He hurried over to the girl when she screamed, “Please, no!”
He stopped, putting his hands up to show it was okay and holstered his gun, moving slowly to show her he meant her no harm.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you. The other man isn’t going to hurt you anymore.”
“Are you the police,” she asked.
“No, but I’m going to get them,” he replied,” I want to see that you’re okay, though. Is that okay?”
She stared at him for a moment before nodding.
He walked over to her, checking her up and down. She was breathing okay, her heart rate was okay, and she didn’t have any serious injuries. She was decidedly healthy for someone who had been held captive for a month. He pulled away the stained bed sheet – it was the only thing Scruggs had left her to keep warm as she lay down here in a shirt and panties – to reveal a metal cuff around her ankle with a chain. He followed the chain with his flashlight to a metal loop bolted on the wall.
That monster, Jackson thought.
Starting to realize Jackson was truly there to help, Ashley grasped him with both arms and began to cry. Jackson knew it wasn’t over yet, but paused a moment, allowing her to embrace him.
“I’m going to get help,” Jackson said, “Is there anything you need right now?”
Her eyes filled with panic as she buried her head into his side and tightened her hold on him.
“No! You can’t leave,” she replied, crying now, “Please, please! Don’t leave me here!”
“I have to. Just a little while longer,” Jackson replied.
Jackson began to pull himself away. Ashley didn’t let go of him until he softly pushed on her arms, asking her to let him go. He walked back to the stairs. Jackson could hear Scruggs making noise upstairs, most likely trying to squirm free.
“Wait,” Ashley said from across the room, “I’m cold.”
“I’ll get something,” he replied, “And something for that chain, too.”
“His keys,” She offered, “It’s a key. I think on the keys he carries.”
Jackson nodded as he climbed up the stairs.
Scruggs had twisted himself around in a half-circle around the post. Jackson pulled Scruggs towards him and patted down his pockets.
“Hey,” stammered Scruggs, bucking back and forth, “What are you doing?”
Jackson ignored him and continued to search. Nothing. Then he remembered. He had hit Scruggs from behind as he opened the door. The keys had probably been in his hand. He went back to the open door, shining his flashlight on the floor. Sure enough, there they were.
He grabbed the keys, then reached for his pack just outside the door. He opened a side pocket and removed a fire blanket he had packed just in case. Normally, it would be used to snuff out someone or something on fire, but it wouldn’t be half bad at warming up a traumatized teenager, either.
He took the keys and the blanket and went back downstairs.
Ashley shuddered and backed away again as Jackson reappeared. How many times had she feared that door opening, Jackson thought.
“Still just me,” he said, putting his hands up once more, “I found the keys and got a blanket.”
She dropped her guard, allowing Jackson to come over to her. He unlocked the shackle around her ankle and slid it away. He watched and waited until her shivering became less violent.
“Okay, now,” he said, “I need you to do me a favor.”
“What,” she replied.
“I’m going to call for help, but I need you to stay here.”
Her panic kicked up again.
“No, no you can’t,” she begged, “Please, please take me with you.”
“Listen to me,” he said, trying to reassure her, “The man who hurt you is still upstairs. I have to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else. I’ll have him, and you will be safe, but only if you stay down here.”
Still shivering a little, she was silent as she stared at Jackson, deciding whether or not to trust him.
“Okay,” she finally relented.
“You promise me you’ll stay here,” asked Jackson.
“Yes. I, I promise.”
Jackson got up. It was time to end this.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency,” the voice on the other end of the call asked.
“Ashley Sudfeld, the girl who was abducted from outside Hillsboro, Virginia. She is at 2618 Summit View Lane, at the end of State Route 714,” Jackson said.
He spoke in short, declarative statements, giving the operator and anyone who listened to the recorded conversation very little to identify him with.
“You say you found Ashley Sudfeld, sir,” the operator asked.
“She is at that address. 2618 Summit View. Responding officers will also find Walter Scruggs. He is the one responsible for her abduction.”
“Okay, sir, and may I have your name?”
Jackson ignored the question.
“Scruggs will be handcuffed and unarmed in plain view for arriving officers. Ashley Sudfeld is in the basement of the building. She’s stable, but requires medical attention. Likely mild hypothermia as well as cuts and scrapes. You’ll want to start Fire and Rescue now. I’ll leave this line open in case you are able to triangulate its position.”
He put the phone down away from his ear. The operator on the other end was still trying to get information out of him, but her efforts were futile. She would never know who Jackson was. He was just about to put the phone down on the table when one more thought came to him as he eyed a bottle of Evan Williams sitting on the table. He put the phone back up to his ear as the operator continued.
“Sir, I need a name and num--,”
“Tell the responding deputies to look for the vehicle fire,” Jackson said.
With that, Jackson placed the phone on the counter and turned towards Scruggs. He had given up trying to wrestle free. Something in him knew it was over. Jackson pulled out a knife and cut the zip tie bound around the post. He pulled Scruggs up by the pair around his wrists, the pain forcing Scruggs to reluctantly cooperate.
“Ow, man, c’mon let go,” Scruggs begged.
Jackson marched him to the front door, opened it, and shoved Scruggs out before going back inside. He slipped his pack on, grabbed the bottle of Evan Williams and a dish towel by the sink and went back out the front door.
Scruggs had rolled over onto his back and was trying to get up when Jackson grabbed him by the cuffs around his wrists and helped him do just that.
“Walk,” ordered Jackson.
“Listen man, listen,” Scruggs said, continuing to beg, “A thousand dollars. A thousand dollars cash I have in there. It’s all yours. Just let me go.”
Jackson ignored the offer. He marched him over near the minivan in the carport and shoved him onto the ground once more. Opening the front door of the van, Jackson shined his flash light inside, looking for the hood release. He found it and popped it.
Before exiting, Jackson turned the flashlight into the van’s interior and looked. The windows had been spray-painted black from the inside then covered with wire caging.
He stepped out and looked at Scruggs. Lying defeated in the mud as rain battered his meager frame. All this evil, all this pain caused, Jackson thought, and for what? A familiar anger began to burn in him.
He walked around to the front of the van, propped up the hood, and began popping open valves and unscrewing lids for fluids. He stuck the dish towel in the top of the bottle of Evan Williams and stepped back to a safe distance.
Lighting the rag, he tossed the makeshift incendiary at the engine. A whoosh of fire burst forth on impact and spread over the engine block before another, larger explosion caused the ground to shake as the whole car became engulfed in flames.
Returning to Scruggs, he grabbed him by his feet and dragged him to the post of the carport. He could feel the heat of the fire biting at his back.
“C’mon man, please,” Scruggs said, now crying, “D
on’t kill me.”
“No one’s killing you. But this is over,” Jackson replied.
He pulled out another set of zip tie handcuffs and once more bound Scrugg’s hands and feet around a lamppost. Standing over him, Jackson took one last look at the man.
In a minute, there would be flashing lights on the horizon. Seconds later, they’d hear the sirens. Help would arrive. Scruggs would be arrested. Eventually, he’d be sentenced. And if all went the way it should, he would never be free again. Anonymity was important to Jackson, but he wanted Scruggs to remember the man that did this. That set those events in motion.
Scruggs looked up at him, sniffling.
“I didn’t want to hurt her,” he said.
Jackson looked off in the distance, anticipating the flashing lights.
“Yes, you did.”
With that Jackson walked back towards the woods behind the cabin. He went back to the same perch behind the bush and tree where he had waited for Scruggs. He watched and waited, making sure Scruggs stayed put. Making sure help did arrive. Making sure Ashley was found.
The first flashing lights turned onto the gravel road, driving directly towards Scruggs and the fire. A pair of deputies came over, weapons drawn, and examined Scruggs. One of them motioned off towards the house and two others went for the front door. Lights flickered on through the windows. Jackson could see inside as they discovered the door to the basement and descended down the stairs.
It was over. Ashley was safe.
Jackson turned around and disappeared into the night.
8
Anne Parker awoke to the nasally beep of her alarm clock, a whining, analog brute that predated the turn of the century. She rolled over, slapped it, and stared at the ceiling until she felt fully awake.
Sitting up, Anne put on her slippers and robe. She headed down the hall for the stairs, but stopped outside Sara Beth’s room. Normally, she could hear the television left on much too loud as Sara Beth slept. This morning, however, it was completely quiet. Strange, she thought, maybe she had gotten up already.
“Scott,” she called out as she descended the stairs, “Scott, are you down here?”
Scott bucked forward in the chair as his mind leapt out of whatever dream he’d been having and back into the reality of early morning.
“Mmhmm, yeah,” he said, shaking off the lingering sleepiness, “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Is Sara Beth down here,” she asked.
“Mm, no. No, I don’t think so,” he replied.
Anne walked into the living room and watched as Scott rubbed at his eyes.
“You’re half asleep,” she said annoyed as she walked past him into the kitchen, “Sara? Sara are you down here?”
“She’s probably upstairs still asleep,” Scott offered.
“Her T.V. wasn’t on. Or, well, I didn’t hear it on.”
Scott chuckled.
“Well, did you actually look,” he asked.
“No, but –”
“I bet you she’s upstairs right now fast asleep,” he said walking past her into the kitchen, “You want some coffee?”
Anne shook her head as she went back upstairs. Outside Sara Beth’s bedroom, she placed her ear against the door. It was still quiet. She knocked gently.
“Sara Beth, are you awake,” she asked.
There was no reply. She knocked again.
“Sara Beth, are you in there?”
Again, there was nothing. She could have headphones on or something, she thought. She turned the doorknob slowly as she knocked again.
“Sara Beth, are you in here? I’m coming in,” Anne announced.
Her eyes swung with the door as it opened. The room lay still. Anne felt a panic begin to build in her. Not only was there no sign of Sara Beth, but the bed, although a bit ruffled, was made. Even on her best days, Sara Beth never made her bed.
“Scott,” she screamed, taking the stairs in small jumps, “Scott! She’s not in there!”
Her feet nearly slipped out from underneath her as she swung around the bannister and ran into the kitchen.
“Did you hear me,” she said breathing heavily, “She’s not in there! She’s not in her room!”
“Okay, okay, calm down,” said Scott, “Let’s call her cell phone.”
Scott watched as Anne nearly ripped the cradle for the phone off the wall and frantically punched in Sara Beth’s phone number. It rang twice before going to voicemail. Anne dropped the phone and began sobbing. Scott grasped her arms and rubbed them as he lowered his head to catch her eyes with his.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Scott said, trying to sound soothing, “Let’s stay calm, okay? We don’t even know what we don’t know. She’s probably somewhere fine.”
Anne nodded through tears and sniffling.
“Text her,” suggested Scott, “Keep trying her phone. Call her friends. Emily, right? That’s her best friend?”
“Yeah,” replied Anne, grabbing a tissue.
“Okay,” Scott said, “see if maybe they know where she is. Or if their parents do. I’ll check outside really quick.”
Scott threw a coat on over his pajamas and turned back to Anne. She nodded, mustering a smile to match her husband’s reassuring demeanor. He smiled back, much more convincingly, as he stepped out the door.
The brisk morning had left a coat of dew on everything. Scott held his arms against his side as he examined the backyard from the porch. Nothing looked out of place.
“Sara,” he called out, “Sara Beth?”
He stood and listened. And waited. For what, he wasn’t sure. If he were being honest with himself, he wasn’t expecting Sara Beth to suddenly pop out from behind the garage. Still, he hoped.
“Sara Beth, are you out here, honey,” he asked again, now stepping off the porch.
He walked to the middle of the backyard, turning slowly as he looked around. Back in the house, he could see Anne through the windows as she paced around their kitchen with the phone to her ear.
“Where are you,” Scott asked under his breath.
Walking over to the driveway, he called out again. Again, nothing. When he got to the front yard he stopped and looked around just as he had in the back. Nothing seemed out of place.
As Scott walked down the driveway, he called out for Sara Beth a fourth time, and for a fourth time there was no reply. He stopped at the edge of the street, standing on the tiny grass strip between the sidewalk and the curb, and looked either way. The sleepy Harrisonburg neighborhood was just as quiet as his own yard. Scott sighed. He could count the number of times in his life when he’d been genuinely unsure of what to do next. This was quickly becoming one of those times.
He was still standing there, thinking, when footsteps came patting around the corner. Scott turned to see his neighbor Marty Hughes returning from what must’ve been a morning jog. Marty, seeing Scott standing there in a coat and pajama pants, pulled out his earbuds as he gave him a quizzical look.
“Hey, Scott,” he said, “Everything okay?”
“Hey, Marty,” replied Scott, “You haven’t seen Sara Beth, have you?”
Marty paused, thinking.
“No,” Marty answered, “I haven’t seen her in a couple of days. But you know, I get home after the schools let out.”
“Yeah, I know,” Scott said, “But you were just jogging around, right? You didn’t see her anywhere just now?”
“No,” Marty replied, “Why, what’s up?”
The question bounced around in Scott’s mind like a mental pinball. What was happening? What had happened? He continued to think, never answering Marty.
The front door swung open and Anne stepped out. Both Scott and Marty turned to look at her. Anne looked out to them, fighting back more tears, shaking her head.
“Jesus, Marty,” Scott said, “I think I need to call the police.”
9
By mid-morning, a crowd of press and onlookers had gathered outside the West Loudoun Station of the Loudoun County Sheri
ff’s Office in Round Hill, Virginia. News that Ashley Sudfeld had been found slowly leaked overnight.
A crime reporter for the Loudoun Times-Mirror had been at home monitoring his police scanner for any possible news when the Sudfeld’s name had gone out across the air. He tweeted that Sudfeld, whose case had been in the news the past month or so ever since she disappeared, may have been found. Words spread over social media and by sunrise every major media outlet was sending people that way.
The small road outside the Sherriff’s Office was now lined with satellite trucks that had raised their dishes and antennae as if placing their flag on unclaimed territory. Reporters hurriedly composed themselves as their crews set up equipment, each of them racing to get that live shot their news program demanded.
Walter Scruggs remained locked up in the Sheriff’s Office Station for the time being. Despite being one of the largest counties in the state, this end of Loudoun County was mostly rural. As such, the Western Loudoun Station was a rather unassuming structure and felt more like a small-town police station than a regional precinct for one of the largest municipal police departments in Virginia.
No crowd, however, had gathered outside INOVA Loudoun Hospital where Ashley Sudfeld had been taken shortly after being looked at in a nearby Emergency Room. In order to keep it that way, only the nursing staff on the floor and her immediate team of doctors knew she was there. Even the two deputies assigned to watch the floor were in plain clothes so as not to draw attention.
The deputies at Western Loudoun, however, were very much in uniform and doing all they could to keep the siege of media and nosy neighbors at bay, trying to herd the onlookers in the road aside to allow vehicles in and out. One particularly green deputy was losing an argument to an elderly woman who wasn’t taking no for an answer as a black unmarked Dodge Charger pulled in with two detectives, Patrick Malone and Ethan Reagan.
“Man, look at this circus,” Malone said from behind the wheel.
“It couldn’t have helped that Nancy Grace tweeted out the address of the station a couple hours ago,” replied Reagan.
“Are you kidding me,” Malone asked.
The Woodsman (The Jackson Clay & Bear Beauchamp Series Book 1) Page 3