Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Pine Barrens
At eleven-forty p.m., the rain began to fall over northern New Jersey.
It came down in heavy, cold sheets, washing over the vast expanse of industrial marshland, chemical storage facilities, and rusted freight yards known as the Meadowlands.
Damian’s dark sedan pulled up outside an abandoned auto salvage yard six miles off Route 4. Three other black SUVs idle nearby, their headlights cutting through the thick sheet of falling rain.
Miles opened the door for Damian, holding a large black umbrella overhead.
Damian ignored the umbrella, stepping out into the mud. His leather shoes sank two inches into the wet clay, but he didn't notice. His tux jacket was soaked within seconds, his dark hair plastered to his forehead.
In the center of the muddy yard, illuminated by the high beams of two trucks, stood a middle-aged man in a yellow rain slicker. His hands were zip-tied behind his back, his knees trembling as two of Damian’s men held him by the shoulders.
The man was Arthur Vance—a former logistics manager for the dockworkers' union who had been on Caleb Rourke’s payroll six years ago.
Damian walked up to Vance. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, six feet tall, rain pouring down his face, his silver eyes fixed on the older man’s terrified face.
“Damian… please!” Vance cried out over the sound of the rain. “I don't know anything! I haven't seen Caleb in five years! I swear on my mother’s grave! He’s dead! You killed him in the Barrens!”
Damian stepped closer. He reached out, grabbed Vance by the front of his yellow slicker, and pulled him forward until their noses were inches apart.
“Caleb is alive,” Damian whispered.
Vance’s eyes widened in genuine, unscripted terror. The color drained from his weathered face, leaving him looking sickly green under the harsh halogen truck lights.
“No…” Vance stammered. “No, that’s impossible. I saw the dental records from the car crash in the ravine—”
“The dental records were forged,” Damian said flatly. “Which means someone in the medical examiner’s office took fifty grand to sign off on a burnt skull. And someone in the union kept a line open for him.”
“It wasn't me!” Vance sobbed, his knees giving out entirely. He hung from Damian’s grip like a wet sack of laundry. “I swear to God, Damian! If Caleb came back, he didn't come to me! He hates everyone from the old crew! He thought we abandoned him after the shooting!”
Damian looked into the man’s eyes. He had spent eighteen years reading the faces of liars, thieves, and murderers. Vance wasn't lying. He was terrified—not just of Damian, but of the name Caleb Rourke.
Damian released his grip. Vance fell into the mud with a wet splash.
Leo walked up beside Damian, holding a waterproof tablet screen.
“Thomas’s car was recovered from the canal ten minutes ago,” Leo reported grimly. “Thomas was in the trunk. Single gunshot to the back of the head. Execution style.”
Damian’s jaw tightened. “And the interior?”
“Forensics found two things,” Leo said. “A woman’s green silk shoe—Nora’s—and a paper receipt from a marine supply store in Point Pleasant. Dated yesterday morning.”
Damian turned his head toward his brother. “Point Pleasant? What did he buy?”
“Fifty gallons of diesel, marine-grade battery units, and three hundred feet of heavy nylon mooring line,” Leo read from the screen. “He paid in cash. The name on the receipt was Joseph Miller.”
“Miller was Caleb’s mother’s maiden name,” Damian said instantly. The puzzle pieces were beginning to slam together with violent clarity. “He didn't take her to a hideout in the city. He’s taking her waterborne.”
“The coast guard?” Miles suggested.
“No,” Damian snapped. “No authorities. The moment a patrol boat turns on a siren near Caleb, he kills her. He’s a narcissist who believes if he can't own her, no one can.”
Damian turned back to his vehicle, his heavy tread churning the black mud.
May you like
“Where are we going, boss?” Miles called out, running to keep pace.
“To the place where I shot him five years ago,” Damian said, sliding into the back seat of the car. “He’s not just hiding, Miles. He’s staging a re-enactment.”
