Vengeance

29 WOODMORE, MARYLAND

Far from bustling Washington, D.C., and its nearby suburbs, beyond the traffic jams on the Capital Beltway and its arteries, lies Maryland’s true nature — winding country roads offering scenic views of farms and heavily forested land that remains largely unaffected by the blight of humanity. In a rented green Jeep Grand Cherokee, Lonnie Mixell turned onto a narrow gravel driveway that snaked through the trees, ending beside a small single-story home. According to the rent-by-owner ad, it was a twelve-hundred-square-foot house available on a month-to-month basis for a reasonable price.

After turning off the engine, Mixell checked his watch. He was ten minutes early. While he waited, he lowered the driver’s side window and closed his eyes, listening to the birds, crickets, and the brisk wind blowing through the foliage. But his thoughts soon turned to the task for which Brenda Verbeck had paid an initial ten million dollars.

To that end, a white Ford F-150 appeared in the rearview mirror, grinding to a halt on the gravel road behind him. From the truck stepped a woman in her fifties who approached Mixell’s car. Stepping from the sedan, Mixell extended his hand to the owner of the nearby residence.

“George Banks, I assume?” she asked as they shook hands. “I’m Cheryl Payne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

After quickly sizing up the six-foot-tall man who had expressed interest in renting her vacant property, her eyes went to the house.

“I think you’ll find this to be exactly what you’re looking for,” she said as she led Mixell toward the front door.

Mixell had already decided that the property would suit his needs. It was a small farm situated on several acres that Cheryl had inherited when her father had recently passed away. Located in a semi-rural area, the closest house was a half-mile away, but it was also less than ten minutes from Route 50 and the Capital Beltway.

“As you can see,” Cheryl said after she unlocked the door and they stepped inside the fully furnished home, “the house and furniture are a bit worn, but together create a homey ambiance. The main level isn’t very big,” she said as they moved through the house, “but the basement is large and fully finished. Every room has hardwood floors, plus there’s a fireplace in the living room for the cold winter nights. Perhaps the best part of the property is the privacy. Perfect for you and… is there a Mrs. Banks?”

Mixell held up his left hand, which lacked a wedding ring.

Cheryl nodded. “This place holds a lot of memories,” she said. “Not just for me, but for my children and grandkids as well.”

After the quick tour of the house, Mixell had already formed an opinion. What a shithole. He wouldn’t be caught dead living in a place like this, but for a few weeks, he could suffer. Besides, he was interested in the property primarily for its privacy, plus another reason.

“Can I take a look at the barn?”

Not far behind the house, Cheryl unlocked and pushed aside a large sliding door and they entered the barn. Although the structure was in comparable condition to the house, Mixell was pleased with what he saw. The barn was hidden from the road and the roof seemed intact — there were no indications of leaks from the recent rainy weather. More important, the entrance was wide enough to accommodate a large commercial van.

“How soon can I move in?”

“Any time you’d like.”

Three hours later, as the sun slipped toward the horizon, Mixell’s car stopped beside a dilapidated warehouse on the bank of the Potomac River. Bordered on one side by Oronoco Bay and the other by Founders Park, the warehouse was in a fairly secluded location considering it was in the heart of Alexandria, Virginia. As he sat in the car and stared at the warehouse, his thoughts drifted into the past to the night Jake Harrison had killed his soulmate.

He recalled the event vividly, both in his waking moments and nightmares. Jake hiding behind Trish, one arm wrapped around her body and a pistol against her head. Both men had been wounded moments earlier, with Mixell taking one bullet and Harrison two, leaving Jake in far worse shape. Mixell recalled the desperation in Jake’s eyes as he hid behind Trish, searching for a way out. But there was no way he was letting Jake leave the warehouse alive.

As Jake gradually made his way toward the exit, doing his best to keep Trish between them, he eventually exposed enough of himself for a viable shot. Mixell adjusted his aim and exhaled slowly, then squeezed the trigger.

But Harrison jerked Trish sideways a few inches at the last second, and Mixell had watched in horror as her head snapped back and her body went limp, then crumpled to the floor after Harrison released her.

Technically, his bullet had done the deed. But Trish was dead because the coward Harrison had chosen to hide behind a defenseless woman.

Mixell stepped from his car, parked on the river side of the warehouse, and approached the industrial-sized garage door. Even if it was unlocked, he knew the door was too heavy to lift, so he stopped beside one of the grimy windows and broke an opening large enough to fit through.

After climbing through the window, he scanned his surroundings. It looked like the warehouse had a new tenant, as it was filled now with several dozen stacks of crates. There was nothing blocking the area he was interested in, so he moved forward, illuminating the floor with his cell phone’s camera light. He eventually found what he was looking for.

He knelt and placed a hand on the red stain from Trish’s blood, which had soaked into the concrete.

Trish’s death had been avenged, with Angie dying in Harrison’s arms. In a perfect world, Harrison would also be forced to watch while Mixell slayed Christine, knowing that his traitorous actions — turning Mixell in for killing a few despicable terrorists — had determined her fate as well. Before Mixell’s knife or bullets ended Harrison, he would suffer, knowing that the two women he had loved in his life were dead because of him.