Chapter 1 - Cold, Chaos, And Confusion
Ah, spring! Nature’s way of saying, ‘Let’s party!’ Bees start their annual buzz-iness conference, trees decide to show off their new leafy outfits, and flowers stage a daring jailbreak from their icy prison. Or at least they would have if the snow had bothered to melt. However, in the remote town of Youngsville, hidden deep in the Alaskan forests and reachable only by a solitary access road, life carried on beneath a thick, chilly blanket of snow that seemed determined to overstay its welcome.
This year, Peter appeared blissfully oblivious to the onset of the new season. Ignoring the gradual begs for warming the weather, he persisted in showering the town with relentless snowfall, generously decorating every surface, even gracing the roof of the quaint post office doubling as a printshop with his frosty handiwork. Making his way through the snowy maze, Colin Day trudged towards this particular shop, tucked away in the shadowy alley behind the church. Bundled up in a bulky parka with his cap pulled down low, he muttered under his breath, questioning his life choices.
A fortnight prior, he had entrusted Mr. Glovis, a wiry old man with thick horn-rimmed glasses, to order the wedding invitation cards for his daughter’s upcoming nuptials. Today, on this fateful Tuesday, they were promised to be ready.
As he ascended the grand total of four and a half steps to the shop’s entrance, Colin thought about the impending wedding. On Valentine’s Day, Thommy had popped the question to Belle. The following day, she returned home beaming, sporting her mother’s ring on her finger. Witnessing Belle’s genuine happiness, Colin couldn’t contain his own joy. Despite Thommy’s questionable hobbies in the basement that wouldn’t exactly qualify him as the poster child for ideal son-in-laws, Colin remained unfazed. He understood that Thommy’s devotion to his daughter knew no bounds, and he was willing to go to great lengths to keep her smiling.
Out of nowhere, a snowball hit him on the back of his head, rudely interrupting his reverie. “Hey there, buddy,” Chris hollered from a distance. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Colin sighed, shouting, “Picking up invitations,” as he waited for his friend to finally reach him, anticipating a hearty embrace. “And what’s your excuse?”
Chris sported a grin wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat’s. “Oh, you know, just casually fucked Britney yesterday. And hey, this morning too,” he declared with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
With an exaggerated eye roll that could have won him an award, Colin sauntered into the quaint little shop. “Oh, let me guess, my pearls of wisdom went in one ear and out the other, didn’t they?” he quipped, dripping with reproach.
On Valentine’s Day, Colin had given his friend a stern talking-to about his sexual escapades. Deep down, Colin understood Chris’ loneliness, hoping that after the Ashley debacle, Chris might stumble upon genuine love akin to what he had shared with Wanda. Yet, lo and behold, Chris seemed to be on a bed-hopping spree, cozying up with Sarah on Friday, then with Anastacia (or was it Annabelle?) on Saturday, following pretty MaryLee on Sunday. Colin couldn’t keep track of the names or the beds anymore, and frankly, he was starting not to care.
“Oh, give me a break, Britney’s a total knockout,” Chris defended himself. “I mean, I’m just a man after all.”
“She’s barely legal, Chris,” Colin spun around, aghast. “Nineteen. This is just... disgusting.”
“Oh come on, as if YOU would have said no if she’d hop on your dick.”
“I would.”
“Yes, Mr. Romantic, tell me, do you have any plans for ever having sex again?” Chris teased, sidling up to the counter alongside Colin. Mr. Glovis observed them curiously, but the duo seemed oblivious to his presence.
“I’ve lost the love of my life, Chris, and now my daughter is about to tie the knot. Sex is the last thing on my mind,” Colin responded before addressing the older gentleman. “Good day, Mr. Glovis, I’m here to collect the wedding invitations.”
The man offered a gentle smile before setting off to search. However, the shelves were a chaotic sight, with countless boxes stacked high, some seemingly untouched since the mid-eighties, patiently awaiting their long-overdue dispatch.
“But Colin, sex is amazing,” Chris interjected, popping a piece of gum into his mouth.
Colin inwardly rolled his eyes. “I’m well aware.”
“Are you sure you even remember?”
“Yes, let’s move on to a different topic!”
Mr. Glovis, after what felt like a lifetime of searching, triumphantly located Colin’s order and theatrically nudged the box in his direction. With all the suspense of a B-grade mystery, Colin tentatively pried it open, only to be greeted by the grinning faces of Belle and Thommy staring back at him from a photograph. The entire situation still had Colin questioning if he had accidentally stumbled into a parallel universe of oddities.
After meticulously scrutinizing for any rogue spelling errors, Colin gave an approving nod before graciously offering his credit card to Mr. Glovis for payment. Meanwhile, Chris, now the pinnacle of passive poise, had swiveled around and was lounging against the counter like he owned the place. With a deadpan expression, he casually quipped, “Do you at least rub one out?”
“Oh, for the love of all things unholy, Chris!” Colin exclaimed in exasperation. “Is your brain permanently stuck in the gutter? Do you ever think of anything else than sex?”
“Nope. Ready to hit the road?”
Colin let out another dramatic sigh, resigning himself to the fact that Chris was a lost cause in the decency department. With a forced expression of gratitude towards Mr. Glovis, he made his exit from the post office, Chris trailing behind like a misguided shadow.
Stepping out onto the frosty street, the biting chill wasted no time in greeting him once more. Clutching the package protectively under his arm, Colin cinched his parka snugly around his neck, bracing himself for another round of Chris-induced antics in the frozen tundra of everyday life but to his luck the cold seemed to glue Chris’ mouth shut.
In a silent procession, the duo strolled through the narrow alley until they emerged onto what was grandiosely labeled as ‘Main Street’ – a title that seemed more inflated than a balloon at a clown convention. Contrary to its name, this so-called Main Street boasted a whopping total of 8 shops, a lone restaurant, the town hall, the church, and a modest count of 3 apartment buildings. Youngsville sprawled out like an unraveled garden hose, with roads branching off in all directions from the access road that conveniently skirted around the outskirts of the town.
Back in the day, when city planners were apparently aiming for a tranquil utopia, they strategically diverted the main traffic flow away from disrupting the idyllic peace of Youngsville. Thus, the roads respectfully circumvented the village like cautious travelers avoiding a potential minefield of serenity.
Reaching the quaint square outside the town hall, complete with its token miniature fountain, the duo halted in their tracks as they caught sight of an old familiar face sauntering past the lone clothing store: none other than Mrs. Fletcher. With an air of grandmotherly grace, she steered a stroller housing the peacefully slumbering Brayxleyghnn – a name that not only raised eyebrows but also triggered a symphony of chuckles throughout the charming hamlet of Youngsville. Initially dismissed as a typo in the local Sunday paper, the unconventional spelling of Brayxleyghnn’s name soon evolved into a source of amusement and bewilderment among the residents, who couldn’t quite decide if Ruth was a trendsetter or simply marching to the beat of her own drum.
“Hey there, grandma!” Chris bellowed across the square, cupping his hands around his mouth for added effect. Karen scowled and scanned the area with a mix of irritation and confusion until her gaze landed on Colin and Chris loitering by the fountain. Arms akimbo in a classic display of indignation, she prepared to unleash her disapproval, but Chris, ever the beacon of tact, pressed on. “So, how’s your charming son-in-law enjoying his all-inclusive stay at the local prison?” he quipped with a mischievous grin as if stirring a pot of simmering drama with a ladle made of pure audacity.
Colin found himself unable to contain his laughter any longer. “I’ve heard priests have quite a challenging time in the showers.”
Karen, in a fit of rage, scolded them, “Oh, you two should be ashamed of yourselves!” She turned and departed as fast as a hippopotamus on a sprint. Meanwhile, Chris added to the spectacle by nonchalantly whistling after her departure.
Father Reid was handed down his sentence back in early March - a cozy 8 years, seven months, and 26 days behind bars. As if that wasn’t enough, he also earned the prestigious title of a registered sex offender, ensuring his future career options would never include working with children.
“Hey, do you think they’re heading for the altar once he’s gonna be out?” Chris inquired, his laughter still lingering as they resumed their journey.
Colin let out a snort of disbelief as they reached the car and settled in. “As if Ruth had any other options,” he scoffed. “I mean, I was genuinely worried Henry might get involved with her. Seriously, I don’t care who he dates, but Ruth? Absolutely not on my watch.”
As he navigated the car away from Main Street and onto a quieter side road, the banter about Ruth and the priest continued. However, the laughter abruptly halted as Colin slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an unexpected stop. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
Down the street, nestled among the ordinary, stood a house so unremarkable it practically screamed ‘average.’ Yet this unassuming abode was the domain of none other than Benson Todd. Parked outside this beacon of blandness were Sheriff Stewart’s police car and a Juneau patrol car, adding a touch of drama to the otherwise mundane scene.
Colin’s mind sprinted through a marathon of wild theories. “Could he have been belting out a confession?” he blurted out in sheer terror, his gaze locked on the officers. “Perhaps he double-crossed us, had a change of heart, and decided to spill the beans to the cops. Oh, fuck! Maybe the stress got to him, and THANK GOD THAT MOTHERFUCKER JUST DIED!” As fate would have it, right on cue, a hearse made its grand entrance, while two gentlemen gallantly paraded a mysterious black sack that suspiciously resembled a human-sized package.
Chris paused for a moment, then mumbled, “Well, yeah, I guess he just died.”
“Or do you think he killed himself?”
Colin’s question triggered an odd sensation in Chris’ gut, for he alone held the secret that Benson Todd was indeed dead, and his death was not a self-inflicted exit. He didn’t have an explanation for the presence of the police but it scared the shit out of him.
Colin bid farewell to Chris at the hotel, where he was off to endure another thrilling shift, while he embarked on the riveting journey back home. With the kids safely deposited at school, Colin found himself in the serene yet utterly chaotic house. As he tidied up the rooms, his mind raced like a hyperactive toddler on a sugar high, tossing thoughts around like he did with the oversized blocks into a toy bin.
The news of Benson’s death lingered in the air, adding a touch of drama to the day. The looming threat of incriminating evidence surfacing kept Colin on his toes, although the DAY!s had a strict ‘no paper trail’ policy – because who needs written proof when you can rely on safety?
Chuck’s unfortunate encounter with justice a few years ago served as a cautionary tale. If only he had kept his musings confined to his mind palace instead of penning them down for posterity in his diary! Now, instead of sporting a fashionable shiner, Chuck found himself enjoying an extended vacation in the cozy confines of preventive detention (for the rest of his miserable life.)
After what felt like an eternity, the living room finally emerged from its ‘off-limits’ status, a heroic washing machine sprang into action, and the three bathrooms sparkled like they were auditioning for a cleaning commercial. Meanwhile, in the heart of this domestic whirlwind, Colin found himself in the kitchen, initiating a symphony of clinks and whirs as he bravely activated the dishwasher. Amidst this chore opera, his gaze landed on a certain letter proudly displayed on the fridge, triggering a nostalgic smile.
Ah, the infamous letter that had once caused more drama than a murder mystery cliffhanger! It was just six weeks prior when Colin’s world was rocked by the revelation that his daughter had chosen the path less Harvard and opted for the University of Juneau to unravel the mysteries of psychology instead of law. Despite this unexpected plot twist, Colin beamed with pride, confident that his daughter would navigate life’s labyrinth and carve out her own unique niche.
Colin’s peaceful daydream was abruptly shattered by a single word – “Hey.” Startled, he spun around to behold Thommy, the harbinger of disruption, standing in the doorway to the living room, arms folded in a display of casual intrusion.
With a nonchalant air, Colin announced, “I have successfully picked up the sacred scrolls of invitation,” gesturing grandly towards the oversized table where the treasure trove resided. Observing Thommy’s reaction as he perused the cards with a grin plastered on his face, Colin couldn’t resist teasing. “Feeling the tingles of anticipation yet?”
“Yes,” the young man confessed, his tone laden with sincerity. Placing the card delicately back in the box as if handling a fragile artifact, he pivoted to face Colin, his expression morphing into one of pure innocence. “I am not going to hurt her.”
“I know that.” Colin theatrically shut his eyes for a brief moment, channeling his inner drama queen. “I know that, kid. I wouldn’t have given you Wanda’s ring if I didn’t trust you. And I’m sorry I wanted to kill you.”
Thommy laughed softly. “That’s okay. I think that’s what any father would do.”
“If the daughter is dating a serial killer, definitely.”
“I... Colin, I... I don’t need that, I can stop at any time,” Thommy stammered.
Colin chuckled in turn, relishing the banter. “No, you can’t. It’s starting to be really fun for you. And that’s okay, I mean, it’s a great hobby,” he mused with a twinkle in his eye. With a friendly gesture, he draped his arm around Thommy’s shoulders. “No need to lose sleep over that. Let’s focus on the pressing matters at hand – the crucial decision of buffet vs. courses for your grand celebration.”
Three hours later Colin found himself in the hotel’s notorious fourth basement, redecorating the illustrious chamber 9, accompanied by a fiery-haired damsel. Oh, chamber 9 – a place of sentimental significance for Colin, brimming with memories of joyous escapades with Wanda. The eclectic array of torture instruments adorning the walls served as his peculiar yet cherished collection, adding a touch of whimsy to the grey room.
The steel table, a veteran of myriad madcap misadventures, bore the scars of its battles against bleach, its once-gleaming surface now weathered by the relentless assault of cleaning agents. A necessary sacrifice in the pursuit of discretion.
Now, the hotel’s basement, a fortress of secrecy, boasted a security system rivaling that of a top-secret government facility – handprint and eye scans, hidden doors, the whole shebang. Yet, in the colorful tapestry of the DAY!s society with its 187 members, the ever-looming threat of a loose-lipped member belting out a tune kept everyone on their toes.
In a stroke of genius (or madness), Paxton unveiled his latest addition to the labyrinth of traps – an algorithm straight out of a spy thriller. This cutting-edge system could sniff out traitors by monitoring dilated pupils, racing heartbeats, and even clammy palms, granting access only to the first door. Those unfortunate enough to trigger the alarm would find themselves in a quaint room surrounded by valuables and an odd assortment of taxidermy birds – a quirky detour before facing the real challenge. The elusive hidden door, camouflaged behind a nondescript bookshelf, remained steadfastly shut until every cosmic alignment was just right.
Yes, the DAY!s were safe. And while there were currently 12 members in the basement, including Colin, indulging in some... fun, the drama unfolded four floors above. Paxton Smith, in his cozy yet chaotic cubbyhole of an office, stumbled upon a scene straight out of a horror movie. The image before him sent his brain into overdrive as it struggled to make sense of the macabre tableau.
In a moment of clarity, realization dawned like a slap in the face, propelling Paxton from his seat with such vigor that chaos ensued. His trusty office chair collided with a metal cabinet in a symphony of clatters, while poor ‘Keanu Leaves,’ the beloved potted plant christened by Wanda herself, met an untimely demise on the unforgiving floor with a dramatic crash.
In a fit of righteous indignation, Paxton stormed into the hotel lobby like a man possessed, his eyes locking onto Chris like a heat-seeking missile. With all the finesse of a raging bull, he bellowed, “Code 832,” before vanishing into the depths of the catacombs, armed with a message destined to shake the very foundations of Colin Day’s world.
Precisely 4 minutes and 23 seconds later, the ginger was in the incinerator, and Colin and Chris found themselves in the shadow of Paxton, gazing at the ominous image on the screen. As realization dawned, Chris, the epitome of emotional support, laid a comforting hand on Colin’s shoulder. He watched as everything fell out of Colin’s face, and even thought he heard his best friend’s heart breaking again, just one room away from where McBride had told Colin that Wanda was dead about six months ago.
“This is... That’s...” Colin, in a classic display of eloquence, found himself at a loss for words, his lips betraying his nerves as he attempted to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. With a trembling finger aimed accusingly at the screen, his eyes ping-ponged between the image and Chris, seeking solace or perhaps an escape route from the impending revelation. “This is Wanda, the... This means... but then....”
“The picture is not a police photo,” Paxton explained quietly. “The picture was taken beforehand.”
Colin’s disbelief reached epic proportions as he beheld the surreal image of his dear Wanda sprawled on a forest path, eyes wide in a dramatic fashion, a knife protruding from her chest like a twisted work of art. His attempts at coherent speech devolved into a comical string of fragmented thoughts, each more perplexing than the last. “But then... There was... How can... so then....”
In a moment of eerie calm, Paxton’s voice cut through the tension like a knife through butter, his words measured and deliberate, as if he were narrating a suspenseful thriller. He braced himself for the impending storm of realization that would soon hit Colin like a ton of bricks, silently dreading the inevitable fallout. “Someone was at the scene before she died,” he said. “I... I checked the police database. In the crime scene photos, she is lying on her back. And her eyes are closed.”
“Her death wasn’t accidental,” Chris breathed.
“No,” Colin said, his voice suddenly cold and determined. The transformation from disbelief to grim acceptance was palpable in his words, painting a picture of a man driven by a singular purpose – to uncover the truth behind his wife’s death. “Someone killed my wife.”
So, on the day the invitations arrived,
Colin learned Wanda was unalived,
He is filled with hate, the anger is back,
Painting his heart again- oh, so black.
Will he uncover the one and make them pay?
Will Colin find out who killed Wanda Day?
If you don't know how we got HERE after reading the first book, you might have missed the two sequels in between:
Christmas with the Days
Valentine's DAY!
