Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

MALCOM INHALED DEEPLY, closed his eyes, and then exhaled slowly as he reopened his eyes and looked around in the pre-dawn darkness. He wasn’t alone; there were over a hundred other runners gathered in the field on this crisp fall morning, ready for the Rockdog Run. He chuckled to himself thinking that to an unknowing observer, it must look like some kind of an alien gathering. Each shadowy shape wore a small bright headlamp that bobbed and weaved as they moved about, lighting up just enough so they could avoid tripping or bumping into each other. Occasionally, two lights came together and for a brief moment both faces were lit as they greeted each other. Then the lights shined back at the ground as they separated.
    He was dressed for running, not standing around. His teeth began to chatter and his arms were covered with goose bumps. It was cold, and as the early morning breeze rustled the few remaining leaves in the surrounding forest, it sounded even colder. His whole body shivered. The only other sounds were the soft murmurings of quiet conversations as everyone prepared for the start of the day’s ordeal. He would be running a full marathon, 26.2 miles, on difficult trails through the Willows State Park in Ipswich, Massachusetts. That would be daunting enough, but others would be running the companion event, fifty miles, hence the pre-dawn start. Glancing down at his watch he saw that it was nearly time to start, a fact confirmed when a voice came over a loudspeaker and broke the quiet. Everyone moved simultaneously toward the voice, and as all those bodies came together, he could feel their collective warmth.
    “Good luck,” an unseen voice whispered from behind.
    “Thanks, you too,” he replied, but as he uttered those words, a chill ran down his spine and fear filled his mind. He felt certain that he knew that voice. He started to turn his head, but the gun fired, and all the runners surged forward, forcing him to keep his eyes focused on what was in front of him. He had to run or risk tripping and falling. He moved forward with the mass of dark shapes following the trail of green glow sticks that led across the field and into the even darker woods beyond, all the while hoping he was wrong.

CHAPTER 1
    THREE MONTHS EARLIER …

    “HEY MAX,” SAID JACK AS he walked into the bar at Ben’s.
    Max looked up from the book she was reading. It had been a quiet night in the bar. Rainy nights were like that. “Jack. I didn’t hear you come in. Is it that time already?”
    “The rain’s stopped so I walked over. Parkin’ lot’s empty.”
    “I’m sorry, I haven’t even begun to close down.” Blushing in embarrassment, she said, “Some guy left this book here. I picked it up and made the mistake of starting to read it. It really sucked me in and I completely lost track of time.”
    “Give me the book. You have work to do.”
    Max handed him the book. “Want a beer while I finish up?”
    “Sure.”
    Max drew him an ESB draft, returned, and placed the beer in front of him, then turned to go lock the door. Jack looked at the well-worn book. A sticker on the cover indicated that it came from the dollar bin at a used book store. The title was The Captain’s Quilt and the author was Polly Christian. The cover showed a beautiful young woman with flowing dark hair standing on the deck of a ship. She looked fearful while a handsome (but obviously dangerous!) older man stood next to her. Jack chuckled just as Max returned to the bar. “You were reading this?” he asked, trying not to make fun of her and failing totally.
    Max snatched it out of his hands and feigning indignation said, “It’s not what you think.” Turning it over she explained, “It’s a story based on some actual letters written by a young woman in the late 1700s who came to New England from Antigua, in the Caribbean.” She read the back cover copy aloud: “During the voyage she comes to know some information that will have a dramatic influence on several family’s fortunes and maybe even influence the course of history. The dark underbelly of the rum, slave, and tea trades form the background for betrayal, murder, and love as she finds a new life in the colonies. Among her possessions is a quilt, which she uses to conceal those secrets.” Max stopped and looked at Jack. “Come on. What’s not to love? And so far it’s pretty good.”
    Jack reached out his hand and motioned for her to give it to him.
    “No!” She put the book