Chapter One - The Peculiar Intruder

It was around 9pm by the time Martin Winter leaned back in his chair, sipped his drink and stared straight forward awhile.  Irv’s Lounge didn’t look any better from day to day, even on Christmas evening.  He didn’t like the bar-like atmospheres that lurked in certain woodsy crevices of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula anyway.  But, Irv’s had a certain appeal to it.  It was quiet.  And to an extent, you might say it was even serene.  The warm tan walls allowed shadows to play on them throughout the evening, and the hardwood floors seemed weathered and experienced.  The air hinted of whiskey and stale beer.  Irv’s has been owned and carefully tended by Matty Stevenson for over twenty years.  Although he was rapidly approaching seventy years of age, he didn’t look a day over sixty.  It was becoming obvious, however, that in addition to his age, his weight had begun to slow him down.  Being that Martin was alone in the bar this evening, Matty would periodically check in with him about topping off another glass.  Matty kept to himself most of the time.  Occasionally a joke would surface, or he’d bicker to himself about the weather.  But that’s what bartenders do.  They don’t chat up the guests with useless, relentless conversations.  That’s for the drinkers.  Bartenders are there to listen.  

“Excuse me?”  A female voice said.

         Martin looked up, and noticed a woman standing before his table.  She was tall, attractive and was wearing her hands at her hips, waiting for a response from Martin.  She wore a pink, sleeveless blouse that slightly revealed her naval and blue jeans.

         “Is this seat taken?”  She asked. 

         He was instantly annoyed, but playfully attracted to her.

         “If I said yes, would you believe me?”  He said. 

         “Nope.”  She replied. 

         With that, she grabbed the chair across from him and sat down.  One of the main reasons Martin enjoyed his time here at Irv’s was because it was without interruption.  He could sit, enjoy his drinks and sulk in what ever thoughts came to him, without so much as a whisper engaging him.  Ordinarily, he would’ve welcomed the intrusion, especially if it was from that of beautiful woman.  But not tonight.

         “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not interested in company.”  He said.

         “Oh, loner eh?  That’s okay, I don’t mind.  I’m Kate.” 

         She held out her hand hoping Martin would yield and succumb to conversation.  He wouldn’t make it that easy for her. 

         “Look lady, maybe you misunderstood me.  I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone right now.  I’d rather be-“

         “Left alone?  Then why come to a place like this?  Why not stay home?”  She interrupted.

         Martin began to wonder what he had done to deserve this kind of treatment from a person he hardly knew, today, of all days.

         “I’ll ask you one more time, please leave me alone.”  He said.

He felt guilty saying those words out loud.  But they didn’t change the expression on her face at all.

         “It’s Christmas, Martin.  Why are you in a place like this?  If you don’t start being more social and connected, you’re never going to make any new friends.”

“How do you know my name?”  He asked, sternly.

         “The bartender told me.”  She defended.

         “Bullshit.  He doesn’t call me that.”  Martin was becoming angry.  It was obvious that this woman had something to hide and she was lying to cover it. 

         “Just who the hell are you?”  He followed.

         “I told you, my name is Kate.”

         “Okay.  Kate.  How do you know my name?”  Martin asked again, in a little more demanding tone.  She was beautiful.  She had short, perky hair, long eyelashes, gorgeous dimples and a demanding posture that ordinarily might be a little intimidating. 

         “Tell you what…I’ll make you a deal.”  She said, putting her elbows on the table, folding her hands under her chin.  “You tell me why you’re being so unsocial and disconnected these days, and I’ll tell you how I know who you are.”  She proposed. 

         “I don’t think so.”  Martin looked away.

         “Why?  What have you got to lose besides more time alone?”  She pushed, while Martin returned a stern glance.

         “You wouldn’t understand.  No one does.”  He answered.

         “I’d like to.  Try me.” 

         Martin stared into her eyes.  They were honest.  He could tell she was sincere.  She wouldn’t understand the truth about what Martin had bottled up inside.  No one could.  But it was damn peculiar that she knew him, somehow.  He weighed the options in his head, while she sat in front of him, staring him down, waiting for an answer.  This is crazy.  She won’t believe me, he thought.  But what’s the worst that could happen?  She’ll laugh it off and walk away leaving me in peace again.  It had been over a year since Martin felt a sense of normalcy.  Maybe opening up might bring back a little.  Not to mention, he had always been a sucker for dimples. 

         Martin reached forward and took a long drink of the cold beer he had in front of him, while Kate sat back, folding her arms, waiting for him to begin speaking.  He then leaned forward upon the table, interlocked his hands in front of him and began speaking in a low, calming voice.

There’s only one way to tell you this story, and that’s to start at the beginning.  Or, is it the end?  Yes, more like the end.  The end is where it starts.  The end of what I used to call living. 

There was a time in my life when things made sense, like a completed puzzle.  You go through your days learning from your mistakes, applying what you’ve learned to your future, resulting in a nicely painted picture of your life.  In this life, I had a wife.  A love.  A friend.  And essentially, another half of myself.  Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but who’s really is?  Yet, through the good and the bad, we’d endure.  After all, being the wife of a detective wasn’t easy.  There’s the late nights, the stuff you can’t talk about together, and the evil actions of people that are not easily forgotten.  I tried to separate her from that side of my life.  I thought that I could protect her from the evil that lurked the city streets outside our home.  I was wrong.

         It’s been a year since Jeniveve’s death.  But the images of her still haunt me today.  I know that she is here with me, somehow, or even walking next to me.  But it doesn’t matter, because she isn’t really here.  She isn’t really anywhere.  She only exists in my mind, disguised as an invisible guide who’s voice I can still hear.  It’s the other side.  My other side.  My other half that I miss.

Jeniveve would be disappointed in me.  She would’ve told me that I wasn’t trying hard enough, or that I had just given up.  Nobody likes a quitter, she’d say.  It’s funny because I used to use that excuse with her about smoking.  Never did much good though.  I kept on lighting up anyway. 

In the academy they teach you how to survive, and they teach you how to kill, when necessary.  They teach you how to see things, hear things and interpret things.  They also teach you to protect, and how to save a life.  But they don’t teach you how to live only half alive. 

One year earlier…

         It was a cold December evening the night it happened.  It would be the night that I’d remember for the rest of my life.  I pulled up into my driveway, put the car in park and began the stride toward my front door.  The outside lights were on and I could see lights inside throughout the house.  I pulled out my keys when I noticed the front door was left slightly ajar.  It swayed back and forth slowly from the approaching winds.  This was most odd, because Jeniveve was adamant about locking doors when she was home alone.  I pushed the door open and crept inside.  I called out to her but there was no answer.  I began to wander around.  I went into the kitchen and the living room, but there was no sign of life anywhere.  I then heard a loud thump that seemed to have originated from the upstairs.  I started up the first step of the stairway when I heard another series of thumps and soft thuds.  Then, I heard Jeniveve cry out.

         “Mart-….Help M-!!!” 

         Her screams were muffled, as if she was deep in a struggle, trying to cry out for help.  I dashed up the stairs screaming her name. 

         “Jeniveve?!  Jeni!  Where are you?!”  

         The rush of adrenaline in my body felt good and terrible at the same time.  As I entered our bedroom, my eyes forced me into a fit of rage.  Jeniveve was on the floor next to the bed, struggling with a man on top of her.  He was holding her down, choking her with one hand and tearing her nightgown open at her chest with the other.  Her arms appeared bound at her wrists as she was trying to strike him with downward blows toward his head.  She was also trying to kick with her bare legs but the weight of his body kept her from moving too fiercely.  She started to scream again.  I quickly raced up behind the man, grabbed his clothes at the shoulder and tossed him back, throwing him

into the glass closet doors, shattering them.  I spoke no words.  There was no need for them.  I knew this man was going to die.  Tonight. 

         “You…”  The man said, staggering to get up from the broken glass on the carpet.  It was as if the man recognized me in some way.  I walked up to him slowly, grabbed him by his shoulders once again, and threw him into the adjacent wall, almost forcing him through it.  I glanced over at Jeniveve.  She was beaten badly.  Her nightgown was torn to shreds and her arms had cuts and bruises on them.  She moved her legs slowly, but stopped.  The man again rose up from the floor, trying to re-gain his composure.  Once again, I turned toward him.  I knew only one emotion that night.  Rage.  Uncontrollable rage.  The man now was holding his hand out, wishing me to stop.  To which, I responded with an uppercut, slamming the man’s head into the wall, and flooring him once again.  Seeing his body fumbling around somehow brought happiness to the fury in my belly.  I grabbed him and dragged him away from the wall with ease.  I stood above him, contemplating my next move.  I knelt down upon him and began to swing.  I landed punches for what seemed like minutes.  I know my fists were in pain, but at the time I couldn’t feel it.  They had become tools that wielded my anger and violence toward him.

         “Martin…”  Jeniveve said, in a very faint voice.

         I stopped swinging and looked up at Jeniveve, while my downed adversary was now immobile and lifeless.  I had almost forgotten that she was still lying over there.  I got up and went to her side.  She was reaching to me from the floor with both of her hands still tied.

         “I am so sorry.”  I said, untying her.

         “Don’t be…”  She said.  “You…saved me.” 

         I knelt down beside her and clutched her hands.

         “I need to call an ambulance.”  I said.

         “There isn’t…time.”  She said, faintly.  “I’m not…going to make it.”  She continued, started to cry.

         “Just hang on!”  I said, getting up reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

         “Martin, listen to me...”  She said.

         I knelt back down next to her, still clutching her hand.  The blood on my hands made my grip slippery.

         “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.”  I said.

         “It’s about your…father.”  She said. 

         Jeniveve took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his hand.”

         “Jeni!?”  I said.

         She opened her eyes one last time.

         “In the study…the desk drawer.  You…need to know…the truth.”

“What are you trying to tell me?”  I asked.

         “I love…you, Martin.”

         “I miss you…already.”  She continued.    

“No!  Jenni!!”  The tears clouded my eyes and blurred my voice.  And just then, my wife’s head slowly turned away from me, and her eyes closed.  My wife, Jeniveve Winter died next to our bed, still holding my hand.

         “I miss you already...”  She said, citing the lyrics from that Patty Loveless song.  She loved that song.  But she didn’t know that those words would be the last words we ever traded.  What started out as a couple’s joke, quickly grew into a habitual goodbye ritual between the two of us.  I miss you already;  like you’re already gone.  Saying those words in my mind felt like piercing knives into my heart and stomach.

That was the night half of myself died.  I sat next to her holding her hand for what seemed like hours.  The tears were relentless.  I put my head on her stomach and continued to sob harder.  Her body had lost the fight with its predator.  She fought him off long enough for me to come home and save her.  But it was my fault.  If I had only came home a little sooner.  I could have been there.  Protected her. 

The problem however, was that I was a cop.  A detective.  I knew how these things worked.  My wife has just been murdered.  I’m sitting next to her still, crying and in denial over what has just transpired.  There’s a man lying on my floor a few yards away who’s also presumably dead.  I needed time to think, time to recollect.  I couldn’t leave her.  Not now.  But I had to.  From the outside looking in, this situation didn’t look good. 

I could call for help.  I had people I trusted in the department.  But the fact of the matter remained.  There were no witnesses to the events that took place that night.  So, as far as anyone else knew, I could’ve walked in on my wife cheating on me, beat the hell out of the guy she was with and I’d be slapped with a murder charge.  One step at a time, I told myself.  One step at a time Martin. 

It took every ounce of my being to stand up.  My knees were shaky.  Looking down upon my wife’s lifeless body felt like I had entered another world.  A world without her.  This world scared me.  I tried telling myself to pull it together, but it didn’t help.  I had killed a man with my bare hands who assaulted and killed my wife.  Was this right?  Was this justified?  No.  No, it wasn’t.  But he came into my house.  He made me do this.  Every human being has the God-given right to protect their family and their offspring, right?  Yes.  But at the expense of revenge?  No.  I had become the judge, the jury and the executioner in a single moment.  The very laws I vowed to uphold were simply tossed aside in a fit of rage.  They would condemn me.  The law would not sympathize with killers.  Murderers.  But I didn’t mean to kill him.  I was defending my wife in my own home.  You’ll go to prison Martin, my inner-self said.  No, I won’t.  They’ll understand.  The courts would understand.  Would you trust them to?  I stopped on this thought for a moment.  Could I trust them to understand?  Could I put my life in their hands with confidence?  Hell no. 

I walked back over to the man lying on the floor.  I checked his pulse.  He was dead, probably as a result of massive head trauma from my relentless pounding.  He was dressed in jeans with a black leather jacket.  He had black hair and his face was so riddled with blood, I couldn’t identify with it.  He hadn’t bothered to disguise himself at all.  Serves the bastard right.  But, a part of me wished he was still alive.  He was a question that needed answering.  My nose was still running and my cheeks were still soaked with tears.  I knelt down and checked his pockets for identification.  He had no wallet, but he did have a cell phone in his jacket pocket.  I flipped it open, then closed it and put it in my pocket.     

Jeniveve’s words still bothered me.  What was she trying to tell me?  I looked over at her battered body lying on the floor.  I could see her lifeless, bare legs sticking out from behind the bed.  This isn’t real.  This isn’t happening.  But the cop in me began to take over.  How did he get in?  I walked down the hallway slowly, checking for signs of evidence.  My legs were so heavy.  Then I went downstairs and checked the doors and windows for a sign of forced entry.  There was nothing.  Not one window was broken or open, and the doors showed no sign of damage.  Jeniveve must have let him inside.  But why?  I checked further around the house for any sign of a disturbance, but everything was in order. 

That only left one lead:  The study desk drawer.  What did she have in there?  What the hell was she trying to tell me?  I walked into the study and began pulling out the drawers in the desk.  There was nothing here except for the usual stationary.  I stopped for a moment and thought.  She said ‘in the study…the desk drawer.’  Not necessarily, in the drawer.  I began to turn the drawers upside down, emptying their contents.  The last drawer I came to had a brown envelope attached to the bottom of it, marked with the words ‘Evidence.’  I opened the envelope and pulled out the papers inside.  There was a small photograph of my father paper-clipped to the top page.  I then went through the pages looking for a clue as to the meaning.  Some of the pages were autopsy reports, and some of them were just handwritten pages of notes in what I recognized as my wife’s handwriting.  The last page stopped me suddenly.  It was a mug-shot photo of a man I nailed some years ago on a murder charge named Milo Turnovsky.  A sticky note rested on the photo bearing the words, ‘It all points to Turnovsky.’  None of this made sense.  Why was my wife collecting evidence like this?  How was my father involved?

After thinking a while longer, there was only one way to handle this.  I needed to first secure my innocence, so I could then call for help.  I can’t be a suspect.  There’s no justice in my actions if I’m prevented from finding out the truth.  I will not be imprisoned for trying to protect the one I loved.  I put the envelope of evidence in my back-pocket and walked toward the front door.  I needed to make it look like the house was burglarized by Jeni’s attacker.  The investigators would then believe that the attacker entered my home in search of valuables, and found Jeni inside unexpectedly.  I went outside the house leaving the door slightly ajar.  I then went around the back-side of the house to the patio door which was still locked.  I gave it a good kick with my right leg.  The jamb shattered and the door flew open.  After that, I walked inside and began throwing things about in a path that led upstairs.  I needed to make it look like this man broke in through the patio door and began a rampage all over the house.  I emptied the drawers on the end tables in the family room.  I tossed the lamps aside, breaking them.  I even went into the kitchen and began emptying the cabinets in there onto the floor.  Once I was confident of the frame trail, I went back upstairs to where my wife was lying.  Seeing her again, lifeless, wrecked my insides.  I knelt down and felt her cheek.  It was still warm.  I began to cry again.  I was alone in this new world.  I hated this place.  It made me do terrible things.  It changed me into something I’m not.

Moments later, I pulled myself together, pulled out my cell phone and called the one man who I knew could help. 

“Mitros.”  He answered.

“It’s me.”  I said.

“Marty…hey, what’s up?”

“I need you to come over…now.”  I said.

“What’s going on man?  You okay?”

“No.  No, I’m not.”

Coming up next: Chapter 2 - Without Shield