same pair of intimidating red eyes glowed at him before they vanished amongst the darkness.