The Warren Trading Post Caper has taught me a valuable lesson. If you’re going to post a serialized story to your blog … finish the thing before you put up the first installment. As I said last week, this tale has taken on a life of its own. The story went from two-parter, to a three-parter, and now to a four-parter. All unintentional, folks.
Last week, we ended the story when Detective Walter Black of the New Mexico State Police confronts Frank Lund and Big Hat after interviewing Lund’s wife, Marlene, who although confused, insists she was abducted by aliens.
THE WARREN TRADING POST CAPER (Part 3)
The investigation seemed to be going nowhere, which was ridiculous. You don’t beat a hole in an adobe wall, haul off a thousand-pound safe, abduct a woman, and leave no clues behind. Detective Black wasn’t doing his job so far as I was concerned.
Of course, Marlene wasn’t being much help. Whenever asked about the ordeal, her eyes went out of focus and she insisted she didn’t remember anything. Black sent her to a state shrink of some kind, but he didn’t help much. In fact, he set me back on my heels. He was skinny – emaciated, really – and had a big head sort of like an alien. One of those aliens from “up there.”
My wife stayed home in Albuquerque for three solid months under the care of a therapist and was making progress … until the phone calls started. I took the first one at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Awakened from a sound sleep, I wasn’t too sharp as I fumbled for the phone beside the bed. Silence greeted my slurred “hello.”
“Hello!” I repeated in a firmer voice. “Who’s there? Do you know what time it is?”
I sat up on the side of the bed. “Hello! Answer me or go to hell!”
A strange whine came over the line. Faint at first, and then increasingly loud. I slammed the old fashioned Princess phone down with a bang.
“What’s going on? Who was that?” Marlene scooted up against the headboard, the covers held tight against her chest. Two marks like snakebite fangs we’d discovered on her left shoulder after the abduction almost seemed to glow in the semi-darkness. She’d taken to insisting we sleep with the bathroom door open so the nightlight spilled into room.
“Wrong number, I guess. At least nobody spoke.”
“I-it’s them!” Her voice was almost a shriek. “They’re coming for me again.”
“Nonsense. It was some drunk trying to call home.”
The phone rang again. It seemed shriller than usual in the quiet room. Darlene leaned across me and snatched it up.”
“What do you want?” she yelled. “Leave me alone!” Five seconds later she re-cradled the phone and flopped down on the bed in a fetal position.
I spooned up against her. “Who was it? What did they say?”
Her body shook. “It’s them. They want me to go back to the trading post.”
I got out of bed and reached for my robe. “You aren’t going, but I am.”
“No!” The word came out as a wail. “They said me. Alone.”
I grabbed the phone and started dialing the number Detective Black had left me. Marlene snatched the instrument from my hand.
“Don’t. Please. I don’t want that man prying around in my life again. Just hold me, Frank. Make love to me.”
Making love wasn’t my priority right at that moment, but she held onto me so desperately, I couldn’t help but respond. In a few moments, I was thinking of nothing but the handsome woman beneath me responding to my attentions. In an unusually aggressive but very pleasing way.
The eerie phone calls came again the next night. I answered the first and got the whining sound once again. Faint. Loud. Then faint again before the connection was broken. Marlene took the second one, listened momentarily, and then reacted in the same terrified way. Followed by demanding and giving tremendous sexual release.
I called Detective Black from my office the next morning without letting Marlene know what I intended. He questioned me carefully about the dates and times of the calls and promised to get back in touch with me.
The following day, he phoned me at the office.
“Anonymous cell phone,” he said without preamble. “Untraceable, although I can tell you some of the calls came from the vicinity of your home, and others went through cell towers that were consistent with being near the Warren Trading Post.”
“So we’re at a dead end?”
“At present. We can install some equipment at home so you can record the calls. We might be able to tell something from a recording.”
Marlene must have suspected I had contacted Black because she surprised me by putting up only a token resistance to the idea. The very next night after two technicians attached a little device to the bedroom phone, the phone rang at two in the morning. I answered and got the whining noise. A little more aggressive this time. She answered a second call, listened for a moment, and then handed the phone to me. All I caught was a dead receiver, but Black’s little device allowed us to listen to both the whine of my call and a strange, halting, metallic voice on hers that told her to “Come home now.”
“Why won’t they leave me alone? Oh, God! What did I do to deserve this?” She flew into my arms, the terror replaced by want. “Frank, make love to me! Make me forget!”
That night, it was not Frank Lund who made love to his wife. It was his wife who turned into a nymphomaniac siren and wore me plumb out.
To be continued… once again. I can hardly wait to see how it comes out. I still don’t know. Haven’t finished it yet.
As always, thanks for reading. And take a look around the blog site while you’re here.
New Posts are published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.