Page 27 of A Bloody Good Christmas

13

Sage

Aghast, Sage stood stock still in the middle of her garage. First Harper had disappeared, and now Irving too? To make matters worse, he’d destroyed her garage door. Had he run off because she’d offended him, or was he rushing off somewhere to help Harper?

“He did mention the town of Eight Oaks,” Sage muttered. “I suppose that would explain why he acted more strangely than usual.” His compulsions had been progressively positively throughout their extended time together, until now.

Possessing no other leads, Sage got into her car and headed in the direction of the municipality containing Irving’s least favorite number.

During her drive she wracked her brain for a reason behind Harper’s kidnapping. Why would her daughter be a target? Surely this act had nothing to do with Harper, or her for that matter. “Mark.” Sage said her late husband’s name like it was a curse word. Back in the garage, Irving had been trying to tell her that the fingerprints on the door matched the ones belonging to some men at Mark’s funeral. Sage remembered the sleazy looking fellows who were prematurely gorging themselves on the reception brownies. If anyone would be capable of criminal activities, it was them.

Sage wondered how Mark had known them. What could he have done to provoke them this way? A sense of dread came over Sage as she passed the sign for Eight Oaks. Had they taken Harper as a revenge plot? Panic welled inside Sage as she pictured her poor daughter tied up in some creepy basement.

She turned into the first side street she saw, signaling her car to the curb. “Now what am I supposed to do?” she whispered. Sage felt helpless. Eight Oaks was a significant sized town. Harper could be in any one of the countless houses. Not knowing what else to do, Sage got out of her car and approached the first property on the block. The only thing she could do was go house by house, ringing doorbells and asking if anyone had seen anything.

It was as she was walking up a driveway, careful of the obvious slick spots of ice, that a bright color in the distance caught her eye. Next door was a ranch with a huge wrap around porch. Leaning against one of the wooden posts that marked the entranceway, was a motorcycle. A yellow helmet dangled from its handlebars. The neon smudge Irving had pointed out came to mind.

“Prepare to be disemboweled!” A baritone voice rang from the direction of the ranch. There was no doubt in Sage’s mind, it was Irving.

On one hand, Sage was relieved. Irving must have been threatening the kidnappers, which meant he’d found Harper. Cameron’s comment about Irving’s fierce protectiveness resurfaced in Sage’s mind. On the other hand, she didn’t want anyone to be ripped to pieces, regardless of who they were.

Rushing up the stairs to the porch, Sage forewent the courtesy of knocking on the door. She flung it open to find a gruesome sight. The interior of the massive house would have appeared rustic and homey, if it wasn’t painted in spots of blood. Sage gulped, and followed the trail of blood to a parlor. It was there that she saw Harper crouched on the ground by a fireplace, watching in horror as Irving hauled a man across the room.

The man hit a wall so forcefully, a significant dent was left in the drywall. He cried out in pain as he landed on his side at the base of a leather sofa.

There was so much turmoil happening, no one seemed to notice Sage’s appearance. It was hard to tell for sure, as the men’s faces were beaten and bloodied, but they definitely bore resemblance to the mysterious people she’d seen at Mark’s service. Two of the men were lying unconscious on top of each other in a corner of the room. There was a dark stain beneath them. Sage feared the worst.

“Please! Please don’t kill me!” the man who’d just been hurdled into a wall begged and cowered as Irving mercilessly pursued him. Irving grabbed the man by his neck, lifting him up as though he had no weight. The sight was both terrifying and incredible. In comparison to the man he was clutching, Irving was slight in build. Physically, he didn’t look as though he’d be capable of lifting a larger man.

Red eyes aglow, Irving bore his spear-like fangs. “Do you see that stag head on the wall?” he said in a chilling voice.

The man released a choked yelp. “What the hell are you?” he said in a horrible gurgling voice.

Irving ignored the question. “I’m going to impale you on that stag’s antlers, after which I’ll drain you of your blood and chew through your neck. I will then mount your head on the wall like the animal you are!”

Sage was transfixed with terror. She couldn’t believe this violent monster she was seeing was the same Irving who’d, only just moments ago, almost had a panic attack after saying the word ‘eight.’ This creature wasn’t the gentle man she knew. He was possessed; rabid with rage.

Just as Irving was thrusting the man’s body toward the sharpened tips of the stag’s antlers, Sage found her voice. “Stop!” she cried.

Until that moment, her presence had gone unnoticed. She’d spoken out just in time. Irving halted his action just as the man’s back was about to be pierced by the antlers. The minute Irving laid eyes on Sage, his demeanor changed. His frightening red gaze extinguished, returning to the silvery-blue color she so adored. “Sage?” Irving dropped the man. “Oh dear,” he said after noticing the macabre scene before him.

As the attacked man clutched his throat and wheezed, Harper dashed from her place to embrace Sage. “Mom!” she exclaimed. It was the first time she’d referred to Sage by that name. Relieved, Sage wrapped her arms around her daughter.

“Y-you’re a monster!” Having recovered his breath, the man grappling on the floor peered fearfully up at Irving. “You killed Marco and Derek!”

“Did I?” Irving casually smoothed back his hair. He observed his blood-stained hands with curiosity. Kneeling by the seemingly unconscious men known as Marco and Derek, Irving poked the two of them, producing a pair of grunts. “No, they’re still alive,” he said. “For now,” he added with a devious grin.

“Who are you and what the hell were you doing with my daughter?” Sage demanded.

The man who still remained conscious told her his name was Morgan. “That cheapskate, Mark borrowed money from us and then paid us back in counterfeit cash,” he explained, hoarsely. “We’re part of an organization of sorts,” he went on.

“You mean a gang?” Irving corrected him.

“Whatever,” Morgan retorted. His snide irritated Irving. As a result he wound up with a heel in the side of his head. “Yeah, okay, we’re part of a gang!” he cried. He clutched his head and whimpered.

Sage was mortified by the news of her husband’s crooked ways. For someone who acted so pious, he certainly was a piece of shit.That goddamned hypocrite!Sage fumed. She continued to probe Morgan for more information. Anytime he seemed like he was lying or hiding something, Irving would employ methods of force.

These ‘methods of force’ proved persuasive. Morgan opened up about the night the gang tried to pick the lock of Sage’s door. Their plan had been to invade her house and kill Mark for his treachery. At that time they hadn’t realized that Mark was already dead. “We saw in the paper that he bit the dust in some car accident, so we decided to attend his funeral to see his body for ourselves. When we saw how lavish his service was, we knew he’d had the money to pay us back. That money should have been ours.”

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