Howard Leonard Ross had enjoyed an incredible career as an author over the last thirty years. Having started writing later in life than he would have preferred, he soon found out that he had a lot of life experiences he could draw on, which readers seemed to enjoy reading about. But it wasn’t until his third thriller novel hit the book charts in a big way that the publishers started noticing him.
A fierce bidding war for the rights to his books took place, swiftly followed by a movie deal, which eventually ended up on the big screen with several A-list Hollywood names featured in the film. It was an overwhelming success. One thriller turned into a whole series of books, with more films to follow, and H.L. Ross’ financial future was guaranteed.
Although Howard loved and enjoyed the opportunities and success his writing had afforded him, he was still very much the reserved university professor who was careful with his money and liked to live life cautiously. However, today was the exception to the rule, because today was his seventieth birthday.
At the insistence of both his son and his daughter, he had relented and decided to have a birthday party. At first Howard had suggested a dinner with a few guests, but his children had badgered him into hosting a garden party at his home on the outskirts of Toronto. He finally gave into them and invited his family, his closest friends, and many notable members of the writing and publishing world.
“It’s about time you put this mansion to good use, Dad,” his son Darren had said. “You have such a massive garden, and it’s manicured to perfection. Not to mention the enormous swimming pool and barbeque area on the patio. This place is perfect for entertaining, and you can certainly accommodate a large number of guests.”
“Dad,” his daughter Kim had added, “the kids will love running around on your lawn, so they won’t be a bother, because we’ll never find them! Plus, it gives you some time to bond with Leah. She’s almost twenty-three years old now, and you haven’t even seen her this year.”
“Well, you shouldn’t live so far away,” Howard had said to his daughter, “But I do love the chats she and I have.” The old man looked off into the distance hoping to find her in the crowd.
“I think you should sell this place and move to Vancouver, Dad,” his daughter had told him. “You have that gorgeous apartment there with an amazing view of the city, and you hardly ever use it.”
“No chance of that ever happening now. I’m too old to be bothered with moving, and besides, I love living in Forest Hill.”
“That doesn’t surprise me, considering the size of the houses in this neighborhood,” his son had added.
After a bit more conversation with his two children, Howard disappeared to speak to the small number of freelancer specialists who worked for him a few times a month. Although Howard did have a traditional book deal for a few of his books, he was an independent author at heart and made far more money on his own than going through a traditional publishing house. He suspected he would not have become a millionaire if he’d handed over all his work to a publishing house.
Howard was surprised at how much he was enjoying entertaining guests on the extensive property that he’d been fortunate enough to buy. He spent the rest of the afternoon touching base with the publishing crowd, praising his little team of cover designers, editors, proofreaders, and formatting experts, before moving on to his own family.
“Umm... has he arrived yet?" he asked his daughter, Kim.
"No, not yet. Do you want me to take him through to the back with the rest of the guests, or do you want to speak to him in private?"
"Private, please. I don't want anybody making a big deal about this, and I suspect he wouldn't either."
"Okay, no problem, Dad. I'll take him through to the study."
"Thank you. Now I need to go upstairs, but I’ll be back in an hour. I need to inject myself. It’s about that time, and I will probably need a brief nap as well. But please, you and your brother keep the party going until I return.”
“We will, Dad,” his daughter said.
“Of that I have no doubt,” Howard said as he looked over at his son and his wife, who were holding court in the middle of Howard’s publishing crowd.
Howard slipped away from the party to go upstairs to his bedroom to inject himself with his insulin shot. He used an insulin pen for this, which was in what he referred to as his diabetes bag. He kept it in the nightstand drawer next to the side of the bed, the side that his wife used to sleep on before she passed away a few years ago.
He kept a picture of her there to remind him of all the happy years they spent together. Looking at it while he found his insulin pen, he smiled. Howard had loved her then, and he loved her now. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss her.
Howard took out his pen, found a fatty section of his thigh, and injected the insulin into his body. Type One diabetes had been no fun at all, and he felt very unlucky that he’d developed this condition.
He always needed to lie down for a while after the injection. He didn’t know whether it was a legitimate reaction to the insulin injection, or it was just in his head. He’d drift off and nap for about an hour and then be ready for whatever the rest of the day had in store for him. Howard Ross laid down on his bed and was soon dozing off.
*****
He’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes or so when he had a visitor from the party that was taking place out in the back garden quietly enter his bedroom. If he’d been awake, Howard would have used the word “intruder” instead, because the person had not been invited upstairs to interrupt Howard’s afternoon nap. However, that didn’t stop the intruder from sneaking into the old man’s bedroom and walking right up to his bed. The intruder stopped at the side of the bed and looked down at the author who was sound asleep.
Grinning ever so slightly, the intruder looked around the bedroom and noticed the framed photograph of Howard’s wife on the nightstand next to the bed. Beside the photograph was Howard’s medical aid bag. The intruder smiled and crept over to the green bag with the white cross on it and unzipped it. As expected, it contained Howard’s diabetes kit of insulin paraphernalia.
The intruder knew that time was short, and the time to act was now or never. His plan had been thoroughly thought out and a strategy decided upon. Now was the time to act or miss the opportunity forever. Bending down over the nightstand, taking care to stay absolutely silent, the intruder pulled a syringe from the medical bag, slowly ripped the packaging open, and removed the plastic protective cap covering the needle. Then the intruder took hold of the syringe in their right hand.
The intruder hovered over the old man for a few seconds, just watching him, building their nerve up and experiencing a rush of adrenaline. They grabbed some flesh on his leg, inserted the syringe and pushed the insulin into his leg. As expected, the old man woke up with a start, but the intruder was prepared for that to happen. They quickly grabbed the spare pillow lying next to Howard’s head, and pushed it down over Howard’s face.
The intruder held it down and in place with their hand and forearm, as the old man struggled for air. Then they pushed the plunger of the syringe that had been emptied downward toward the author’s heart, sending a significant amount of air straight into Howard’s heart.
Howard struggled for a minute, but since he’d been asleep when the attack on him by the intruder occurred, he really hadn’t stood a chance against the intruder. The air went straight to the seventy-year-old author’s heart and immediately caused an arterial air embolism. Howard was dead within moments.
The intruder looked down at him, paralyzed at the sight of what they had just done. But they recovered, hurriedly retrieved everything they’d just used, and left the bedroom. The intruder put the medical gloves and syringe in their jeans pocket and went outside to their car, where they dumped the evidence in the glove box. After a few minutes, they collected themself, and went back to the garden to rejoin the party.
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
