Delta

by Tom Starita

Genres: Horror; Supernatural suspense

Synopsis

Jason Carico is a grieving father, desperately trying to come to grips with the loss of his eight-year-old stepdaughter, Delta, who drowned two months ago.

But if she's dead, then why is there a little girl claiming to be Delta locked up in his basement?

Desperately wanting to believe her, Jason attempts to live a normal life while hiding his nightmare below. His anxiety explodes when his late wife's sister appears on his doorstep. Can he trust her? Would she believe him? And what will the police think if they ever find out the only African American man in town has a white girl trapped in his basement?

The haunting motto of Mother's death cult tolls throughout the book, "The Universe has a plan, independent from the wants of man."

 

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Release date: August 4, 2022

Publisher: Black Rose Writing

Print pages: 298

Sample

PART I

JASON

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

October 30

The deer gathered along the side of Laboy Road, watching the red truck rumble past. Jason made eye contact with the alpha, a doe with velvet-covered antlers, and turned his attention back toward the drive. Her presence unnerved him. He first noticed her and the rest of her herd two months earlier when former Deputy, now Sheriff Rojas drove him home that night from the river.

Of course, that was just a coincidence.

Just like how the air conditioning inside his beat-up Chevy died in August. Well, yes, no question that was a coincidence. He had no time back then to make the repair, and he justified his current laziness by the calendar. Air conditioning would be a moot point in a couple more days. In the meantime, the driver’s side window would continue to remain open, like a long lazy yawn. The confused leaves, unsure of what Mother Nature intended, danced about in the breeze, their brilliant autumn colors dying to be documented. His own personal Monet. Except Jason had no interest in foliage, or nature, or anything else for that matter. He wanted to get home. He checked the clock to see 5:51 pm. The radio finished playing its song, and the DJ filled the silence.

“That was Stargazer by Rainbow, one of my all-time favorite forgotten classics. That wizard, man! Of course, this is your favorite afternoon delight Nico, and you’re listening to 99.9 The Edge living on the edge of classic and modern rock. You know, with Halloween fast approaching, let’s take a second to think about Mia, the little eight-year-old girl missing since—”

Jason muzzled the radio and made the right from Laboy onto the dirt path leading into the woods in silence. Officially it didn’t have a name. Unofficially Jason referred to it as Carico Road, named by his father years ago. The three-bedroom house, previously owned by his father and built by his grandfather, was an oasis deep in the middle of nowhere, hidden amidst a thick vein of woods about a half-mile away from the main road. Even after all these years, the town of Samchi’s decision to not pave the path leading to his home still bothered him. Jason learned at a young age that the Carico family mattered little when it came to town affairs.

The truck bounced along, Carico & Son emblazoned on both sides, as Jason’s fingers drummed on top of the roof. Finally, he pulled up to the swinging wooden gate, stretching across the dirt road, and placed the car in park. The five-foot barrier appeared to be brand new because it was, built back in August. He stepped out and walked up to the three padlocks securing the two swinging doors where they met in the middle.

Holding his massive key ring, he fingered through the eleven until he found the appropriate three for the three locks. Eighteen seconds later, he rolled them about in his large hand. He knew full well his home-built effort wasn’t an actual deterrent. For one, anyone on foot could simply walk around said gate into the woods and come out clean on the other side. And if they drove up, they wouldn’t need a tank to smash straight through. He only had one goal when he amassed the structure, time. The obstacle stood less than a quarter-mile from his home. Close enough that he could hear any commotion, far enough to give him an extra second to prepare, to gather, and to run, if it came to that.

There was motion to his left, and he discovered the alpha doe, a doe with velvet-covered antlers, staring at him from the other side. They locked eyes, and an uneasiness filled Jason’s stomach. It’s an animal, nothing more. Just a female with too much testosterone. Her nose twitched, and Jason shifted one of the locks to his right hand. She let out a loud snort and galloped off to parts unknown. Jason let out a low sigh and relaxed his grip. Talking out loud, Jason told himself to ignore the animal; it’s just a deer. He repeated it to convince himself, just a deer. Focus on the tasks at hand—moving the car through, securing the gate, and getting home.

After double-checking the locks to make sure they were fastened tight, Jason hopped back in his car, now on the other side, and continued on.

To the right of the house, set slightly back, was the two-car garage Jason’s father built for his dad—Jason’s grandfather as a gift, back in 1967. Jason’s father had surprised his granddad, who was off visiting his sister for a couple of weeks. The days of hauling a six-foot ladder out of the basement had thankfully come to an end. Initially, the right side of the building was for the truck, the left side packed with tools and materials for “Carico & Son,” but now everything bled together.

Jason pulled into the garage and unloaded his tools, placing them in the appropriate spots along the walls and the workbench, saving the six-foot ladder for last.

Jason stepped out, hit the button, and watched the door descend, making sure it touched bottom. Always make sure; he might as well have the phrase tattooed somewhere since it was constantly running through his mind. His own personal mantra. Never assume. Always check. Always confirm. Always double-check. The door dropped down, and Jason caught a glimpse of his reflection in the small glass window.

His face resembled the current status of the house: tired. Dark rings had recently taken up residence under his brown eyes, resting below a shaved head. Jason was a twenty-six-year-old African American who felt like he was aging in dog years. If he kept going like this, he’d be lucky to see thirty.

Jason ran a dirty hand across the right side of his face, brushing against the stubble. His attitude on shaving his face had relaxed significantly. Stubble, stubble everywhere, so let’s all have a drink. He shook his head and admonished himself. He couldn’t enter the house in such a negative state of mind. Needing to buck up his confidence, Jason offered a fake smile at the reflection, which morphed into a real one. In another life, he could be quite the charmer, and that smile had worked wonders.

“You ready?” he whispered to himself as he looked down at his watch. 5:58 pm—right on time. He walked the worn path through what remained of the grass, crunching through the former bodies of brilliance, ignoring those leaves of the Iroquois trees holding on amidst their transition. All wasted on a man without social media. He continued strolling the perimeter of his ranch-style abode, doing what he always did, confirming. The first thing he checked, the first thing he always checked, was the recently sealed-up basement window on the right side of the house.

Several robins laid spread out on the ground, their necks broken. He grabbed the shovel he left leaning against the house, scooped up the bodies, and sent them to the great beyond. Four that time. Two robins the time before that. Running his hand against the former window, he expressed gratitude to no one in particular that he had found no damage.

This time.

What if something larger than a bird decided to crash against it? He filed that thought under the domain of a Future Jason problem and inspected the begging to be cleaned windows of both bedrooms. Satisfied, he glanced up and winked at the camera staring back at him, nestled in the corner under the gutter.

Jason moved to the back of the house, finding nothing unusual. The kitchen window didn’t budge an iota when he pushed up on the ledge. Jason turned and winked again at the second camera staring impassively back at him. He continued his trek, examining the musty window of the master bedroom, his father’s old room. When that passed the test, he winked for the third time at the corner camera.

Feeling satisfied, Jason returned to the front of the house and walked the path up to the porch. Three steps led to the door, and his eyes noticed it before he stepped down on the first board. A decent-sized crack in the wood flashed a crooked smile at him. Add that to the list of things needed to get fixed, cleaned up, or raked before the first snow. A long list he would one day set down on paper and then probably lose among the clutter.

The porch had an old metal tray table, and a couple of beat-up wooden chairs with faded red cushions. An ashtray marked the surface, filled with willing sacrifices, leftovers from his father. Perhaps one day, he’d deal with that too, and after that, tackle his bedroom.

More tasks for that to-do list.

Having accomplished his mission, he let out one final wink at the camera in the left-hand corner, covering the front door, porch, and some of the path. Of course, he could have easily entered the house five minutes ago and done the whole production on the app he had on his phone—but the motto tolled like a bell, always make sure.

Jason held the screen door open with his hip and slid the same key into the lock above and the knob below. The dark brown door opened like a long-sealed pyramid. This wasn’t the Wizard of Oz, and Jason certainly wasn’t Dorothy. The waning sunbeams both displayed the dancing specs of dust destined to join all the others and illuminated the dreary insides, the only colors to be found fading away. Years ago, his mom painted the hallway yellow. He wasn’t sure what the color was now but knew he couldn’t find it at the paint store.

Jason dropped his wallet on the table to his left and stood inside what could be referred to as a mudroom. Hooks for the jackets were on the wall to his right, mounted above an area for work boots, shoes, and an assortment of other items long forgotten and now used as domiciles for various insects. God bless the multiple spiders for volunteering to be the house’s personal security force.

Was that an outside sound or an indoor noise?

He remained grounded on the crusty mat and listened intently. A minute passed, marked by the ticking of the kitchen clock. Another minute passed before Jason allowed himself to continue.

Walking down the hallway to the kitchen and the living room in the back of the house, he passed two bedrooms on the right and his father’s old master bedroom, along with the only bathroom on the left. Various crucifixes were nailed in places where pictures once stood, their shadows sticking out behind Jesus’ lifeless body.

Only one picture remained, and it hung at the end of the hallway. Inside the frame is a younger Jason, a happier Jason with his dad, and a younger child. When he passed it, Jason did what he always did; kiss his two fingers and touch the little girl’s beaming face.

The basement door, secured with three different locks, greeted him after passing the bathroom but before entering the kitchen. A gun rack with an assortment of guns hung on the wall to the left of the entrance, smack dab in the middle of the house. Like everything else, the rack was built by his handy grandfather. Various types of handguns were held in place, surrounding a hefty shotgun. There was a gun for every problem imaginable and a couple extra just in case.

The kitchen design would be considered modern if this were 1995. Brown cabinets hung on the walls over a formerly cream-colored linoleum countertop. Once yellow and now caked in grease, the stove slept patiently, waiting for one of its three working burners to be used. Jason popped open the fridge and perused its contents. Did he want beer, beer, or baking soda? He chose beer and flipped the cap off into the sink, where it found its brothers. Jason took a deep pull, followed by another, and set the bottle down on the counter. He didn’t have to recheck his watch; the ticking of the old face hovering on the wall told him it was time to get his act in gear.

Jason opened up the freezer above and dug around for one of the many tv dinners. Tonight would be Salisbury steak; he supposed that would be acceptable. Jason reached in and grabbed a second, and popped them into the oven. That’s when he gave a sniff.

There was a smell inside the house. Not a new smell, either. A familiar smell. The sort of familiar you begrudgingly accepted. Something had seeped inside the bones of his house. The only apparent solution was to mask the scent. For the past couple of months, Jason had driven to several stores within a twenty-mile radius to procure his own private inventory of scented candles. Grabbing a book of matches out of the junk drawer, Jason walked up and down the hallway, lighting candles in every room. Autumn leaves, apple, pumpkin, vanilla, jasmine, and lavender, all of those smells coalesced to mask what lied beneath.

Jason’s footsteps provided the soundtrack, the echoes reverberating off the worn hardwood floor. The record needle scratched when a tiny voice floated up from the basement.

“Hello?”

 

 

CHAPTER 2

October 30

 

Jason balanced the tray containing two tv dinners, two glasses of milk, and two pairs of forks and knives in one hand while holding the keyring in the other. What was once a high wire act had transformed into ballet. His fingers found the right keys, and he methodically unlocked the three locks on the basement door, slipping them into his right pocket. Mission accomplished, Jason navigated the steps before pausing and going back up. Still holding the tray, he dropped the keys in his left pocket and scooped up a 45 from the rack. There was no need to check if it was loaded when Jason already knew. Still, the motto persisted. He then checked the safety and secured the gun in the back of his jeans, grabbed the keys again, and made his way down the stairs, reflexively looking up at the crucifix above the door. The light switch remained undisturbed; he knew the walk by heart.

Twelve steps later, he reached the landing. To his right, a faded simple white door with an old golden handle. Behind that door was his granddad’s old workshop with some tools and the circuit breakers.

To his left stood another door, recently installed with fresh white paint and a black doorknob. A faint glow emanated below the door frame. Above the knob were three more locks, and his fingers found the appropriate keys. He dropped each of the padlocks into his left pocket, and once again, reflexively glanced up above the door. No crucifix this time; instead, a warning. Although he supposed a crucifixion was the very definition of a warning.

 

DO NOT OPEN!

 

The words, written in haste, courtesy of black paint and a thick brush, were impossible to miss.

“I’m a good man. I’m a good man. I’m a good man.” A simple mantra he continuously repeated whenever he opened the door. Eight years ago, in the midst of a wonderful day, his father had the brilliant idea of turning the old dingy basement into a playroom. Every night after work, while Jason took care of things upstairs, his father went downstairs, converting a dark, scary space into one that would eventually be full of toys and laughter.

Now, whenever Jason entered, he felt more jailhouse than joy.

It took a second for his eyes to adjust from darkness to a well-lit room. His father had maximized the space so that the basement was laid out like a large number seven. A violet-painted wall ran the length of the room, only broken up by a couple of closet doors and a bookcase filled with books. The rest of the basement hid around the bend, including a half bath. Between him and that bathroom were a toy chest, a dollhouse, shelving for games, bright purple carpeting matching the violet-painted walls, a twin-size bed, and a recently sealed-up basement window directly above said bed.

A room fit for a pris—princess.

“Dinner!”

Delta sat sprawled out on the bed covered by a Spongebob comforter, feet in the air reading one of the Harry Potters. She wore a pink shirt showing three horses galloping in a field and jeans, no socks or shoes.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes, coming.” Delta left her book open-faced on the mattress, the spine begging for relief. A skinny girl with long red hair, green eyes, pale skin, and a healthy dose of freckles emerged. She converged at the card table Jason fashioned into a dinner table against the staircase wall across from her bed. He arranged the tray’s contents in an orderly fashion and deposited the tray on the floor to his left.

Quickly remembering what else needed to be done, Jason walked back over to the basement door where an old end table that had once belonged to his grandparents waited. There were a couple of candles, both cherry-scented, and Jason lit them with the book of matches kept in the drawer. When he returned to the table, he found Delta sitting patiently.

“Do you want to say it tonight?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. Delta bowed her head, her red hair spilling over her face like a waterfall, and she brushed it out of her face before assuming a praying position.

“Thank you, Lord, for our food. We miss mommy. Oh, and Lord, please tell daddy to let me go upstairs. Amen.”

Jason let the last statement pass without comment. He attacked his dinner, a combination of hunger and nerves: Salisbury steak, green beans, and a brownie. The two ate in silence for a bit, the only sound coming from the dancing silverware. He didn’t want to argue; truth be told, he didn’t want to be there at all, but it needed to be addressed.

“What have I told you about calling out?” Delta dipped a dry piece of steak into the brown juice and took a bite. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Delta looked up and gave Jason her full attention.

“What?” There’s less attitude, more avoidance in her voice.

“When I came home today, you yelled out. What have I told you about doing that?”

“No shouting.” Jason gave an approving nod.

“And why do we have that rule?” Delta cut off another dry piece and examined its flaws while dangling on the tip of her fork.

“It’s not safe.”

“Good. So, no more shouting, okay? The next time it might not be me; it might be one of the bad people.” Feeling like the topic had been adequately addressed, Jason dropped the conversation. They resumed the meal in silence for a bit. Keeping her focus on the individual green beans on her plate, Delta posed what she thought would be a reasonable query.

“Do you think I can go upstairs tonight?” Jason finished swallowing a large piece of steak. The question caused his stomach to flip, and he braced for the storm. He glanced at her, head down, long red hair impersonating a curtain, and said,

“I’m sorry. You know the answer.” She wiped the hair from her eyes.

“But why?” He had no energy for a fight and tried to diffuse the situation.

“I’m going to the store tomorrow; I’ll buy you a new book.”Delta stabbed another green bean and popped it in her mouth.

“But I feel like I’ve read every single book there is in the world.” Her remark made him smile.

“Trust me, there’s plenty more. You’re reading Harry Potter, right? There’s, I think, seven total.” Jason kept his eyes on his plate, fully aware she wouldn’t give up that easily. As if she read his mind, a wry grin appeared on her face.

“Okay, what if I came with you and picked the book out myself?” Jason shook his head. She was being fair, more than fair. They always used to buy books together. It was one of their many things.

Was.

Deflect

Avoid

Move on.

Kid Jiu-Jitsu.

“You definitely know the answer to that.”

“You always used to let me pick out my books.” Her voice lilted up, the storm clouds gathering with intensity. He never knew what to say. It was hard enough back when...back when things…back then. She didn’t wait for a response.

“It’s not fair!” Jason shoveled several green beans into his mouth. He needed to finish eating. He needed to get back upstairs.

“I know.” Delta glared at him.

“No, you don’t. You get to go outside and see people and do stuff and have fun.” He was almost done. One more bite of steak and a brownie. ...