Stone Soldiers 4: Shades of War Read Online Free Page B
Author: C. E. Martin
accommodations.
The back door was locked, but the mechanism slowly gave way to the irresistible force he applied to it. Metal sheared, but so slowly almost no noise was made. He swung the door in and crept inside.
The interior of the home reminded him of his own childhood. In fact, it was eerily similar, with the carpet and walls the same color. Even the arrangement of the furniture was the same. He was surprised. He hadn't thought the connection with his target was that strong.
His target- sleeping upstairs, in a king sized bed with his wife. Sleeping soundly without any care in the world beyond going to work and making the next mortgage payment.
He moved to the stairs and floated above them, rising silently to the second floor. On the off chance the hardwood floor here might creak, he continued hovering, right to his target's door.
No lock barred his way this time. He glided above the floor, through the open bedroom door, and over to the side of the bed.
The sleeping woman there was thin, with long flowing hair. Even without makeup, she appeared very beautiful. He felt oddly attracted to her. His target had chosen well. But he had no time for that sort of fleshly concern.
He reached out slowly and delicately wrapped his fingers around her thin neck. Then he squeezed it suddenly.
The cracking of the shattered vertebrae was louder than he had thought it would be. His target snored briefly at the sound of his wife's murder, but just rolled over onto his back, his deep slumber otherwise undisturbed.
The intruder slid the pillow out from under the dead woman's head. He wanted this body as intact as possible. He pressed the pillow down on the sleeping man's face
James Monroe Trumball's eyes snapped open as his head was forced back into his pillow by the pillow pressed over his face. He immediately recognized the smell of his wife's perfume on the pillow suffocating him. He tried to sit up.
While he felt no weight on him, the force holding the pillow down did not budge one bit. It was as though an elephant were holding it on place- just hard enough to blot out any sight or any breath.
James struggled with his hands, reaching up. He felt the bare, hairy skin of a man leaning over him, holding the pillow. But despite his best efforts, he could do nothing to the man. His panicked clawing did not move the man's arms or hands in the least. He was frozen in place, holding that pillow over James' face with a strength as unyielding as a mountain.
James squirmed and kicked and thrashed, trying to get free. His felt his hands knock over the nightstand beside his bed. He felt his wife's body beside him, still warm, but strangely limp and unresponsive.
James Monroe Trumball had been born into a rough life- suffering some unknown trauma as a child that was so terrible he had blocked out his entire childhood. He had been adopted by loving parents who had helped him recover then put him through college. Parents that loved his wife as much as he did. As his life began to slip away, James felt sadness for his parents. And for his son.
***
Jason Trumball awoke with a start in his room. He had heard something. A crashing sound. He heard more noises. From his parents' bedroom.
"Oh, god," the fifteen year old said, his face flushing red. They were at it again. He was surprised he was an only child.
The sounds continued. Despite his own inexperience with women, Jason suddenly felt these weren't the right sounds. Not that what his parents did in their bedroom could ever be considered right sounding. But no, this was something else.
The hairs on the back of his neck rising, Jason crept out of bed. He didn't really want to see his parents doing... their thing. But he just felt like something wasn't right.
When he opened the door to his room, Jason was sure something wasn't right. He could tell instantly that his parents' bedroom door was open. The sounds coming from the room were too loud for it to be closed.
"Mom? Dad?" Jason
The back door was locked, but the mechanism slowly gave way to the irresistible force he applied to it. Metal sheared, but so slowly almost no noise was made. He swung the door in and crept inside.
The interior of the home reminded him of his own childhood. In fact, it was eerily similar, with the carpet and walls the same color. Even the arrangement of the furniture was the same. He was surprised. He hadn't thought the connection with his target was that strong.
His target- sleeping upstairs, in a king sized bed with his wife. Sleeping soundly without any care in the world beyond going to work and making the next mortgage payment.
He moved to the stairs and floated above them, rising silently to the second floor. On the off chance the hardwood floor here might creak, he continued hovering, right to his target's door.
No lock barred his way this time. He glided above the floor, through the open bedroom door, and over to the side of the bed.
The sleeping woman there was thin, with long flowing hair. Even without makeup, she appeared very beautiful. He felt oddly attracted to her. His target had chosen well. But he had no time for that sort of fleshly concern.
He reached out slowly and delicately wrapped his fingers around her thin neck. Then he squeezed it suddenly.
The cracking of the shattered vertebrae was louder than he had thought it would be. His target snored briefly at the sound of his wife's murder, but just rolled over onto his back, his deep slumber otherwise undisturbed.
The intruder slid the pillow out from under the dead woman's head. He wanted this body as intact as possible. He pressed the pillow down on the sleeping man's face
James Monroe Trumball's eyes snapped open as his head was forced back into his pillow by the pillow pressed over his face. He immediately recognized the smell of his wife's perfume on the pillow suffocating him. He tried to sit up.
While he felt no weight on him, the force holding the pillow down did not budge one bit. It was as though an elephant were holding it on place- just hard enough to blot out any sight or any breath.
James struggled with his hands, reaching up. He felt the bare, hairy skin of a man leaning over him, holding the pillow. But despite his best efforts, he could do nothing to the man. His panicked clawing did not move the man's arms or hands in the least. He was frozen in place, holding that pillow over James' face with a strength as unyielding as a mountain.
James squirmed and kicked and thrashed, trying to get free. His felt his hands knock over the nightstand beside his bed. He felt his wife's body beside him, still warm, but strangely limp and unresponsive.
James Monroe Trumball had been born into a rough life- suffering some unknown trauma as a child that was so terrible he had blocked out his entire childhood. He had been adopted by loving parents who had helped him recover then put him through college. Parents that loved his wife as much as he did. As his life began to slip away, James felt sadness for his parents. And for his son.
***
Jason Trumball awoke with a start in his room. He had heard something. A crashing sound. He heard more noises. From his parents' bedroom.
"Oh, god," the fifteen year old said, his face flushing red. They were at it again. He was surprised he was an only child.
The sounds continued. Despite his own inexperience with women, Jason suddenly felt these weren't the right sounds. Not that what his parents did in their bedroom could ever be considered right sounding. But no, this was something else.
The hairs on the back of his neck rising, Jason crept out of bed. He didn't really want to see his parents doing... their thing. But he just felt like something wasn't right.
When he opened the door to his room, Jason was sure something wasn't right. He could tell instantly that his parents' bedroom door was open. The sounds coming from the room were too loud for it to be closed.
"Mom? Dad?" Jason
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