Hastily pulling into the driveway, the black Dodge pickup slammed to a violent stop, jerking forward and then falling silent as the engine was cut off. Trevor Poole grabbed the key from the ignition, opened the door, and stopped out of the truck quickly slamming the door closed behind him.
His two story blue house stood before him now dark and inviting. He knew that inside his house awaited heat, which was paradise compared to the torturing cold that was currently plaguing the outside world. The cold had been lingering over the town of Greenwood for the last three months and he was sick and tired of it. He wanted it gone; he wanted to be gone, away from this godforsaken town.
He had seen too many goddamn things in this town and he was ready to finally leave it behind. But his luck was awful and he damn well knew that that wasn't going to happen yet. His house stood dark and empty before him, with no lights on and only the sounds of the wind to welcome him home. He looked down and fumbled with his keychain until he finally found the small silver speck on the chain that would allow him to end his day in peace.
Unconscious of the cold rain that fell on him or the brisk wind made into a tunnel within his driveway or even the cold digging into his crying skin, but Trevor was aware of the front porch. Turning to face it, he held his head down in his black overcoat, with the long sleeved red shirt hiding underneath and started his walk towards the porch with his thoughts focused on the sweet heat waiting inside.
"Detective Poole?" A firm voice from behind him asked, only feeding Trevor's anger from the day. He turned on his heels and came face to face with a men cloaked in black with his head down and hidden beneath a hood.
"Yeah, that's me," Trevor replied, rolling his eyes and releasing a gasp. "Who are you and what may I do for you this evening sir?" He looked at the man from around the high collar of the coat.
"You don't know me detective but I know you pretty well," the man answered in a deep voice. "I cannot alter your future for you, nor can I put you in the right path." Trevor looked at him with a worried look. "Yes, Trevor," the man smiled happily, "I know the truth behind everything you're done. And that's why I'm warning you now and now not enter your house."
"You're insane old man," Trevor laughed unbelievingly. "You can't keep me out of my own house."
"I told you I couldn't," the man repeated, "but I can warn you not to enter that house. You will reap the havoc of hell if you do detective."
"Pah!" Trevor waved it away with a backwards twist of his hand. "There is nothing to know about me." Trevor was surprised that his voice didn't shake. "And I'm through talking to you. Leave my yard or I'll be forced to arrest you for trespassing." Trevor turned and was surprised that his boots found the three brick steps leading to the main door that he used the key to unlock and then pushed open. "Crazy old man. There is nothing you have against me!" When he turned back around, the man was gone.
Laughing, he closed the door behind him and sighed in relief. He had finally escaped the torment of the freezing cold October air outside. Throwing his keys on the entry table, Trevor noticed that two lamps on the wall by the door were on and shining brightly, casting shadows over his face. "Huh, I must have left them on." Ignoring the lamps, Trevor pulled off his overcoat and threw it over the back of the high-backed chair sitting next to the entry table.
Hanging over his shoulders was a hoister with a black sixteen-shot magnum swinging by his chest. For ten years he had been a detective in Greenwood and did this city thank him, no it just screwed him over every time. His eyes fell upon the newspaper that was fitted into a glass case on the hallway wall. Despite the heat, Trevor shivered as he read the headline.
FOUR DEAD AS HOUSE BURNS ON EDISTO CHILD, 23, OF VICTIMS IS RUSHED TO HOSPTIAL WITH SEVERE 3RD DEGREE CHILD DIES TWO DAYS LATER FROM EXTENSTIVE BURNS COVERING HIS BODY.
"Three years ago," Trevor whispered sadly as he finished reading the headline, as he did every night. "And still it haunts me. The house of Karl Dean." The face of Karl Dean, Trevor's old partner haunted his dreams every night.
Before he took another step, Trevor finally opened the collar of his shirt, suddenly realizing the blistering heat that filled his house. It felt as if a furnace had been turned and left on for a week or two.
Forcing his feet to move in the heat, Trevor walked out of the entry hall and turned into the doorway of his den. Surprise took him as he saw the high-flamed fire raging in his fireplace; a fire that he would never have left on. The only light was from the fire that cast twisting shadows along the walls and that's when Trevor realized that he wasn't alone.
Spinning on his heels inside the doorway to the den, Trevor turned sideways with the pistol cocked and held firmly in his grasp. The gun was pointed at the man who was clad in shadow, sitting on the far side of the room, two feet from the fire, in a chair. He sat cross-legged, with his right elbow on the armrest, his hand supporting his chin, with his expression and face hidden in darkness.
"Who are you?" Trevor demanded angrily, pointing the magnum at the man in the chair. "And what the hell are you doing in my house?" Trevor's finger longingly hovered in front of the trigger; he hadn't fired the gun in quite some time.
"Relax Trevor," the cloaked stranger said. "Sit." He motioned to the couch with a quick wave of his hand, which Trevor horrifyingly realized resembled a claw. Sitting down with the pistol still directed at the stranger, Trevor wasn't sure what to believe anymore. "Drink." The stranger motioned to the glass of wine on the table but Trevor pushed it away, never taking his eyes from the chair.
"Who are you?"
"Call me Kyle," the stranger answered in a calm, cracked voice. Kyle had been sitting here in this blistering heat for quite some time yet he still wore the long black robes and hood that covered him now. Trevor couldn't seem to take the heat another minute. "You look uncomfortable Trevor. Is the heat bothering you?"
Swallowing hard and undoing the top buttons of his shirt, Trevor shook his head with a forced laugh. "No, of course not."
"Good," Kyle replied in an amused voice. "Because it'll be everywhere where you're going Trevor." He laughed in a strained voice at the sight of Trevor's horrified face.
Trevor thought for a moment and then looked at Kyle with a worried faces, his eyes darting back and forth in fear. "That name," he started, leaning forward with bewilderment on his face. "It sounds."
"Familiar," Kyle finished in that same calm voice. "You know who I am Trevor; you're known for three years. But you're too blind to the truth to see it." At this, Trevor bound to his feet, gripping the pistol handle harder.
"I know who you are," Trevor replied in a sad, whispered voice. "You were in that fire on Edisto Street. You're Kyle Dean, 23, my late partner's oldest son." Kyle slowly nodded and leaned back in satisfaction. "No, you can't be here. You died in the hospital three years ago. You're dead."
"Ah, I see you remember now," Kyle said smiling as he uncrossed his legs and stood up. Trevor gasped in horror as Kyle's grayish-white face became visible and fell back onto the couch with the pistol wavering for the first time in his hands. The whites of Kyle's eyes were blood red; the pupils dark blue and penetrating to the soul. A smile was twisted on his burnt lips. "It's true.I am dead. But you can't face reality Trevor. All I want is an did you burn the house down? Why did you kill us?"
"No, this can't be happening," Trevor sobbed uncertainly. "I buried everything and everyone that linked me to that fire. I buried you and your family to hide it. How can you be here? Your father took everything away from me." Trevor yelled angrily as he looked at Kyle's twisted features. "Five years of planning to become department chief and in a year your father ripped that away from me!"
"So, it takes jealousy and revenge to become a murderer!"
"I am no murderer!" Trevor yelled back furiously. "You weren't supposed to die! None of you were! I didn't want this!" He sobbed as he got back to his feet. "I didn't want any of this! You're supposed to be all buried.I buried that case!" Kyle started across the den carpet with his boots scraping across it and his cloak ruffling behind him. "What are you?"
In complete terror and anger, Trevor unconsciously pulled back the trigger of the pistol twice and watched in disbelief as the two bullets disappeared into Kyle's robes; the man never stopped or slowed his walk. In fact, the burned smirk on his face slowly began to widen as Trevor's entire body began to tremble.
"Consider me a greeter, Trevor," Kyle answered as he stopped in front of the detective. "A greeter for Hell." He smiled as one of his claw-like hands gradually began to close around Trevor's neck. "A harvester of a kind. I hope you enjoy the heat."
Trevor slowly slipped into unconsciousness and all he could do was wish he hadn't thrown his keys onto the entry table. If only he had put them in his pocket, he might have been able to escape this God awful town. All he wanted was to feel the cold wind and freezing rain outside his house once again.