Sea of Crises Read Online Free

He felt for the switch beside the door, found it, and clicked on the hall light.
    He saw immediately that the left half of the floor at the end of the hallway was covered with something dark. Light from the overhead fixture shimmered off its surface. Slowly, Nate lowered the computer bag and took a couple of cautious steps forward. Around the corner to his left, the small kitchen island that contained the sink and dishwasher came into view. Above the island was a rack from which normally hung a collection of pots and pans. Instead of the usual kitchenware, however, there dangled a single large object. It was in shadow, and Nate again reached for a switch.
    A series of lights came on, brightly illuminating the kitchen. The sight that greeted Nate caused him to gag, and he stepped back involuntarily, his shoulder striking the frame of the bedroom door.
    “Oh my God,” Peter said from behind. His eyes were wide, and he’d put a hand up to his mouth.
    Nate’s eyes darted from his brother back to the horrible tableau.
    Suspended above the kitchen island was the mutilated body of a small animal, impaled on a metal hook, the point of which had been driven into the lower abdomen between the hind legs, its sharp tip poking out near the stubby tail. Drenched in dark crimson, strips of flesh dangled off the body in grotesque random patterns. The poor creature appeared to have been decapitated. Blood in copious amounts had poured out, collecting on the counter below, the overflow running down the front of the dishwasher and pooling on the floor in a mass of congealed maroon, almost black.
    In the puddle on the counter below the hideous thing lay a dog collar. A green tag with the name “Buster” in florid script lay half-submerged in the coagulating mess.
    Lightheaded, knees weak, Nate’s heart pounded in his chest; his stomach heaved. He shook his head, slowly at first, but then with vehemence as anger welled up through the revulsion. Breathing heavily, he looked back up at the gruesome remains, opening his mouth to vent his rage.
    Then he stopped. He frowned, studying the corpse. Something about it was wrong.
    He looked at Peter. There were tears in his brother’s eyes. Peter pulled away the hand that had been covering his mouth and said in a choked voice, “Buster.”
    “No,” Nate said.
    His brother started to say something else, but Nate held up a hand, cocking his head and listening intently. From behind came a faint scratching sound. Barely audible.
    Nate whirled and stepped quickly into the bedroom. At the far side, the door to the master bathroom was closed. In rapid strides, Nate covered the distance, gripped the handle and pushed the door open. He stared for a moment at the floor tile. Then, to his immense relief, Buster poked his head around the door. His tail end jerking back and forth with excitement, the little dog emerged and did a quick figure eight through Nate’s legs before Nate was able to reach down and pick him up. Hugging him with relief, Nate carried Buster back to the front hallway, the dog wriggling in his arms and licking his face with unabashed gusto.
    When Peter saw them, he blurted, “Thank God.”
    The phone rang.
    Peter froze and stared at Nate.
    The phone rang a second time, sound reverberating throughout the otherwise quiet condominium from multiple extensions. Nate looked at the nearest one, which was mounted on the kitchen wall near the hallway. Unlike the hands-free devices in the den and bedroom, this was an older unit, the handset attached to its base by a long cord that dangled almost to the floor. There was no digital readout to indicate the source of the call. Not that it really mattered. Nate knew with a cold certainty that the person on the other end of the line had been in his home earlier, and he knew there would be nothing to learn from any such readout.
    He handed the squirming Buster to Peter and stepped forward, lifting the handset and cutting short a third ring. He held the