Messages, a Psychological Thriller by Chris Dougherty

Author:Chris Dougherty [Dougherty, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers, Psychological Thrillers, Suspense, Paranormal, Psychological
Amazon: B005M66I9O
Publisher: Dougherty Books
Published: 2011-09-09T05:00:00+00:00

Lacey sits picking at her BLT club. She has eaten one-quarter of the sandwich and is now fishing the bacon from the remainder. She savors each crisp, salty piece, even as she turns Henry’s information over in her mind.

She would have thought that hearing what Henry had to say would have convinced her that James had…something…to do with what happened to the Simonellis. But now she finds that even with his corroborating–and disturbing–addition, she feels actually less inclined to believe. There must be some other explanation.

She shifts, drawing her legs up under her. The booth seat is comfortably worn vinyl with a shiny, laminate table. The entire diner sparkles with chrome edging. Lacey has never been here before, didn’t know about it–it is a tiny diner in the heart of Essex.

Henry sits across from her, half his French dip and most of his fries are gone. Lacey glances at his thin frame and wonders where he puts it.

The waitress comes by and asks if they need anything else. Her tone is cool, and she looks past them out the window as she takes Lacey’s glass for a refill.

“She’s kind of miserable,” Lacey says, pulling the last layer of her sandwich apart, hunting more bacon.

Henry glances absently at their waitress. She’s probably about as old as Henry’s mom–and she is stout without being fat. Her uniform looks like something straight out of the fifties, and her hair is big enough to match.

“She doesn’t like me,” Henry says, neutrally.

Lacey glances at the waitress and then back to Henry, frowning.

“Why?”

Henry fidgets with his fries, picking one up and dredging it through the ketchup but then putting it back down. He takes a deep breath and looks at Lacey.

“’Cause I’m not a good guy. You should probably know that right up front.”

Lacey shrugs and smiles cautiously. “You seem nice.”

Henry feels the need to tell her yes, yes, I am nice! Everyone is wrong about me! They’ve got it all wrong! But something even stronger makes him want to tell her the truth. To be as honest with her as he can.

“Well, I’m not. I was a bad kid. I did bad things.”

Lacey doesn’t say anything, but she is looking at him cautiously, and Henry hates that what he is going to say next will make that caution turn to out and out warning lights flashing at a million watts.

“I’ve been to jail for robbing houses.”

Lacey blinks, and her hands stop picking at the sandwich. She folds her fingers together and clasps her hands on the table. “Recently?” she asks.

Henry sits back. “No, not recently. It was juvie. We were fifteen, sixteen. We broke into people’s houses when they weren’t there, and we’d steal their booze. Money too, if we could find it.” Somehow, the money is more shameful than the alcohol, and Henry feels his face grow warm, but he continues. “Me and a friend of mine, we were just…dumbasses, you know? We’d knock down mailboxes. Throw things through people’s windows. Key cars.” He looks toward the waitress.

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