Free Dead Insider by Victoria Houston

around the corner …
    Six packages, each wrapped in white butcher paper and banded with white tape, were piled on the floor mat on the passenger side floor of Stan’s pickup. Roger leaned in for a good look as Stan held his lantern over the mound of roast-size parcels.
    “Think it would be okay for us to rescue these?” asked Stan with a hopeful grin.
    “Can’t imagine why not,” said Roger. “Given where all the water’s going, it’s you and me, or the Tomorrow River, right? Still frozen?” he asked, reaching as he spoke. The package he grabbed gave under pressure from his fingers. “Oh, oh, this one’s thawed. What about the one you got there?”
    Stan squeezed another package. “This one, too. Well, maybe they’re no good, huh?”
    “Oh, hell, I wouldn’t say that,” said Roger. “Let’s check. If they smell okay, just cook ’em up in the next day or two. Don’t you think?”
    “Yeah. Sounds good to me. Maybe we should see what we got, huh?”
    “I got better light in the squad car,” said Roger. “Bring a couple over there and we’ll take a look. I’ve got some old newspaper we can use in case the meat oozes.”
    Under the dome light in the Loon Lake Police squad car, each man laid a section of newspaper on their laps before using a pocketknife to slice through the tape securing the white packages. Roger had the smaller of the two, so he got his unwrapped first. He stared down.
    The thing was six inches long with black specks of blood on what appeared to be a scattering of light brown hairs over white skin. He thought he saw tendons exposed on one end but he couldn’t be sure. The foreleg of a fawn, maybe?
    Stan never said a word after opening his. He leapt from the car, vomiting through hoarse, strange cries. Roger looked down at the contents of the package Stan had thrown off his lap onto the floor of the squad car.
    “Argh,” he choked, too stunned to scream as he scrambled backwards out of the vehicle.
    Nestled in its crumpled white butcher paper wrapping was a human head: eyes half closed, blood oozing from the severed neck, black hair matted tight to the skull. He didn’t wait to see if it was male or female. It sure as hell was not a venison roast.

Chapter Nine
    “Dad, we won’t let you do this. You’re killing yourself.” Erin shook him by the shoulders, her words torn with sobs.
    “We love you, Dad. Please, don’t you want to see Erin’s kids grow up?” Tears were streaming down Mallory’s cheeks as she echoed her younger sister’s pleadings. In the distance, Osborne could hear the siren of the ambulance they had called to take him to rehab …
    The trill of a cell phone pierced the quiet of the bedroom.
    “Damn,” said Lew, fumbling for her phone on the nightstand to her left. “What?” At the sound of her voice, Osborne realized with relief that he had been deep into a nightmare. Rehab was behind him. He was sober. Laughter and smiles had replaced his daughters’ anguish.
    Raising himself up on one elbow beside Lew, Osborne could hear the terror in the voices shouting over the phone. He watched Lew’s face as she tried to make sense of what sounded like absolute chaos.
    “Slow down, Roger. I can’t make out what you’re saying. Breathe. Who’s that other person shouting? Hold on, let me call you back on the landline. I can hear better.”
    Leaping naked from the bed, Lew ran to the kitchen for Osborne’s ancient phone mounted on the wall near the sink. He grabbed her robe from the hook on the door and chased after her, throwing it over her shoulders as she punched in Roger’s number.
    “What—” he started to ask, but she shook her head and raised a finger for him to stay silent. He checked the clock on the wall: 2:20 A.M . Pitch black outside. A light patter of rain on the roof.
    “Okay, Roger, start over. But first tell me this: Do you need an ambulance? Has someone been hurt?” She listened. “Dead … no question? No, I believe you. Please stop