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ZZaannddrraa WW.. BBoossiiee

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Chapter One

Cedar View City – Thursday, Present Day

Lorin Brennal braced herself for the

dropping temperature as she listened to the

metal hum of her rolling garage door

disappearing overhead. Swiftly, she tucked her

head down a bit and steadied herself as the

tips of her two-and-a-half inch heels greeted

the concrete driveway. Strands of her hair

whipped about her face as biting winds lifted

the sleek sides of her bobbed haircut. She

blinked furiously. Had it not been for the

package she had been waiting for, Lorin would

have opted for sunnier skies to check the mail.

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Already feeling the drag of her weight slowing

her down, she wished she‟d changed into tennis

shoes.

Approaching the metal curbside boxes she

turned her body slightly, positioning her key

to open box number fourteen. Struggling to

focus through blurry eyes, she fumbled with the

lock.

After a quick wiggle, Lorin was finally

able to open the box, exposing what she‟d

already guessed would be there...an over-

abundance of mail overflowing the small space.

Surely the package had arrived, she thought.

Quickly, she reached inside and began

collecting the contents.

On any other day, Lorin would have

casually shuffled through grocery sales,

advertisements, and letters as she strolled

down her quiet street, across her driveway, and

up through her front yard. She would have

stopped dead in her tracks in front of her

pitiful dying cypress tree to shoot it a

disappointed look. She may have even waved at

her neighbor, Lena Quinn...or ignored the

disgustingly hormonal gestures of woman

predator Byron Kennett down the street.

But Lena Quinn wasn‟t outside today.

Lady violator, Byron Kennett, was nowhere to be

seen. With that kind of chill in the air, no

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one in their right mind would be. The sudden

winter snap proved to be too much for the

inhabitants of the neo-bustling city, turning

what would have been a leisurely stroll into a

forge straight ahead; to get inside to warmth

as quickly as possible.

Hastening her steps, Lorin walked back

through the garage into her home. In the

kitchen she hurriedly dropped the mail on the

counter. She didn‟t have to check the

thermostat to know that it was only slightly

less cold inside the house than outside. She

felt the icy coolness on the smooth surface of

her copper sunset quartz counter. It occurred

to Lorin that she hadn‟t adjusted the

thermostat earlier that morning.

Slightly irritated at her own lack of

preparation, she filled the teapot with water

and placed it on the stove, abruptly turning

her attention towards the task of opening the

mail.

Arranging each envelope in order or

importance, Lorin impatiently flipped items

from the front of the stack to the back of it.

Doing so, Lorin uncovered a larger

envelope with her name and address neatly

written across the front. Could this have been

what she waiting for? But the envelope was too

thin...from the outside it looked as if there

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was nothing inside it at all. And the

handwriting...well it certainly did not belong

to her soon to be ex-husband, Mauree. Quickly

she turned it over to check for any signs of a

sender, but found nothing.

Sliding her thumb between the sealed

flap, she opened it to reveal a single piece of

folded white paper. Opening it, Lorin

discovered that the page was completely blank

except for a single number written in the

center. Fifty-Two.

“Fifty-Two?” Lorin mumbled, glaring at

the number on the paper as if it would expose

itself. For a moment, she stood in

place...perplexed. She didn‟t know whether to

be amused or worried. Not knowing what to make

of it she folded the paper and slid it back

into the envelope, dropping it into her shred-

it pile with swift ease.

Maybe he changed his mind and decided not

to go through with it after all....she thought.

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Almost four weeks had passed since she‟d

stood in the doorway of the home that she and

Mauree once shared. Moments felt like hours to

Lorin that day when she stood, stone stiff,

watching Mauree as he‟d prepared to back out of

the driveway and out of their failing marriage

for good....pretending with all her might to

appear unaffected. Lorin had watched him

closely while he paused after shifting gears,

placing his Yukon in reverse. He wasn‟t

drunk...to her surprise, and neither was he

angry which also came as a shock.

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Lorin observed Mauree‟s full lips pressed

together tightly, looking in every direction

except hers; something he did subconsciously

when he wanted to say something more but

couldn‟t find the words. Finally his tinted

driver‟s side window hummed quietly, slowly

exposing his face as he leaned out.

“The lawyer says the paperwork is done.”

he‟d casually announced. “I’m on my way out of

town on business, but I’ll mail it

tomorrow...that way you’ll have a chance to

look it over. We can work out the rest when I

get back.” Mauree took a deep breath,

preparing himself for what to say next, but

decided against it.

Lorin didn‟t say a word and didn‟t flinch

an inch. She‟d been shocked by his indifference

but couldn‟t find the words for a reply. All

she could muster was a silent nod...up once,

down once in acknowledgement.

As he‟d backed out into the street, Lorin

felt a stabbing pain in her back, between her

shoulder blades. She‟d almost flagged him

down, but didn‟t want to make their not-so-

happy ending more dramatic than it had to be.

Thinking the pain would go away with

rest, she let Mauree drive off without

incident. By midnight that same night she

could barely stand upright, and had driven

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herself to Cedar View‟s emergency room where

she was admitted to the hospital.

Lorin had been more than prepared to deal

with the divorce since it had come as no

surprise. She was not, however, prepared to

deal with what she‟d learned from doctors that

day.

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Leaning against the bar, Lorin peered out

into her living room.

Her favorite zamiocalcus, otherwise known

as her jungle palm, sat in the corner. Dusted

and shiny, its leaves exhibited the perfect

variation of glossy green richness. To the

right, Lorin‟s black bambusa table presented a

neat display of perfectly placed pillar candles

next to the remote control holder. Her precise

placement of the pomegranate, tangerine, and

wheat colored soy candles provided the illusion

of a perfectly relaxed environment.

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Every art piece, poignantly but

purposefully abstract and brilliantly colored

in sparkly earth tones, the indigo and violet

glass piece commanding attention on the

mantelpiece, the strategically placed Bimini

Island weaved throw pillows on the sofa…all

were added to give her home contrast…to make it

interesting and alive. Everything she gazed

upon was just that...textured, interesting,

alive, and perfect. More important...in

perfect order.

Everything that is, except for Lorin.

Soon, she found herself listening to the

silence of her home; trying to pin-point

exactly when it was that she lost her

texture...when she went from being Lorin full

of life to Lorin full of silence.

She looked down at the smiley face

painted in black on her cherished yellow mug.

Two black dots for eyes looked straight at her.

A wide letter U drawn in for a smile gleamed

happiness. She stifled the urge to ask it

why...why it would still smile at her when

after all these years she refused to smile

back. After all, her reason for smiling left a

long time ago...along with the bearer of her

cherished mug.

By now her teapot whistled impatiently,

indicating that her water was boiled to

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perfection. Pouring steaming water over her

teabag, she leaned over slowly as the aroma of

sweet ginger and peach danced above her cup.

Instinctively, she inhaled slowly and deeply.

Regrettably, she thought, enjoying a cup of hot

tea seemed to be the only part of the old Lorin

that she still carried with her.

With tea in hand, she tipped upstairs to

her bedroom where she found her robe and

favorite warm pajamas and prepared for her

bath.

Sloshing her fingers around in the water

to stir up more bubbles, Lorin began to think

about the number fifty-two written on the

paper.

Had someone intended to write a letter,

but just forgot to do the most important

thing...which would be to actually write?

She pondered the ridiculous idea, wincing

as she eased into the almost too-hot-to-bear

soapy water. Relaxing into it, she slid down a

bit to let her head rest on her bath pillow.

As she did, the number fifty-two slowly

eased its way back to the forefront of her

mind, this time bringing with it an

announcement of tragic proportions. The

resurrection of memories she had long ago

buried.

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Lorin sat in the bathtub still and quiet,

allowing ghosts from the past to materialize.

Fifty-Two...she whispered, declaring yet

questioning the number at the same time.

Scooping up a handful of suds, she squeezed

lightly, letting them fall back in the water,

watching the light ripple of the tub‟s floating

surface as her thigh interrupted the water‟s

flow.

Fifty-Two...she said aloud, this time

with a greater sense of clarity.

Indeed, the number fifty-two held a

specific placeholder in her past history. But

that was a lifetime ago.

Disturbed, she sat up too quickly,

causing a cascade of frothy bubbles to slide

over the side and splash to the floor.

After all this time, she wondered, the

number fifty-two shouldn’t mean anything to

anybody anymore, should it?

No, she thought and slid back down. The

past is just the past she concluded, letting

the suds tickle her chin as she reached over to

grab her cup.

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In bed, Lorin fidgeted and stared at the

clock. The glowing green display read 9:48

p.m. Reluctantly, she grabbed the phone and

began dialing Mauree‟s cell number. This she

could put off no longer.

When he had come to see her in the

hospital, he was visibly different, she noted.

The same man who had nonchalantly backed out of

the driveway that day, as if it were just

another day, was not the same man who‟d

appeared in her hospital room a week later.

Mauree had lost weight; his face was beginning

to show hard lines where there they were once

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smooth. Hollow spaces replaced his once full

cheeks and she could see them sunken in.

Normally defiant in his stance, he‟d shifted

uncomfortably from one leg to the other as he

stood next to her hospital bed.

Lorin remembered how he reached out for

her hand nervously, as if he‟d never touched

her before. No mention was made from him about

what they‟d „work out‟. In fact, he‟d made no

mention of divorce at all. No indeed, Mauree

was not the same.

Aunt Tessa told me ummm...about the

ummm...well you know. He’d told her.

...And I know we’ve got this thing going

on between us, but for something like

this...you could have still called me.

Even then she‟d managed to lie. Telling

him she didn‟t want him to worry was more

comfortable than saying what they both knew to

be true...that the lie was born from something

much bigger.

But what could she possibly say to him

now? Too much time had passed with too much

water under the bridge. A conversation with him

now would most certainly turn into a finger-

pointing match about who should bear fault in

their bitter-ended marriage. For Lorin, the

mere thought of having that discussion was

exhausting. Taking the low road, she

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positioned her thumb over the end call button.

As much as she wanted to put the whole thing to

rest, maybe it would be best to talk to Mauree

another time.

Seconds later the phone rang, startling

Lorin so badly she almost jumped out of her

skin. When she brought the phone closer, she

was able to read the caller ID display. It was

definitely not Mauree.

Unknown number Unknown name flashed

across the screen.

Lorin recognized the same mysterious

unknown caller that had appeared in her call

history several times a week, who never left a

message. Aggravated, Lorin returned the phone

to its cradle.

An hour passed and Lorin found it

impossible to sleep. The long soak in the tub

should‟ve helped, but didn‟t. Sipping on hot

tea didn‟t do the trick either.

To add to her frustration, she had other

needs that required attention. The empty space

next to her on the bed was cold; the comforter

pulled tightly and tucked with no sign of life.

If there was any doubt before, those

doubts could now be dispelled. Worst had come

to worst.

Then the thought crossed Lorin‟s mind

that maybe she should call Mauree...only not to

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talk about the divorce. At the very least,

with Mauree there she would have a warm body to

cuddle next to.

Perhaps he felt the same way too, she

considered...and just for one night we

could...she began to reason.

Lorin reached out to grab the phone, but

something on the nightstand caught her eye.

She pushed the base over to reveal her

bible sitting right where she‟d left it;

bookmark still partially visible...holding her

spot on Mark 1:40-45. Placing it beside her,

she opened it and slowly began to read.

Now, mentally sobered and thinking more

clearly, Lorin realized that she had allowed

her thoughts to take her to places she wasn‟t

ready to go to yet.

Now is not the time to confuse things,

she concluded, and slid out of bed, positioning

herself on her knees. With bowed head, she

prayed then got back into bed.

Sleep did come for Lorin finally, but

horrible dreams filled the rest of her night.

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At precisely 5:00 a.m. the next morning

her phone rang, jolting Lorin out of her sleep.

“Hello?” she answered groggily, her

voice low.

From the other end of the line all she

heard was dead air.

“Hello?” she asked again, but received

no reply.

At the exact moment she moved the phone

away from her ear, Lorin heard what sounded

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like the tip of a fingernail scratch across a

microphone.

She glanced at the caller ID display.

Unknown number Unknown name.

Lorin spoke again, this time nearly

hurling her words at the caller.

“Ahhh...hello!?” she demanded, pressing

the her lips directly against the mouthpiece.

Enough was enough. “Who is this?”

Anxiously, Lorin waited for a response.

She was certain that this was no bill

collector, sales call, survey, or telemarketer.

After a brief moment, Lorin heard static

interference and another fingernail scratch.

Then...Lorin wasn‟t sure if her

imagination was running away with her in the

haze of early morning sleepiness, but she was

almost certain someone chuckled. A menacing,

distorted chuckle.

This was no recording of any kind. Lorin

was now positive that there was someone on the

other end of the line.

Lorin raised the volume of her voice by a

whole decibel.

“Look! Whoever you are...STOP calling

my phone!”

Without hesitation and with great

irritation Lorin hung up quickly and flipped

over in bed, determined to go back to sleep for

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another hour.

Little did she know as she nestled

underneath the warmth of her covers, that she

would wake up later to forces that would change

her life forever.

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Chapter Two

Placette County, February 1979

When sixty year old Ethel Wilkins heard

the loud boom blast from near the side of the

house, her heart sank. Sitting at the piano in

the front room that cold February night, she

knew...before ever sliding the piano bench

behind her to stand, that her husband was dead.

By the time Placette County Constable

Joseph Kilvarin‟s rear wheel drive topped the

snowy hill at the driveway of the Wilkens

residence, he‟d already been delayed by hours

due to impassible roads caused by ice and snow.

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By now rigor would have already set in,

but the freezing temperature decelerated the

process as Jebodi Wilkens lifeless body lay

face down, covered in sheets of snow.

Leaving the vehicle running with the

headlights illuminating the carport, Joseph

began to walk near Jebodi‟s parked yellow

Chevy. Immediately he spotted Jebodi‟s muck

boots, the right one almost completely hanging

off of Jebodi‟s foot.

Layers of packed snow crunched underneath

Joseph‟s feet as he inched closer. Approaching

the back of the truck slowly, he directed his

Kel-light above Jebodi‟s boots, up the back of

his legs, then up his buttocks and back,

finally to rest on Jebodi shoulders and the

back of his head.

“Christ, Jeb...” Constable Kilvarin

uttered, shaking his head pitifully as he

examined the hollow area adjacent the side of

Jebodi‟s bloodied left ear. Illuminating the

immediate area around him, Joseph scanned the

snowy ground saturated with blood; his

flashlight catching fragments of Jebodi‟s flesh

and bone splattered about.

Behind him, the constable positioned the

light beam towards the clearing further out on

the north end of the Wilkens property...in the

direction that the gunshot would have come

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from. While he could not see them, he heard

Jebodi‟s dogs barking out behind the back

fence.

With the weather forecast having promised

more snow, and faced with a full night ahead;

adding to that the challenge of having limited

resources and manpower, Joseph knew before the

case was officially opened that it would be a

tough one.

On the front porch, Ethel pulled her coat

tightly around her. Guttural moans formed in

the back of her throat, escaping between her

lips in an agonizing plea to her Father God.

“Stay in the house, Miss Ethel!”

Constable Kilvarin yelled, standing up quickly

to make his way back to his vehicle to call in

the coroner.

“My sympathies, Miss Ethel. Jebodi was a

good man.” Constable Kilvarin said as he

entered the Wilkens home, shaking the snow off

of his hat.

“Don‟t you worry, we plan to do all we

can to find the man who did this to your

husband.” He said to Ethel who she sat rocking

and crying on the piano bench.

Try...they did. Find the murderer...they

did not. The weather conditions in Placette

County proved to be their greatest obstacle.

With an entire day of snowy weather, and ice

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and snow that continued to blanket the roads

the night of the murder, all tracks had been

covered several times over.

Situated almost three-hundred miles north

of Cedar View, in the beautiful rural hill

region of Placette County, the Wilken‟s home

sat on a stretch of land near what would later

become neighbor to the burgeoning suburbs of

Cedar View.

With their home being so far away from

the main road...so far away from everyone else,

no one except Ethel heard the fatal shot.

Jebodi Wilken‟s murder would become a Placette

County cold case.

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One week later, eight-year-old Lorin

Wilkens jumped up from the front room floor

where she‟d been laying near the piano on an

egg crate foam pallet covered by two contoured

sheets and three hand-made quilts. Quickly,

she sprinted into her grandmother‟s bedroom.

Throwing her body on the firm softness of

her nana‟s high post bed, she quickly announced

that Pappa and Bruce were on the other side of

the bedroom door and were about to walk inside

any second now. “They were right behind me!”

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she assured.

Ethel Wilkins moved her horn rimmed

glasses away from her face and laid them in the

fold of the bible sitting on her lap; her mouth

stopped short of gaping open. She stared at

her precious granddaughter, searching her face

for a hint of the truth.

“How do you know that, baby?” Ethel

probed gingerly, knowing that Lorin was a

serious child who was not prone to make up

stories.

“I saw them. They walked in through the

front door, right past the fireplace. Pappa

said What are you doing on that cold floor?”

“He did, huh? Maybe you thought you saw

him?”

“No I was wide awake. He was holding his

hunting gun and wore that red checkered shirt

that he wears. Bruce was right with him

wagging his tail. I told Pappa that I was

drawing a picture but I was supposed to be in

here with you already. He said Is that right?

I told him Yes sir. Then I got up and ran in

here… and they were right behind me.” Lorin‟s

eyes never left the door. She was waiting for

Pappa and Bruce to walk in.

Ethel took a long hard look at the child

sitting on the bed, wide-eyed, with her legs

crossed tightly. She knew, without saying

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another word, that Lorin was telling the truth.

With her jaw tightly clenched, Ethel

eased off of the bed, gently placing her socked

feet into her slippers. Stepping off of the

rug onto the cool, smoothly waxed wooden floor,

she positioned herself so that she could

examine the doorway opening…giving herself just

enough space to get a clear view into the front

room.

There was absolutely no one on the other

side of the door, no one walking through the

doorway, and because Jebodi Wilkens had been

buried underneath Cedar View‟s rich red soil

the week before, he would never be seen again.

The likelihood of Bruce being in the

house was slim to none. Like several times

before, he had somehow dug a hole under the

fence and Ethel figured he had probably lost

his way in the cold.

“Here, lay down!” Ethel drew the sheet

back for Lorin. “There‟s nothing out there,

baby. I think you probably miss your pappa and

in your mind you thought you were really seeing

him. And Bruce, well he got under that fence

again, but I‟m sure he‟ll be back soon. He

always finds his way home. Go on and lay down.

Everything‟s alright.”

Confused, but unable to express how she

felt about what she saw, Lorin leaned back into

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the lavender scented pillow as Ethel fought for

a comfortable position on her side of the bed;

her larger body weighing down the mattress,

causing Lorin‟s side of the bed to shift

slightly.

“Night Nana.” Lorin whispered quietly.

“Night baby. Get you some sleep, hear?”

That‟s exactly what Lorin tried to do,

but night noises, cracking walls, shifting wood

and the wind howling against the window kept

her ears tuned in.

Swimming through the air, her Aunt

Tessa‟s words from her Pappa‟s funeral floated

around her head. „Go ahead…’ she could hear

her say „…Touch his face. There’s nothing to

be scared of…‟

To Lorin, there had been plenty to be

scared of. Just a week before, Jebodi Wilken‟s

dulled ashen skin was stretched over his face

severely, resembling an exaggerated wax dummy

rendition of himself…looking nothing like the

man she just saw in the front room moments

before. Her Aunt Tessa had softly grabbed

Lorin‟s hand in an attempt to place it on

Jebodi‟s cheek to make Lorin less afraid. But

Lorin had quickly snatched it back. She had

been very afraid.

Finally, Lorin willed Aunt Tessa‟s voice,

as well as all the night noises, to be silent

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and closed her eyes. Next to her, Ethel was

already sleeping.

With her eyes still closed, she started

counting backwards from one-hundred. She hoped

that she would be asleep before reaching fifty.

Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-

seven. Her limbs were starting to relax and

felt heavy. Seventy-three...seventy-

two...seventy-one... It was working. Sixty-

one...sixty...

And on she counted.

Fifty-six...Fifty-five...Fifty-four.

Until.

Fifty-three...

Something happened.

Fifty-Two...

Ethel‟s porch light gave off just enough

soft glow through the bedroom window to allow

Lorin‟s closed eyes to detect dim light in the

dark room.

That‟s when she felt it; the gentle brush

of air disturbed in an enclosed space. The kind

of brush one feels when a person quickly walks

past.

Then she saw it.

Slowly, a dark shadowy silhouette flashed

across her closed right eye, then the left.

Lorin‟s imagination ran wild with visions of

monsters, but her matured senses told her that

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it was a person, even though she was too afraid

to open her eyes and see.

Lorin instinctively felt that Ethel was

still lying next to her.

Now becoming more frightened, Lorin found

that she could not call out to her grandmother.

Paralyzed, she tried to reach out to touch

Ethel, but her arm wouldn‟t budge.

Lorin‟s little eyes followed the darkness

from underneath her closed lids, holding her

breath in horror while she waited for it to

make a sound.

Suddenly the black flashes stopped.

Stifling the urge to scream, Lorin

played the words of the Lord‟s prayer in her

head. Our Father who art in Heaven…

Something was there; it was not her

grandfather. It was not Jebodi Wilkens.

Minutes passed and Lorin finally summoned

the nerve to open her eyes, scanning the room

slowly. All was still and quiet.

“Nana?!...” Lorin called.

Lorin touched Ethel softly. Ethel did

not stir. “Nana…are you awake?”

With a little more force, Lorin shook

Ethel. “Nana...I‟m scared.”

Where Ethel had been holding the covers

near her heavy bosom, her stiff fingers

clutched the sheet tightly and never lost their

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grip. Repeatedly, Lorin nudged Ethel‟s

shoulders. “Nana please wake up?”

...And on Lorin tried to rouse her

grandmother, repeatedly shaking Ethel.

Lorin‟s desperate plea went unanswered.

Ethel never moved and never opened her

eyes again.

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Silent Fifty-Two

Coming 2009

For more info, check out the website:

www.insidetheinvisiblebox.com

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