This book is dedicated to my wife, Debra, whose assistance and encouragement were invaluable in my effort to write this book.
CHAPTER ONE
Twenty-seven years of existence did nothing to prepare Howard Douglas for the mental anguish he felt this day, not even the loss of his parents in a car wreck during his childhood. That tragic experience had come close to destroying his young life, yet it paled when compared to the grief confronting him today. This pain was evil.
Recent events, now forever etched into his consciousness, unfolded before him. Henceforth, all his thoughts would filter through this horrific, never-to-be forgotten period of his life.
Howard recalled the surprise phone call from his estranged fiancée’s parents coldly informing him Whitney had committed suicide, and they were bringing her home for burial. That’s all he was told.
Two and a half years earlier she had disappeared without so much as a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘go to hell.’ He’d pleaded with her family to tell him what they knew about her sudden disappearance, but they refused to tell him anything. Now, with no apparent regard for his feelings, they informed him that the lifeless body of the single human being he came to realize too late meant more to him than anything else in the world traveled back to him as mysteriously as she left, in a metal box.
What would he do now? He’d always expected her to return some day. No matter the circumstances surrounding her absence, he had intended to do everything possible to make her want to stay, never again giving her reason to leave. He loved her. She must have known he did. Never, in his wildest dreams, did he expect her to return home this way. Instinctively, he realized that somehow he must bear part of the responsibility for this unspeakable tragedy. No suitable explanation had been provided to him so far. Her parents merely informed him that Whitney had suffered from depression and had swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. No one found her until it was too late. His personal grief mattered little to her family. All his familial rights had ceased the day Whitney left town. He became history to them. The fact that they notified him at all surprised him.
He sat alone on the patio as the darkness of the encroaching evening enveloped him. The descending blackness seemed appropriate. It symbolized the moment better than anything. Whitney’s death had smothered the light from his life—from his soul. Darkness covered everything.
“How can I go on living feeling this way?” he cried out as he raised his forearm to wipe the tears from his swollen eyes. His watch scraped his face as he pulled a tear soaked shirtsleeve across his moist cheeks, causing him to partially regain his senses. He vaguely recalled some chore awaiting his attention, but what it was escaped him.
He remembered the strange man who had approached him while he stood alone following the graveside service. At first, he hadn’t understood the stranger, and only after asking him to repeat his statement did he comprehend what was said. The stranger addressed him as if he knew him, and requested a meeting at Howard’s home at 9 p.m. that evening for the purpose of relaying important information concerning Whitney. Stunned, and unable to reply to such an unexpected confrontation, Howard merely nodded his assent. The stranger confirmed the 9 p.m. appointed meeting time before turning and walking away.
Relieved at the interruption of this intense grieving process, Howard thought about the stranger’s request. What can this stranger tell me about Whitney? Who is he? Will he show up here as he said he would? Before he had time to think about it further, the front doorbell rang. Startled by the sound, he nervously glanced down at the glowing numerals on his watch. He easily made out the time, 9 p.m. exactly. This unforgiving day wasn’t finished with him yet.