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  The police searched for the youthful couple, but never found a thing. No sign that Rebecca and David had ever been in the woods. Some of the town people said they probably ran way, like young lovers do. They never saw them again.

  Big Cat

  The underbrush was thick, the air even thicker as retired Army Colonel John Dansforth and his party hacked their way through a rich green jungle. The rain came down in sheets, shrinking visibility down to only a few yards. The Colonel said he hadn't seen conditions like these since he was a grunt in Vietnam some forty years ago.

  But this was the jungles in the interior of Africa, somewhere. Their plane had gone down leaving the five of them stranded in the thickest jungle the Colonel had ever seen, and he'd seen quite a few, he said.

  It was almost dark and that's when the jungle is the most dangerous, alive with all manner of predators who are in search of a hot meal, and the group of five would definitely be on the menu. They found a good spot to camp for the night and set about making preparations for starting the biggest fire possible, in hope it would ward off at least some of the less ferocious of the animals that would be out hunting that night.

  In the party with the Colonel was the pilot Roger “Red” Simmons, Jo Ann Summerall, a botanist, Sally Fitzgerald, a biochemist, and Sam “The Sham” Feder, an anthropologist. They were an unlikely group to be stranded in the jungle, but such was the company they found themselves in that night. Luckily for the group, the Colonel had a high powered rifle and dozens of rounds of ammunition that he had been fortunate enough to save when plane had crashed. He had experience in hunting big game and before the night was over he might get a chance to do some more hunting.

  The pilot and the Colonel built a big fire, it crackled and popped and lit up the jungle with a bright red glow. Sounds of wild animals could be heard in the distance, a roar. Some sounds were near, crunching, scary as hell in the pitch black night.

  A big cat, a male lion to be exact, was on the prowl, hungry and smelling the scent of fresh human prey, his eyes glowing in the darkness. He circled the camp, sizing up the threat, the fire intimidated him a little, but his hunger needed to be satisfied at all cost. He was huge, probably twice the size of the average lion, which meant his appetite was twice as large as well. He had tasted human flesh before and had developed a fondness for it, maybe even a preference.

  Local tribesmen told tales about a big cat that had devoured many of their people. They called him a monster, a devil, but had been powerless to send him back to the hell where he belonged. Their primitive weapons were no match for the big feline. They prayed to be delivered from him.

  Back at the camp the group of five sat around the camp fire, tired, hungry, and thirsty. Soon, they too would need to eat, to drink, to rest. But the big cat was out there and the five weary travelers had better beware. He was closing in for the kill and soon.

  Around midnight, the fire dying down slightly, all was calm and quiet. Everyone was asleep except for the Colonel, who had the watch. In the quietness of the jungle his mind wandered back forty years to when he used to go out on ambush when he was in the army in the bush of Vietnam. Of course they had claymores in place to blow in case their perimeter was breached by Mr. Charlie in the black pajamas, but this night took him back to those days. He felt confident he could protect the camp and the four weary travelers who slept peacefully, trusting that he could do just that.

  The Colonel was almost nodding off when he first caught glimpse of the big cat, thinking he must be imagining or dreaming the terror that he saw. Before he could react the lion was on one of the ladies, his giant teeth sunk deep into her neck. She never woke up, she was limp as the cat drug her quickly away from the campfire.

  Managing to get off a couple of quick shots, but missing the mark, he yelled for the others to wake up. Sally Fitzgerald had been spirited away into the night by a four legged demon and there was nothing they could do about it. Fear spread through the group, terrified they might be next, huddling around the Colonel for protection from the huge predator.

  “Build that fire back up, Red,” the Colonel yelled at the pilot. “Let's make some wooden stakes from the branches of those trees. We've got to stay in a tight group, no sleeping for now.” They were lucky to have a combat veteran and a leader like the Colonel in their group.

  They sharpened a dozen or so tree branches into spears. When the lion came back they would use them to keep the big cat off of them. That and the high powered rifle the Colonel had hopefully would be enough. “We must stay together, no one stray from the camp for any reason,” the leader admonished the others.

  Huddling together by the fire they spent a long sleepless night, but the big cat never returned. Soon the group of four would have to find food and water, it was dangerous out there in the jungle, but they had to survive.

  The next morning, the jungle was alive with all sorts of creatures mostly friendly, but some not so nice, like snakes and alligators. The group of four weary terrified travelers set out to find the river, where they hoped they would find water that was drinkable, and perhaps some fish to fill their starving stomachs. There was plenty of game for the Colonel to hunt so food-wise they should be okay. They just hoped and prayed with the huge lion and other predators on the hunt, that they would live long enough to find the river. They also hoped that somehow that river would lead them to some small city where they could secure passage out of the savage jungle in which they found themselves.

  A distant roar, just the sound sent tingles of fear down their spines. A scream, a man it sounded like, from a distance, then there was quiet. The Colonel and the rest of the party froze in their tracks, the hunter with his rifle at the ready. Not a sound, other than the birds in the trees, all was clear or so they thought.

  A blur of brown fur, a sudden roar, the big cat was upon them, his huge incisors bared as he growled, poised ready to strike. The Colonel fired two shots, he swore he hit him but th bullets had no effect on the huge feline. He struck like a coiled snake, grabbed the pilot, Red, and was gone. The Colonel fired three more times but it was useless. Another member of their team was gone, now only three remained. The Colonel thought he had hit the lion but there was no blood trail, nothing.

  “We must keep moving,” the Colonel said, even though he could see their hopes of surviving dwindling. He had never in all his years of combat and big game hunting ever felt so helpless against an enemy bent on his destruction. They had taken only a few steps when to the right the giant cat charged again, like a shot out of cannon. He dragged off another victim, Sam. Now there were only two. The Colonel had fired but again his shots were ineffective.

  “Run!” he yelled. They ran like hell but there's no way of out running a giant lion. Again the cat was on them, killing Sally on the spot and ripping her neck apart like it was tissue paper.

  “Die you devil!” the Colonel yelled. He fired at the lion until his rifle was empty. He was out of ammunition. The big cat turned from his latest prey and looked at the Colonel who was determined to fight to the death, empty rifle in his hand, beating the air. “C'mom! C'mom, you want a fight!” The Colonel screamed like a madman. The lion looked at him a beat with angry red tinged eyes.

  The cat covered the distance between them in a less than a second. The Colonel tried to fight him off but was tore apart like a rag doll.

  The big cat is still out there, terrorizing the villagers or anyone who might enter his domain. Some call him a devil, a monster, but some think the huge lion is a ghost, who cannot be killed, for he is already dead.

  The Strange Case of Samantha Ryan

  His steely gray eyes were fixed in an unwavering stare. Lost in emotions he thought had long since passed, but continued to flood his subconscious mind. Jim Ryan was the kind of man who was used to getting what he wanted and would stop at nothing to obtain his goals.

  The rays burned his eyes, he shielded his face against the glare as he continued to look at the horizon, the sun jus
t setting behind a wisp of cumulus clouds. Another day had passed without a single lead, but Jim had not lost his resolve, quite the contrary, it strengthened with each day he was denied the one he sought.

  Searching for the man who had so callously killed his wife and his 5 year old daughter Rachael had given him a reason to live, when he thought to end it all, it fueled the fire that burned within him, A fire so hot it almost consumed him, made him insane, a killing machine on the brink of erupting with untold violence.

  The case had gone cold, the police had put the whole thing on the back burner. Some of the city's finest even thought Jim himself guilty of the heinous crime. They couldn't prove it of course, because he was innocent. But the police and even his neighbors still looked at him suspiciously, averting their eyes, speaking politely, but all the while talking about him behind his back.

  Jim had to find the real killer and end this thing for good. He must clear his good name and satisfy his insatiable need for revenge, that consumed him like a raging inferno. Then and only then could he have the chance to pick up the pieces of his fragmented life and try to go on.

  The last day of Samantha and Rachael's life started like so many days with pancakes lovingly made by a caring mother, with whip bream eyes and mouth for her precious little one. “Mommy, can I have another pancake? I like pancakes.”

  “Girl, are you kidding me? You've had two already,” Samantha said, reaching for Rachael's plate. “I guess so, but we have to save some for daddy.”

  “That's right,” Jim said, appearing suddenly, giving Samantha a hug as she was retrieving a pancake from the skillet on the stove. “Save some for daddy, he likes pancakes too.”

  “Daddy!” Rachael screamed, and joined in with her mommy for a group hug.

  They ate pancakes as the sun rose and the early morning light streamed in through the kitchen blinds. It was a beautiful summer morning, as was the norm in San Diego that time of year.

  Wiping his mouth and taking a last swallow of coffee, Jim placed a precisely folded napkin on the table and said with a sigh, “well, I've got to go, don't want to be late for my flight to Phoenix, Big deal closing today. I'll be back later on this evening.”

  “Oh, all right, Mr. Big Shot. I'll get your briefcase,” Samantha said, going to the closet to retrieve his case.

  Rachael curled up in her Jim's lap and batted her baby blues at her daddy. “Bring me a present daddy, you know I love surprises. Please!”

  Jim, who could never resist his baby girl's requests, of course agreed. He kissed them goodbye and was off to the airport to catch his flight. It was the last time he would see his family alive.

  “Hi Bob,” Jim greeted his friend and co-worker Bob Turnbell at the terminal. “You ready to do this?”

  “Hell yeah, let's make that money baby,” Bob exclaimed, as him and Jim high-fived. Bob was a tall, thin, athletically built Afro American man in his mid-forties, always dressed like he just came off the pages of GQ magazine.

  The corporate jet was fueling up just to take AMPED's two tops guns to their big meeting in Phoenix. Jim and Bob sipped on cappuccinos in the VIP lounge while they waited. It was a big day for the two, if they closed the deal it meant millions of dollars to their company and perhaps a big promotion for Jim and Bob.

  At home Samantha and Rachael put the breakfast cutlery in the dishwasher and sat down in the den to watch the little girl's favorite cartoon, “Sponge Bob, Square Pants.” The family dog, a black toy poodle by the name of Pierre barked loudly, running back and forth between the study and the den.

  “Pierre, hush! We can't hear the show,” Samantha yelled. “What are you barking at?”

  “Yeah, Pierre, be quiet,” Rachael chimed in.

  There was movement in the study. Samantha and Rachael didn't notice, they were too engrossed in their cartoon. A shadow crossed the wall of the study. “Mommy, can I have some cereal? I want some Cap'n Crunch.”

  “Girl, are you kidding me? After all those pancakes.”

  Jim and Bob's plane touched down in Phoenix after a brief thirty minute flight. A limo waited to take them to the American Oil corporate offices to close the big deal, the one that would make Bob and Jim rich with one stroke of the pen.

  There was deathly quiet in the Ryan household, except for the blare of the cartoon network on the television in the den. Even Pierre had stopped barking and lie peacefully on the floor.

  A horrible scene awaited a husband and father upon his return from the signing of the deal of a lifetime.

  Jim and Bob did close the big deal, they stopped by the Hyatt Hotel bar for celebratory nightcap before home. It was a great day for the dynamic duo.

  Their flight landed in San Diego around 10 PM. Jim couldn't wait to tell Samantha the good news. He had given her a call to let her know he was coming home, her phone went straight to voice mail. He tried the land line, no answer. Thinking his wife and daughter had simply turned in early, he didn't think anything of it and headed home.

  He turned the key in his front door, all was quiet but he could hear the television on in the den, very strange he thought. “Hon,” he said, as he entered the den, expecting to see his wife and little girl asleep in the Lazy Boy, where they had been watching cartoons, waiting for him to come home. The den was empty, he grabbed he remote off the coffee table and switched off the set.

  That's when he noticed it, the silence. Even Pierre was silent. He lie deathly still on the hallway floor. “Pierre, Pierre”, he yelled but the dog did not move. He cautiously approached the animal afraid of what he might find. He shook the dog gently, then harder. “Pierre! Oh my God.” Then the panic hit him. He turned slowly and looked around the room, petrified, mystified. He looked towards the stairs, his mind immediately filled with thoughts of his wife and little girl.

  He raced up the stairs to the bedroom, surely his wife would be there, fast asleep, Rachael in her arms. The door was shut, the room was pitch black he noticed as he eased it open with an unexpected eerie creak. “Samantha?” No answer, the room empty, the bed still made. A sudden panic started to rise up from deep in his spine, a dread began to spread over his body he couldn't explain.

  Desperate, he went to Rachael's room. He threw open her door and called her named loudly. She was not there either. By then Jim was in full panic mode, his heart racing in his chest, he headed downstairs.

  He almost stumbled down the stairs in his haste, yelling like a madman, “Samantha! Rachael!” at the top of his lungs.

  The stove light was the only light on in the kitchen, his shadow danced on the wall as he crept into the room, fearing what he might find there. Nothing he had ever experienced in his life or dreamed in his most horrific nightmare could have prepared him for what he encountered in the dimly lit kitchen. No horror movie or novel, they paled in comparison to the unfathomable scene that lie before him.

  He screamed so loudly, it seemed to have come from someone else, not from his own mouth, as he fell to his knees. His daughter lie on the floor like she was asleep, but he knew she was dead. She looked peaceful and beautiful in the dim light. Samantha lie in a pool of blood, a gaping wound across her neck, a bloody knife on the floor beside her.

  Jim, his mind in a turmoil and panic crawled to the phone and punched in 911. “There's so much blood, oh my God the blood, my wife, please come!” He yelled and cried all at the same time. Then he passed out. The next thing he remembered was two homicide detectives shaking him. “Wake up, sir are you okay?” one of them said.

  San Diego's finest Ralph Pederson and Jose Dominguez were standing over him, wondering if they had a third victim.

  Pederson was tall, athletic, mid-forties, a twenty year veteran with deep blue eyes and closely cropped blond hair. His partner was Latino, mid-thirties, heavy set stocky build, and had just recently made detective.

  Jim came to screaming, “the blood, oh my God, the blood,” sobbing uncontrollably.

  The M.E., Sam Tomas had just arrived and was doing his
preliminary examination. He shook his head in dismay, “oh my God, what a mess,” he said to himself as he continued. The gaping wound on the female victim's neck was definitely made with a knife, more than likely the one that lie in a pool of blood next to the poor woman's body.

  Because of the state of rigor, and liver temperature, Sam estimated the time of death to be around five in the evening.

  Pederson and Dominguez helped Jim up off the bloody kitchen floor into a chair. He was still in shock, eyes fixed in a glossy stare, tears still marking his stained face.

  This is when the questioning the doubts began. There were no signs of forced entry, no evidence that anyone had been in the house other than the family.

  After they had Jim calmed down, Pederson began, “so let me get this straight, you just came home from Phoenix and found your wife and daughter dead, is that correct Mr. Ryan?”

  Jim quite confused answered, “yes, yes, that's right.”

  “Anything missing? Jewelry, cash, guns?” Dominguez inquired.

  “I... I don't know. There was so much blood! Oh God the blood,” Jim yelled and began to lose control once again.

  “Calm down, calm down, we just need to ask you a few more questions, won't take long,” Pederson said reassuringly. “Come on into the living room, Mr. Ryan.”

  Jim followed the detectives into the living room and all but fell on the couch from shock and exhaustion.

  The detectives grilled Jim unmercifully for over an hour and when they were finished they were convinced that Jim was telling the truth. They checked his alibi and he was indeed in Phoenix as he had said. Of course he could have gotten somebody else to kill his wife but more than likely not. He seemed pretty shook up and no way he was acting. If he was Ryan needed to be in Hollywood.

  The crime scene itself had Dominguez and Pederson baffled. There was no sign of a break in, no bloody footprints leading from the body to the door, or hand prints on the wall. There was a lot of blood and the killer had to have been covered in it from head to toe. Unless the killer levitated himself and flew out the door there would have to be some footprints, there were none. Which left them with the only logical conclusion the poor lady had committed suicide with the butcher knife that was lying next to her body. But the wound was so deep, it was hard to believe she had done such a thing to herself.