Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Jeopardise

She sits there studying the floorboards, paying close attention to each plank of wood as it runs into the next, noting how the grains blend from one to the other. She begins to wonder how long it took the man who laid the planks down, how hard he tried to hide the changes in each plank, and whether that was his specialty. She’s pulled from the world inside her head as the door opens and a man walks into the room. He clears his throat as she gently turns her gaze towards him.

“Thank you for waiting, Mrs Walters. I’m sorry it took a little longer than I said,” he says, placing a folder on the desk and shuffling into the seat behind it. His face is grey, dull, his cheeks withdrawn, and his sandy brown hair is thinning. She begins to wonder how long his doctor has given him, or if indeed he’s even made that terrifying move yet. He coughs violently, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes the mucus and saliva from his mouth and nose. “Sorry, I just can’t seem to shake this damn cold.”

“That’s okay, and for the last time, Rodney, it’s Gloria. We’ve known each other long enough for the titles to fall away. Now, what did you want to see me about in such a hurry?”

He opens the folder on the desk, pulls out a piece of paper, and slides it across the desk towards her. “Do you know this man?”

“Samuel Dekker? I didn’t know him that well. He used to date my mum, but it’s been years since I’ve seen him. He left town after they split,” she says as she picks up the paper and studies the words written on it. She looks back at Rodney, her face slowly turning pale, the blood draining from it as her eyes widen. “Is this for real?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“How in the hell can he contest the will? He left a long time ago. Mum never talked about him much after that; he was history. What grounds does he even have?”

“At the time of your mother’s death, he was still legally married to her.”

“What? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wish I weren’t, but it’s true, and now he’s contesting the will, claiming he has an updated version—one that leaves everything to him.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m sorry to say it’s true. He’ll be here in two days. I’ve arranged a sitting for Thursday. I suggest if you don’t have one, you get yourself a lawyer. Things could get messy.”

“Is this your way of saying you’re not going to represent me?”

“I can’t, Mrs… Gloria. As executor of the will—both wills, surprisingly—I am unable to help you with your case,” he says, sliding a card across the table. “His name is Thomas Grenada, a brilliant lawyer. Expensive, but his specialty is probate cases, and his success rate is almost one hundred percent. I suggest you contact him as soon as possible.”

She grabs the card from the desk and launches herself to her feet. “Fuck you!” she says as she storms out of the office, out through the main doors, and into the street. Quickly, she pulls a mobile phone from her bag and dials a number. A few seconds later, a man answers the phone on the other end.

“What did the old sleazebag want?” he says, his voice hoarse, dry.

“Do you remember Dekker?”

“Dekker? You mean the piece of shit who tried to touch you up when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, that’s him. According to Rodney, the old bitch was still married to that piece of shit, and the fucktard is going to jeopardise everything we’ve done up to now. He’s after it all.”

“I knew it was too easy. What’s the game plan?”

“We don’t have any other options. You need to get rid of the old son of a bitch before he gets into town; otherwise, killing the witch was a waste of fucking time.”