Our Story

Jennings having lived most of his life in some of the bigger city was now calling the quiet little town of Wheats town; in the middle of nowhere Indiana, home. The Complex was the biggest apartment complex in; not only the town, but the county. The Complex is a rather quiet little three story building, close to the center of town. Once a rather bustling factory making fencing, tubing and wiring; now it is affordable living units for multiple families.

The outside a simple brick façade with rows of ten foot tall windows; also a rather simple design with canvas awnings and community flower beds, which host colorful flowers in the spring and vegetables in the fall. Jennings was returning from his relatively boring job in the city, where he works in Information Technology. There sitting at the base of his door was a plain manila envelope. Dumbfounded he scratched his head as he bent down to pick up the medium sized flat package. It sat as if it wasn’t placed; but, rather dropped or better yet, fell into that weird catawampus angle and no one seemed too noticed. He hadn’t ordered anything, of which he was certain.

Jennings looked for the package label; nothing written on that side; he flipped to the other side where half of a missing label was visible. The missing part was the most important part naturally. There in black script font was a partial hand written street name; however, all the important details were missing like someone had intentionally torn the label off. Ever the optimist Jennings believed that the label had unintentionally snagged on another package and the delivery person must have not noticed when it fell in front of Jennings door. Jennings started to unlock his apartment. Just then he heard a door unlock and he turned to find Mr. Hicks looking out his door at Jennings. Mr. Hicks’ eyes seemed to have a dear in the head lights look when he seen Jennings standing there. Without warning Mr. Hicks slammed his door shut. Jennings shuttered and stepped into his own apartment then shut the door.

Inside his apartment Jennings was greeted by his Boston terrier, Sadie. Jennings dropped the package with the other mail on the counter and started giving Sadie all his love and attention. After the initial ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ Jennings wondered off to his room to change out of his uniform and back into old comfy clothes. Jennings became side tracked with his normal evening rituals then forgot all about the envelope.

As Jennings and Sadie finished up dinner Jennings turned his attention to paying bills on-line. With the bills paid for another month Jennings’s felt the urge to check to see if he could locate the sender of the package from just the street name. Maybe he could figure out the location from which the package had come from. Jennings noticed a notification from his social media, someone had sent him money, lots of money! He opened his account to find eight thousand dollars. All the senders’ names were hidden!

Money was pouring in as he stared quietly at the screen. In moments the total continued to grow, first in slow increments. Nine, then ten and within minutes he had twenty-four thousand dollars and it was continuing to grow. Someone must have hacked his online bank account. He wanted to research and identify the senders; however, the sheer number of people were growing faster than he could attack it and get any answers. Conflicted he decided to let it go for the moment, digging into this now could take hours or even days to research.

He turned his attention back to the envelope. Back in the kitchen the mail was disturbed. The package was gone! Jennings looked all around the counters edge, he scanned the kitchen floor. Had he accidently knocked it off and didn’t notice? Why was his other mail scattered around like it was searched through? Sadie! Where the hell was that dog? Should have never taught that dog to open Christmas presents.

I looked all around the apartment and couldn’t find her. Then I noticed the front door was standing ajar. I walked over to it and pulled the door agape. There in the center of the hall sat Sadie on top of the package looking at old Mrs. Van Descant’s door. “Sadie, Go, go on.” Sadie headed back into the apartment as I bent down and picked up the package. Sadie began to whimper and whine, marching back and forth in front of the door. “Where is your leash?” She hopped up on that old leather club chair, she loves so much. She stood tall for me to hook up her harness and then we headed for the door. Before we left I moved the package to the top of the fridge for safe keeping.

Sadie loved going on our evening walks around the block and past some of the neighborhood houses. The house near the corner is a nice little cottage with gingerbread siding, they have two terriers that yelp their hellos every time from the window seat where they stand watch. The old Victorian on the other corner was purchased a few years ago by a lovely older hippie couple. The house is anything but “normal” the main house is purple with multi-colored accents making up the exterior of this hundred year old fixer upper. The Bryant’s have an eclectic arrangement of dogs as well. At last count I believe he told me the family has twelve dogs. The three inside are special needs, the remaining nine live in a well-built shared dog house near the far side of the property.

My mind was a race as we rounded the next blocked and were headed for home. What could be so important that someone would open my front door and walk in and take the package off my kitchen counter? My mind began to get excited with interesting and intriguing ideas. Excited once again I put a little more pep in my step as we walked back to our home. The hallways were empty. Kind of normal for 9pm on a Friday night, really. People seemed to start settling down about now. There usually isn’t a lot of traffic in the halls.

I locked the front door behind me and grabbed the manila envelope from its temporary home on the fridge. I retreated to my room for comfort and safety. I set down at my desk, Sadie by my side; I flipped open my pocket knife I kept on my desk and cut the top of the package open. Whatever resided inside even if temporary, seems to have a hard exterior and was reasonably thick. I turned the envelope over and poured the contents out onto my desk. The mass slide towards the opening and out of the darkness, then into light. It was a little black book! A simple notebook journal style little black book, about 5 by 7 inches. In the envelope was also a gold crescent moon necklace with an oval amethyst near the center of the moon.

I opened the book to the middle and began reading. I sat back in my chair and propped my feet up. The chapters were hand written, this paragraph read of pure evil. It described a scene that felt like a scene from a horror movie. A recanting from a woman as to the first time she murdered a man. Not just any man though, it was the murder of her first husband. It recants all the sorted details, she even describes her emotions as she committed the crime. She goes into detail describing: the smell of the blood in the room, after she pulls out the ice pick from her husband’s neck. The feel, the warmth of the blood as it washes over her hand. Discussed in the events of the crime, Jennings throws the little black book on his desk.

All kinds of thoughts began to fill Jennings head. Freaked out, Jennings picked up the book and flipped backwards to find a name of the author. At the beginning he found not a name; but, two initials; “G.S”. Gloria was the name of one of his favorite neighbors; a nice older lady that lives near the end of the hall. It can’t be the same person. What the hell was going on around this place? Flipping forward he found J.D.’s initials written in blue ink. The paragraphs that followed were written in the same blue ink, with a left handed slant. This was definitely a different person’s hand writing.

Jennings would spend the rest of the night enthrall in reading this book as it recanted murder after murder. J.D. told how her abusive boyfriend died when she accidently threw her sharpened nail file at him; it cut his throat and he died of exsanguination on the living room floor. Alex was shot! In her hast she dropped the gun out of her purse and it discharged a round; it went in through his forehead and out behind his left ear.

The book read like the best of atypical hitmen bragging about their best of crimes. Jennings tossed the black book on his desk and walked away. Moments turned into hours until time had just past and Jennings fell asleep. The next morning Jennings sit back down with the little black book and an ink pen. His story was his own of murder for hire; Jennings felt the need to expel his own secret.

He had murdered a Kentucky sitting Judge and made it look like an accident. Jennings started his story where all great stories start; at the beginning. He wrote for hours until his hand cramped up; taking breaks every so often. There was so much detail in the set-up and execution of the murder; Jennings described details about the use of the auto drive feature on the Tesla he was driving that night. His story flowed more like a how to and less of a confession. He described how he used an orange and a water bottle to simulate touching the wheel; preventing the car from shutting down. He decided not to give everything away, his weapon of choice and the ammo he used was his signature. These were things that he wasn’t willing to tell anyone.

The Judge’s car had flipped three times before it left the bridge that morning and plummeted into the river below. Jennings felt excited and relieved to share what he had done and how he had done it. Not to brag; he felt relieved to get the story off his chest. The book allowed him to release the weight of the story off his shoulders.

Jennings checked his online bank account; he had over a hundred thousand in mystery money; One Hundred and Fifty thousand to be exact. He packed his bags; they were leaving town. The next day Mr. Hicks peaked his head into Jennings’ old apartment. On the counter, in his otherwise empty apartment was nothing more than this little black book, to be found. Tucked into the edge of the book was a slip of paper; it read simply: Thanks! Scratched out in red ink.