Free Multiples of Six by Andy Rane Page A

he reached for the handle, it gave a little too much and the door pushed open with little effort. He called out weakly and then cleared his throat to try again.
    “James?” he said, though still not very loudly. He stood just inside the door and listened. He thought he could hear someone talking and called again. The talking stopped. Samuel walked further into the dark kitchen. He glanced around nervously. There were a few dirty dishes in the sink, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary. No sign of struggle, no pool of blood. He glanced at the dinette and stopped once again. The teacup was placed at the edge of the table. The spoon was still in it, steam rising steadily from the lip. He heard the voice again, coming from the living room. It sounded a lot like James’, which emboldened him.
    “James?” he called louder and strode to the living room.
    When he rounded the corner, he saw a man with his back to him, sitting hunched on an ottoman in the middle of the room. It was James; at least, it looked like James. It was hard for Samuel to tell, without his glasses. But, this man had the same hunch in his shoulders that made James appear to be about an inch shorter than he probably was. But, he was dressed like Samuel had never seen him dress before. And, there was something about his hair. Something not quite right. He realized the man must be on the phone, and he spoke again, with somewhat less conviction.
    “I’m sorry to bother you, James--” but the man, James, cut him off by standing up and suddenly speaking very loud. It confused Samuel.
    “I said, there’s an intruder in my house!”
    The man spun around on his heels with his arms spread out to both sides so suddenly that Samuel staggered and dropped his newspaper. This was not James. At least, this was no James he knew. His eyes didn’t need to be in focus, nor did they need the full light of day to know this was not James. But, it could have been his grandfather. Then, the spell was broken by what he knew to be a gun in the man’s left hand.
    “James…you’re not…”
    “Thank you,” the man whispered, and he quickly raised the barrel of the gun. Samuel barely had time to register the pain of the first two rounds when the third brought darkness.

 
    Chapter 13
    When he awoke, Dr. Fred Taylor reached for his neck, half expecting to find a large hole oozing what remained of his blood onto his neck. Much to his temporary relief, though still painful, his hand came back sans blood. Then he remembered why he was prone, what he had just been doing. He sat up quickly, a flash of white light tearing at his eyes and head. He wavered a moment, trying to blink away the pain. He couldn’t see for the stars, but he heard a voice behind him.
    “The good doctor rises,” the man said.
    The sarcasm was evident to Dr. Taylor, but when he responded, he was in no way fit to question its reasoning. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on his words.
    “Who are you?” Taylor asked.
    “I am your goddamn guardian angel, Doc.”
    Dr. Taylor tried to think through the pain in his head. It was letting up, or perhaps he was just growing used to it. He opened his eyes again, just a crack. He was no longer in the Masterson house; that much was certain. He still could not see the man who was speaking to him. He decided that, for now, it didn’t matter anyway.
    “Where am I?” he asked.
    “At the rattiest little motel I could find in the area. They don’t even ask you if you want them super-sized, they just come that way,” said the man, who followed the remark with a hoarse laugh.
    “Why am I here, and not still on the floor in that house,” said Dr. Taylor.
    “Because I wasn’t hired to kill you. But, you got in my way, and now you’re going to help me finish the job,” the man said.
    “You weren’t following me?” Taylor asked.
    “No, but I guess I should have. I was right there…and you went and fucked it all up.”
    “It’s not