Prologue

Prologue

Tuesday evening, April 28, 1992

   The April Moon shone on 15 Jonathan Smith Road highlighting the beauty of the French Colonial set back from the street. The moon’s illumination created pockets of light and darkness throughout the large property. A cool spring breeze moved through the budding green leaves causing shadows to creep across the front lawn. The neighborhood was quiet with hardly a car or a person to be seen; other than a white van sitting in the darkness caused by a large pine tree. If someone were listening, they would hear the idling of the engine being carried by the breeze. The sound was there, amongst the rattling of branches, rustling of leaves and whistling of the wind; but no one heard it. The sun had long settled behind the dark green Morris Hills, and the residents of this neighborhood were in for the night.  

   Set back from the cul-de-sac and partially hidden by trees and brush, the Reso residence was dimly lit by a porch light. Several windows were aglow from lights inside. Sidney and Patricia Reso were relaxing from a long day. The solitude of their home was always a restful repose. Around 10 pm, the couple strolled upstairs to their sizable bedroom. The lighting inside their abode cast softly on the fine color tones Patricia had chosen. As the two lay in bed watching TV, or simply reading, the nightstand light pierced the window pane, illuminating the leaves of an oak tree near the house. As the moon slowly moved across the sky, the pockets of light and darkness shifted as did the shadows on the ground.

   The quietness of the room and the tranquility of the affluent neighborhood was betrayed this night. Lingering amongst those dark shadows was an evil. This presence had crept into the neighborhood unseen; in fact, it had been lingering in the shadows day and night for quite some time. It was a perverse, pungent evil, filled with desire, greed, and envy. The two figures in that van sat, staring at the Reso home; their plan had been finalized. Once certain the Resos were tucked in for the night, the van moved slowly out of the darkness towards the home, stopping ever so briefly at the foot of the driveway before disappearing into the night.      

   As the hours passed and the moon continued its movement across the star filled sky disappearing behind the mountains just before 6 am. As the eastern hill of the Morris Pines came out of the shadows, the sun’s light caused the pine needles to appear a yellowish green. Early risers began walking their dogs and going for walks, as others readied for work. The clear sky with its pure white clouds suggested the day was going to be pleasant. The day would be anything but. Those dark souls were back in the neighborhood; much like the grim reaper, they were lingering in the background waiting to claim their victim. The die was cast, their plan was ready to go. Hidden amongst the early risers was a woman dressed in jogging attire running peacefully past the Reso residence. Passing the Reso’s property, she jogged up and around the cul-de-sac taking a good look at the home set back off the street. She continued down Jonathan Smith Road passing the driveway again, but this time she drifted onto the property kicking the newspaper to the far side. Thereafter, she jogged away disappearing out of sight. Waiting not far from Jonathan Smith Road was that white van, with her male counterpart inside.

   Taking a position behind the driver’s wheel, she popped the van into drive and retraced the path she had just jogged down, parking under that large pine tree.  

  As those two dark repugnant souls sat watching and waiting, Sidney and Patricia Reso had risen to begin their day. Like clockwork, the light came on upstairs, followed shortly thereafter by the downstairs kitchen light. He was showering while she made breakfast.

   After dressing, Sidney came downstairs and sat with his wife having breakfast. They couldn’t have imagined this would be their last meal together. Nor, could they have imagined these were the last moments they would spend with one another. Little time was left for Sidney Reso. He would be taking a short journey up his driveway towards his destiny. The conversation he and Patricia had was as it had always been, about their day, what they were going to do after work, what was for supper, and so on. Patricia walked with Sid to the door into the garage. She always saw him off giving him a kiss and an embrace to start his day. Today, was no different.

   Sid put his overcoat and brief case in the back seat, behind the driver’s seat and got into his car. He pulled out of his garage and headed towards the street. He was driving his modest Volkswagen Station wagon. As he was driving up the driveway, Patricia went upstairs to begin her day.

  Sid Reso pulled from the garage towards the street, slowing as he normally did to get his newspaper. Give a foot or so, it was always where he could open his door and reach down to grab it. Today, it was not. He glanced to find it noticing the paper near the driveway’s edge. Putting his car into park, he stepped out to retrieve his morning read, leaving his door open. As he went to get the paper, he didn’t observe the white van creeping slowly towards him. Bending over, Sid picked up the paper and turned towards his car. The van had stopped, and one of those dark souls leaped from the passenger door. He was wearing a ski mask and pointed a cold steal gun into Sid Reso’s face. The woman driver jumped in the back and slide the sliding cargo door open, exposing the darkness which waited inside for her victim. There was a coldness to that darkness; silent and still, waiting for Sidney Reso. That darkness had been waiting for more than a month. Sid Reso didn’t see the fate which awaited inside that van; he was too fixated on the gun and the man threatening his life. Pulling and pushing, the man moved Reso closer to the open door. One can only imagine what was going through the executive’s mind as this was happening. He tried his best to comply, that is until he peered inside the van and saw what was waiting for him. He pulled back and refused to step inside and a struggle ensured between him and the evil soul wielding the gun. All the woman inside the van could do was watch and hope nobody was witnessing the fight. The man wielding the gun was strong and powerful and he brought a brutal barrage of punches to the distraught executive, dislodging teeth and fillings from his mouth, some of which Reso swallowed. A shot rang out and a bullet ripped through Reso’s right forearm. The incapacitated executive was dragged into the back of the van and placed in that dark space. The woman repositioned herself behind the driver’s wheel and pulled away, while the male remained in the back. The van disappeared leaving Reso’s vehicle idling near the discarded newspaper.

Several hours later…

Deep jagged breathing, long, labored, gasping desperately; if he could see, move, or even take a deeper inhale, relief might come. However, little air is available. With a chest compressed by shackled arms, breathing is strenuous. An all-consuming anxiety fills every fiber; he can’t reposition or prop himself up to get more air, and sweat moistens his clothing as he lays in the darkness. Darkness; like no other darkness he has ever seen in his five decades of life. Darkness which wraps around him like a cold blanket providing no comfort. Yet, out of this vastness comes an array of light colors and specs of light which look like shooting stars. The source of the light is not natural or artificial but imaginary light one sees when they close their eyes. Where he is, there is no light. If there was, it wouldn’t matter as his eyes were duct taped shut. Where he lays, there is no room for movement. He is alone, padlocked inside a wooden box; a box 3 foot by 6 feet in size in the back of a storage shed. A shed with no ventilation, nor windows, for it wasn’t intended for human occupancy. Yet, that’s where he lays, placed like discarded furniture. The stagnant air is increasing in warmth with each passing minute as unseasonably warm outside temperatures heat the shed like an oven. His deep labored breathing takes a toll as more oxygen is consumed than taken in; the breathing now becomes relaxed and rhythmic in nature as he lies still. The unconscious state provides temporary relief until he awakens and finds himself surrounded by the horror which has befell him.

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