4 Suspense Novels in 1 (Spellbound Mania The Mindbender Days of Vengeance)
TIM KIZER
Four complete novels
SPELLBOUND
MANIA
THE MINDBENDER
DAYS OF VENGEANCE
Also by Tim Kizer
The Vanished
Deception
Copyright 2014 Tim Kizer
Copyright 2013 Tim Kizer
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CONTENTS
Spellbound
Mania
The Mindbender
Days of Vengeance
Other titles by Tim Kizer
TIM KIZER
SPELLBOUND
Description
Shortly after his arrival in the small town of Porterville, Texas, Jack Nelson meets a stranger who claims that they've been friends for over a month. A waitress in the diner across the street from his motel recognizes Jack and tells him he's been eating at her restaurant for two months.
When Jack discovers irrefutable evidence that most of his memories are false, he begins to suspect that he's a subject of a mind-manipulation experiment conducted by a secret organization. What he doesn't realize is that the motel he's staying at is owned by a powerful evil entity thriving on death and human suffering. He also doesn't know that everyone who left this place ended up committing suicide.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5
Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20
Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25
Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30
Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35
Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38
Chapter 1
1
What did he forget? Why did he forget it?
Did he kill Alice?
Did he kill anyone else?
The problem was, these were the wrong questions. Only someone from the outside could come up with the right questions.
All those inside were lost for good.
2.
Porterville Police Department, November 4th
“Do you have any evidence that your friend was murdered?” Feeney asked.
“He wasn’t suicidal,” Jack replied. “Why would he bang his head on the door?”
“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t trust cops?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You seem to question the sheriff’s department’s integrity.”
“I just want justice for Reginald.”
“I understand.” The police chief leaned back in his chair. “Since your friend died in a cell, there’s probably surveillance footage of what happened to him. I’m going to look at it and see if he really killed himself.”
“That would be great.”
“Can I take a look at your badge, please?”
Jack nodded. “Sure.” He placed his badge on the desk in front of the police chief.
Feeney scrutinized the face of the badge for a while, then turned the badge over, and examined the other side.
“Have you seen this?” He gave the badge back to Jack, the reverse side up.
Jack scanned the badge and, having found nothing of interest, asked, “What do you want me to see?”
“Read what it says at the bottom.”
At the bottom of the badge, printed in a small font were three words: “Made in China.”
“I don’t know how they do things in New Mexico, but our badges are made in the good old U.S. of A.” Feeney cocked his head. His eyes continued to be cold and indifferent.
“What are you trying to say?”
Jack had a queer feeling in his stomach.
“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m just pointing out that your badge was made in China, that’s all.”
“Are you saying it’s fake?”
Feeney shrugged. “I have no idea if it’s fake. To tell you the truth, I don’t care.”
“I assure you my badge is not fake.”
“I know one way to confirm it. Let’s call the Albuquerque police department and ask them.”
Jack smiled wryly, put the badge in his pants pocket, and said, Let’s do it some other time. I have to go.” He rose from the chair.
Jack had a weird metallic taste in his mouth as he walked to his car. He suspected his face was as red as a tomato. He felt like a student whose pants had fallen down in front of the class.
He asked himself if he regretted coming to Porterville. The answer was no.
3
Fifteen days earlier
The elaborate sign at the entrance to the driveway read: “Blue Star Motel. 49.99 per person. Weekly rates available. Air conditioned. Free Cable TV and HBO. Pool.” The words “Blue Star Motel” were made of neon lights.
Jack was in Porterville, a small Texas town on Interstate 20, with a population of about thirteen thousand. It took him seven hours to get here from Albuquerque, and he was exhausted.
Weekly rates available.
Who would want to stay for more than a week at a motel in a small provincial town like Porterville? He did not think it was tourists.
Business travelers? He doubted that.
Jack pulled into a parking space near the office and switched off the engine.
Local residents that couldn’t afford an apartment? Highly unlikely. An average one-bedroom apartment here probably went for four, maybe five hundred a month.
He wiggled his toes and tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles.
Alice. Let’s call her.
Searching for his cellphone, Jack patted his jacket and pants pockets, then checked the center console and the driver’s door storage compartment. The phone was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it had fallen into the gap between the seat and the center console. He would look for it later.
He got out of the car and headed for the office. When he was a few yards from the door, a short-haired man in blue jeans and a black fleece pullover waved at him and said, “Hey, you’re back?”
Jack was going to ask what the man meant by his question, but then changed his mind. The guy must have confused him with someone else. To avoid further questions, Jack hummed affirmatively and nodded.
“See you later,” the man said, and continued on his way.
The only person in the office was a desk clerk, who was a thin, wiry man in his late twenties, with bangs. His name tag read “Leo.” The guy’s hollow-cheeked face looked very familiar, and Jack quickly figured out why: the clerk resembled a bit actor Jack had seen in a couple of movies. Jack could recall neither the actor’s name nor the titles of the movies.
What if he is that actor?
That would be amusing.
By the way, he should call Amy and let her know that he had gotten safely to Porterville.
“Hello,” the desk clerk said. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Alice Briggs,” Jack said. “Could you tell me what room she is in?”
Leo pondered his request for a second and then said, “I don’t think I’m allowed to give you this kind of information.”
“It’s okay. I’m a cop.”
“Are you from Porterville?”
Jack shook his head.
“Are you from Abilene?”
“No. I’m from Albuquerque.”
“Albuquerque?” Leo furrowed his forehead. “Can I see
your badge?”
“Sure.” Jack reached into his inner jacket pocket and produced his badge.
Staring at the badge, the desk clerk said, “Okay, let me check.”
He turned to the computer monitor on the desk and punched a few buttons on the keyboard. “How do you spell her last name?”
“B-r-i-g-g-s.”
“Briggs,” Leo muttered as he entered the name into the computer. After he cleared his throat, he announced, “She’s in Room 235.”
“Can you call her room?”
“Yes.” Leo picked up the receiver, handed it to Jack, and dialed the number.
Jack listened to the ringing for about twenty seconds and then asked, “Are you sure you dialed the right number?”
“Yes. I can redial if you want.”
“Yes, please do that.”
The second attempt yielded the same result as the first. Jack gave the receiver back to the clerk and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter past five.
Alice must have gone out to buy something to eat.
“Would you like a room, sir?” Leo asked.
“Yes.”
“How many guests?”
“Just me.”
“Please fill this out.” Leo put a registration card on the counter in front of Jack. “How long do you plan to stay here?”
“A couple of days.”
While Jack wrote his last name on the registration form, a slender young woman with auburn hair entered the office. She had expressive eyes and a chiseled nose, her cheeks were pale and thin. She seemed preoccupied with something.
“Are there any messages for Room 202?” the woman asked.
Jack resumed filling out the registration card.
After about ten seconds, the desk clerk replied, “No messages, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” The woman looked at Jack and forced a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Jack replied.
Then the woman left the office.
“Can I have your credit card?” Leo said.
“Sure.” Jack gave the desk clerk his Visa card and showed him his driver’s license. Leo ran the card through the machine and returned it to Jack.
When Jack touched his credit card, he had a distinct feeling of déjà vu, which was easy to explain: this was not the first time he had checked into a motel.
“Room 152.” The desk clerk handed Jack the keycard and grabbed the registration form.
Before he went to his room, Jack spent half a minute standing in the parking lot, breathing fresh air and surveying the area.
The motel consisted of four separate two-story wings set around a square courtyard, in the center of which was a kidney-shaped swimming pool. The pool was empty. Though not stylish and posh, the Blue Star Motel seemed to be a clean, well-maintained place.
Entering his room, Jack reminded himself to give his wife a call.
There were two queen-size beds in the room, which were covered with a kitschy patchwork spread. On the nightstand sat a lamp with a bell shade and a beige pushbutton phone. The furniture was simple and devoid of any character—exactly the sort of furniture you expected to find in a small town motel.
Jack walked up to the desk, placed his hands on his hips, and wondered what he would see if he illuminated the bed, the floor, and the walls with one of those ultraviolet lamps crime scene investigators used to detect bodily fluids.
Semen. Lots and lots of semen.
Jack snickered.
He eased onto the bed closest to the window, and pulled the nightstand drawer open. The drawer was empty except for a lightly used paperback copy of the Bible. He shut the drawer and then, following the instructions on the phone, called Alice’s room. No one answered.
After washing his face, Jack changed his shirt and went to his car to look for the cellphone. He searched the car for ten minutes before he gave up. His phone was gone. Puzzled by the disappearance of the cellphone, he returned to his room and lay down on the bed.
When was the last time he had used his cell?
When was the last time he had seen it?
Jack remembered seeing the cell in the center console of his car when he had stopped at a gas station a few miles from Porterville. Had he taken the phone out of the car? No, he hadn’t, if memory served him right.
Could someone have stolen the cell from his car while he was pumping gas? Jack had read about thieves snatching women’s purses from cars with unlocked doors at gas stations, so this theory was quite plausible.
Well, if the phone had been filched, it was gone for good.
Hopefully, it would pop up one day, like many other things he had misplaced in the past.
He switched on the heater, then undressed and took a shower. After he toweled himself dry, he called Alice’s room again. No one picked up the phone.
4
At half past six, when his stomach began to growl with hunger, Jack went to the office and asked the desk clerk where the closest restaurant was.
“There’s a diner next to the motel,” Leo said. “It’s nothing fancy, but the food is good.”
“Okay. Thanks for the information.”
“You’re welcome, sir.” The desk clerk smiled.
The diner was called Bonanza. It was situated across the street from the motel and was open from 8 am to 9 pm on Sunday through Thursday and from 8 am to 10 pm on Fridays and Saturdays. The letters on its sign were rendered in the Coffee Tin font, which had been popular in the Old West. Inside the restaurant, the walls were decorated with Wild West “wanted” posters that were made to look vintage.
After studying the menu for a minute, Jack decided that he would have a chicken-fried steak and a chef’s salad.
“How are you doing, sir?” a waitress said, her pen hovering over her notepad. Her name tag read “Chloe.”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Will you have your usual?”
Jack gave the waitress a curious look and then said, with a half-smile, “It depends on what you think it is.”
“A chicken-fried steak and a chef’s salad?”
Still smiling, Jack said, “Are you a mind reader?”
The waitress chuckled, saying nothing.
“Yes, I’ll have my usual.”
It must have been a lucky guess. What other rational explanation could there be?
On the wall in front of him hung a “wanted” poster that offered a thirty-five-hundred-dollar reward for Butch Cassidy. While he waited for his order, Jack got the feeling that he had seen this poster—this particular poster—before. He assumed his memory played a trick on him.
The chicken-fried steak turned out to be much better than he had expected. In fact, he would have gone as far as to say it was delicious. He had eaten half of it when a man in a gray long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans sat down on the chair to his left and said, “How are you doing, Jack?”
Then the man held out his hand for a handshake.
“I’m fine.” Jack shook the man’s hand. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Is it a joke?” The man smiled. “Why didn’t you drop by my room? I’ve been waiting for you, man.”
“Do I know you?”
“Yes, you do. Scott. My name’s Scott.”
“How do I know you?” Jack asked.
Peering at Scott’s face, Jack suddenly remembered: it was the guy who had asked him if he was back at the motel.
Jack could smell onions on the man’s breath.
“We drank together several times.”
“Where?”
“In the bars, in my room. We were in The Red Lantern last Sunday. We’re staying at the same motel, remember?” Scott narrowed his eyes. “Is your name Jack?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re staying at Blue Star?”
“Yes.” Jack drank some water from the glass and said, “I saw you at the motel. But I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I was not in The Red Lantern last Sunday.”
He figured
that The Red Lantern was a bar.
“Of course you were. We go there every weekend.”
“Every weekend? Was I there the weekend before last?”
“Yes, you were.”
“Did I drink?”
“You sure did.”
His hand curled around the glass, Jack gave Scott an intent look. “Here’s the thing, Scott. I arrived in Porterville today.”
“Today?”
“We never drank together.”
Scott wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Your last name is Nelson, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re from Albuquerque, right?”
Jack nodded.
Scott let out a puzzled grunt and scratched his stubbled chin. “Are you playing a joke on me? It’s a stupid joke.” Then he added, “Well, it’s kind of funny.”
What if it’s true, Jack thought lazily. What if we did drink together in The Red Lantern last Sunday?
But that was nonsense, of course.
How did Scott know his name? How did Scott know he was from Albuquerque?
He might have gotten all this information from the desk clerk.
“When did we first meet?” Jack asked.
“About a month ago.”
“A month? Are you saying that you’ve been staying at Blue Star for a month?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“What are you doing in Porterville?”
“I’m working on a business deal.”
“What kind of business deal?”
Jack realized he had no use for this information, but asked the question anyway.
“I wish I could tell you. It’s a military contract.”
“And I’ve been in Porterville this entire month?”
“Well, it was either you or your twin brother. Do you have a twin brother?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t have a twin brother.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you have amnesia. Did you get into an accident in the last four hours?”
“No.”
“Did someone hit you on the head?”
Jack looked into Scott’s eyes to see if he was being serious. Scott did not seem to be kidding.