THE HOUSE OF STONE MYSTERY and Other Stories
by
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Mike Weber sat speechless on the floor of the matrimonial bedroom in his apartment complex called The House of Stone, watching his blond wife, Bridget, dead on their bed, bathed in a pool of her own blood. On the floor beside the bed, the body of Derek Atkinson, seminude, lay motionless from stab wounds. In Mike Weber’s hand glittered a red-stained trench knife against the lightning flashes in the cloudy night sky. For a while, Mike Weber showed signs of emotion. Then he raked his thinning grizzled hair with his fingers, as if forcing himself to figure out what to do now that his wife was gone. Slowly, he tightened his grip of the murder weapon in his right hand, as though some frightening thoughts had crept into his mind. His eyes sharp and red in anger, he began to release his thoughts even on shadows. He swiftly swung the knife in the air, hitting a concrete wall. The impact created a spark reminiscent of the dreadful bullet glow he witnessed in the battlefields during the Second World War. Then the knife uncontrollably swooped down into the wooden floor, striking a flat stone that spun in the cold air. The sharp blade slashed his palm when his grip loosened upon impact. His own blood drenched the floor, merging with those of the victims. The stone landed on the chest of Derek Atkinson. And with the shaft of light streaking through the windowpane from an occasional lightning flash, Mike Weber saw the stone move with the victim’s gasping. At once Mike Weber recognized the stone. The knife stuck on the floor. With his muscles flexing forcefully, and his fragile fingers quivering, he pulled out the knife in what may be his strength’s last hurrah and triumph over his enervated 70-year-old sickly flesh. Oblivious of the wound in his hand, Mike Weber tightened his grip of the knife again, goggling intensely at the victims, as if in disbelief, focusing on Derek Atkinson in a jealous rage. Mike Weber knew Bridget would die a violent death. He plotted it carefully for six restless years, but couldn’t muster up his courage to do it. Nevertheless, this stormy night, after returning from a visit to the pastor of his church, he hid in the closet of the room and waited for his chance. Yet now, with her dead at last, he could not decide at once whether to cry or laugh. Mike Weber remembered Bridget scream horrifically shortly before her voice abruptly dissolved into a cry of pain, and then vanished. The scream might have awakened, he supposed, his daughter, Caroline, in her room across the hall, and his sister-in-law, Claudette, in her unit, and the tenants, whose own units shone brightly minutes after the screaming ceased. Soon, before Mike Weber could swing again the knife, two police officers, Lt. Richard Lloyd and Sgt. Dan Hill, who entered the unlocked bedroom door, rainwater still dripping from their coats, stood in front of him. Claudette and Caroline were right behind the cops. Claudette turned on the lights. Revealed in the room was a bloody broken lampshade, as well as some blood-soaked blankets, ruffled pillows, the motionless Mike Weber with the trench knife in his bleeding hand, the two victims of an apparent brutal attack, and everything that made evident a fierce struggle had taken place in the room. Both Claudette and Caroline, like Mike Weber, showed no sign of remorse. Then, suddenly, Mike Weber spoke. "Officer," said he to Lt. Lloyd, lifting up his face to him, his voice crackled, as his body trembled with the unrealized energy within himself, "allow me to kiss my wife." "Give me the knife first," Lt. Lloyd said. Mike Weber obliged without hesitation. Mike Weber tenderly touched the still warm lips of his wife with his own. Then like a boy who had his toy broken, he decided at last to cry, sniveling shamelessly, as if he understood the meaning of his wife’s death only then. Lt. Lloyd put Mike Weber in handcuffs, jerked him up and led him toward the police patrol car. He turned to Sgt. Hill and whispered his instructions. Sgt. Hill remained behind to gather evidence. The rainwater on the ground splattered like shards of glass as Lt. Lloyd and Mike Weber kicked their way down toward the car. Mike Weber crouched to cover his body from sticks of rain ramming onto his face. He could feel the biting blustery wind freezing the wound in his hand and sneaking into his skin through the unbuttoned overcoat slovenly set on his shoulder by Lt. Lloyd. As the car screeched down the slippery road, the cop reminded Mike Weber of his right to remain silent as his words could be used against him. He also reminded him of his right to speak only with his lawyer around. Nevertheless, Lt. Lloyd himself could not suspend his investigation. "Why did you do it?" Lt. Lloyd cautiously began his inquiry. He glanced at Mike Weber through the rearview mirror. Mike Weber’s facial expression of dismay came clear to Lt. Lloyd when the sky pealed and branched into sparkling wires. He adjusted the wipers’ speed and pressed a button to defrost the fog that had developed on the windshield.
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About the Book
I have always known Roger I. Garza as a person with a tremendous zeal for writing. That is why when I read his stories I was not surprised. I knew that one day he would come up with them. The eight stories in this collection encompass an incredible range of emotions, holding the reader with fine prose, gripping suspense, well-conceived plots, and surprise endings. Fear and mystery dominate the fabric of "The Old Man and the Lizard." Realistic characterization in "The House of Stone Mystery" brings to life passion and sex as the male antagonist carries on intimate love affairs with three related women in a home, the comeuppance right at the end with murders and convictions. "Ghost" forces you to read on, and the plot eventually leads you to just what and who the ghost is. It’s hard to forget the carefully crafted twist in the ending of "Housekeeper," just as the "Blue Christmas" and "The Diamond Ring" immerse the reader in a pool of affection, attachment, pathos, suspense, and tragic loss. Unique is the bond between a human being and a bird in "A Parakeet Named Paula." All eight stories carry their own separate identities, representing various literary genres from mystery, romance, and crime to fantasy, horror, and passion. Each story comes up with a vivid illustration of the human character, its weaknesses and strengths. Experience the moving accounts of the characters in each of the stories. Roger I. Garza set foot on the hallowed ground of fiction writing. And his initial works herald more equally splendid feats to come.
About the Author
Roger I. Garza attended a course in Craft of Writing at The Asian Institute of Journalism in Manila in 1984. He came to the United States in 1987 as a consular officer at the Philippine Consulate General in Los Angeles, California. In 1992 he took up a class in creative writing at the Los Angeles City College (LACC), where his first story "Housekeeper," published in Citadel, the creative arts and literary journal of LACC, won First Place in prose category. He is currently residing in Los Angeles, California.