Read Online Night Terrors: Savage Species, Book 1 by Jonathan Janz - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Janz
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seat ,” Eric says and levels a finger at the cop, “and you need to keep your mouth shut. What’s your name?”
“Why weren’t you here?” Charly asks.
But the doorbell rings and Eric says, “Your boyfriend’s waiting.”
“Tell me the truth,” she says, voice stronger than it’s ever been with Eric.
He flaps a dismissive hand at them and goes out.
Charly glances up at the sheriff.
He shakes his head, “I’m sorry for blurting that out. I don’t know what came over me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Larry Robertson,” he says. “Call me Larry.”
She leans up and kisses him on the cheek. When she pulls away his blush is so deep his skin is the color of Merlot.
She gives him the best smile she can muster. “Thank you, Larry.”
This close, Jesse could see the peeling white paint, the sagging eaves that hung like gaudy earrings off a once-pretty actress’s aging lobes. Whatever money Red Elk had gotten from the state hadn’t been used on home repairs, that much was certain. Jesse brought the Canon up, snapped a couple shots of the house. From this range, he could get all of it in the frame and some of the woods too. The place was so deeply embedded out here in the forest, it seemed a part of it, as though the leprous white house had grown as naturally as a maple or an oak.
“What a dump,” Colleen said.
“Hey,” Jesse said under his breath. “Take it easy.”
Colleen stopped on a crumbling concrete archipelago that once might have been a sidewalk. “What?”
“Keep your voice down,” Jesse said.
“We in church all of a sudden?”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you should show a little more respect?”
“For what?”
“This house is probably all he has.”
“Then he should buy a new one.”
Emma had gone up to the screened door, was peering inside.
“He’s almost a full-blooded Algonquin,” Jesse explained. “His family’s lived here for generations.”
“In this?” Colleen asked, thumbing toward the house. “You claiming this used to be a wigwam or something?”
A shape moved behind a filmy window. Jesse shook his head, moved past Colleen. “Never mind.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“Or I happen to think the Native American has been treated badly for centuries.”
Colleen groaned. “Not that crap again. Look, have you oppressed anybody?”
Jesse’s mouth worked a moment. “Not directly, no, but my forefathers—”
“What forefathers?”
Emma looked up. Someone was at the door.
“I had an uncle moved here from Germany back in the seventies,” Colleen said. “Does that mean he should spend the rest of his life apologizing for Hitler?”
Jesse mouthed the word shush . The large silhouette stood unmovingly behind the screen door. Emma was staring up at the figure with unusual reticence.
Colleen went on, “I’m sorry this guy’s great-great-great grandparents got forced out by a bunch of people who happened to have the same skin color as me, but that doesn’t mean I have to walk around with a guilt complex the rest of my life.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Are you Mr. Red Elk?”
The figure didn’t respond. Jesse was gripped with the strange feeling that the man was watching him particularly, waiting on him to rebut Colleen’s argument.
“We’re from the paper,” Emma explained. “ The Shadeland Truth ?”
“Shannon Whirry,” the figure said in a deep, resonant voice.
Emma glanced back at them, disconcerted. She turned to the man standing in the screen door. “My name’s Emma Cayce,” she said. “This is Jesse—”
“You’ve got her tits,” the voice said.
Emma drew back. “Excuse me?”
“Shannon Whirry was one of the biggest soft-porn stars of the nineties. She had these perfectly formed breasts. Milky skin, a little beauty mark on the side of her face…”
“Mr. Red Elk,” Emma said, “we’ve come to talk to you about the new park. We wanted to get some insight into the history of this
“Why weren’t you here?” Charly asks.
But the doorbell rings and Eric says, “Your boyfriend’s waiting.”
“Tell me the truth,” she says, voice stronger than it’s ever been with Eric.
He flaps a dismissive hand at them and goes out.
Charly glances up at the sheriff.
He shakes his head, “I’m sorry for blurting that out. I don’t know what came over me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Larry Robertson,” he says. “Call me Larry.”
She leans up and kisses him on the cheek. When she pulls away his blush is so deep his skin is the color of Merlot.
She gives him the best smile she can muster. “Thank you, Larry.”
This close, Jesse could see the peeling white paint, the sagging eaves that hung like gaudy earrings off a once-pretty actress’s aging lobes. Whatever money Red Elk had gotten from the state hadn’t been used on home repairs, that much was certain. Jesse brought the Canon up, snapped a couple shots of the house. From this range, he could get all of it in the frame and some of the woods too. The place was so deeply embedded out here in the forest, it seemed a part of it, as though the leprous white house had grown as naturally as a maple or an oak.
“What a dump,” Colleen said.
“Hey,” Jesse said under his breath. “Take it easy.”
Colleen stopped on a crumbling concrete archipelago that once might have been a sidewalk. “What?”
“Keep your voice down,” Jesse said.
“We in church all of a sudden?”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you should show a little more respect?”
“For what?”
“This house is probably all he has.”
“Then he should buy a new one.”
Emma had gone up to the screened door, was peering inside.
“He’s almost a full-blooded Algonquin,” Jesse explained. “His family’s lived here for generations.”
“In this?” Colleen asked, thumbing toward the house. “You claiming this used to be a wigwam or something?”
A shape moved behind a filmy window. Jesse shook his head, moved past Colleen. “Never mind.”
“You’re too sensitive.”
“Or I happen to think the Native American has been treated badly for centuries.”
Colleen groaned. “Not that crap again. Look, have you oppressed anybody?”
Jesse’s mouth worked a moment. “Not directly, no, but my forefathers—”
“What forefathers?”
Emma looked up. Someone was at the door.
“I had an uncle moved here from Germany back in the seventies,” Colleen said. “Does that mean he should spend the rest of his life apologizing for Hitler?”
Jesse mouthed the word shush . The large silhouette stood unmovingly behind the screen door. Emma was staring up at the figure with unusual reticence.
Colleen went on, “I’m sorry this guy’s great-great-great grandparents got forced out by a bunch of people who happened to have the same skin color as me, but that doesn’t mean I have to walk around with a guilt complex the rest of my life.”
Emma cleared her throat. “Are you Mr. Red Elk?”
The figure didn’t respond. Jesse was gripped with the strange feeling that the man was watching him particularly, waiting on him to rebut Colleen’s argument.
“We’re from the paper,” Emma explained. “ The Shadeland Truth ?”
“Shannon Whirry,” the figure said in a deep, resonant voice.
Emma glanced back at them, disconcerted. She turned to the man standing in the screen door. “My name’s Emma Cayce,” she said. “This is Jesse—”
“You’ve got her tits,” the voice said.
Emma drew back. “Excuse me?”
“Shannon Whirry was one of the biggest soft-porn stars of the nineties. She had these perfectly formed breasts. Milky skin, a little beauty mark on the side of her face…”
“Mr. Red Elk,” Emma said, “we’ve come to talk to you about the new park. We wanted to get some insight into the history of this