by Peter Grist
eighteen
The journey took them north-east towards the Allegheny range. The sprawling conurbation lay behind them with just an occasional shack or turning for a farm. Even to Ed’s untrained eye, he could see that the crops were struggling as the once rich earth turned to dust. In the distance, he could hear the plaintive sound of a railroad locomotive sounding its horn. Looking left across the flatlands he could make out the distinct shape of the train coming closer. Linda looked ahead at the crossing coming up; it was still some way off.
“Train coming.” Ed said
“I know but I don’t think we are going to get to the crossing before it arrives, this is no Ferrari!”
They arrived at the track crossing just as the huge EMD SD40-2 diesel locomotive thundered through. The locomotive carried the livery of the Indiana & Ohio Railroad with its main red body and black upper paintwork set against the white writing. The train was heading from west to east with what looked like over a hundred grain trucks being pulled, Ed guessed the locomotive was heading for the Grain Elevator at Thackery. As the sound of the horn died away all that could be heard now was the clickety-clack of the trucks rolling across the track ties.
“I might as well turn the motor off, we are going to be here some time.”
Ed made no reply. She looked across to her passenger, “Ed, are you okay, Ed?”
“Oh no!” was all he managed to murmur as the headache returned with full force. He cried out, arching his back against the seat, his head going over the head restraint, his hands digging into the armrests. As the pain increased his world went white……then completely black.
No Particular Place To Go.
Ed came too with a groan but thankfully no pain. Looking out of the windshield the train was rumbling into the distance, the noise now just a gentle ticking. As it curled away he could see it wasn’t the same train, this one was all black and looked much older, and it only pulled a dozen freight cars.
“How long was I out for this time?” he asked.
There was no reply, as there was no one else in the car.
“Linda?”
He looked around quickly and realised immediately that he was still out. He was having a flashback and was sitting behind the big white steering wheel of the 1959 DeSoto again. The chrome encrusted radio was blaring out Chuck Berry so Ed leaned over and turned the volume down to a more bearable level. Now used to the flashbacks he wondered what he was doing here, he knew that there must be a purpose. The day had grown longer, the sun was almost gone. Looking up ahead, the red jewels of stop lights twinkled in the far distance from the back of another vehicle. He was much too far away to tell what the vehicle was, but instinctively he felt he must find out. The big V8 engine was already running so he pushed the D button on the dash, released the big chrome T-bar parking brake and rolled across the rail tracks. Once over the tracks and back on the blacktop, he put his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The mighty engine and Torqueflite three-speed transmission punched the car forwards, the acceleration pushing Ed into the back of the bench seat.
“Wow, I don’t remember my old DeSoto going this fast.” he thought to himself. By the time Chuck had finished singing Ed had got to the intersection where he had seen the stop lights on the other vehicle, but now there was nothing to be seen, two intersecting country roads that seemed to lead nowhere. He looked to his left, nothing for miles but flat land and the setting sun. He looked to his right and at the low hills and trees just a few miles away. No contest, he turned right and hit the gas.
The cultivated land looked healthier; the crops seemed to be thriving in the fertile earth. The rows of wheat and corn soon gave way to the forest as the terrain began to rise. Way ahead he could just make out the twin spots of red on the other vehicle; he was gaining on it he felt sure. There was nothing else around, no traffic, no buildings, nothing. He pushed the big-finned car faster, the speedometer creeping up to 95.
“You’re listening to the Bill Randle Show at W.E.R.E coming at you on 1300 kilohertz AM. That was Chuck Berry, and this is Fred Harris and the Manhattans singing…..Crazy ‘bout you”.
Sho be doh be do wop
Sho be doh be do wop
Sho be doh be do wop
I’m crazy ‘bout you baby,
I’m crazy ‘bout your face,
I want you with me always
My heart sores into space.
The slow melodic strains of the Doo-Wop group rose from the radio speakers set in the parcel shelf and behind the dash as they started harmonising. Ed could now make out what the vehicle in front was, an old red pick-up truck. He could feel his anger rise with the terrain; he closed the gap on the slower pick-up. It was now almost completely dark but he kept the quad headlamps turned off. If the dream or flashback or whatever the hell it was happening to him would let him, he intended to follow the driver, not confront him, see where he was going with the girl. If she was still alive, then he would attack the would-be killer. Could he save her, change history? God only knew, but he would try his damnedest. The road started to twist and turn some, the pick-up now had its lights on as it climbed higher into the hills. Ed stayed a few bends back so he couldn’t be seen by the driver but he was taken by surprise when the brake lights came on and the truck quickly slowed then swerved violently to the left taking a narrower road. Trying not to illuminate his own brake lights, Ed came off the gas and let the weight of the car against the hill slow him down. He took the left turn just a little too fast and the DeSoto fishtailed but he got it back under control and drove on. The smaller road was little more than a dirt track but the pick-up was now creating a dust cloud behind it that showed the way and hid Ed from the driver. The trees covered the dark sky so there was little in the way of moon or starlight to guide Ed forwards, so reluctantly he slowed. Killing himself wouldn’t help anyone, but then again, could he get killed at all if this was just a dream?! More questions than answers so far, but it wasn’t a question he wanted to find the answer to anytime soon.
He concentrated on the rutted track, trying to keep the truck in sight. After five minutes of bumping and juddering deeper into the forest and a few more smaller turns, he saw the brake lights come on up ahead. Ed pulled the car over behind some bushes and killed the engine. He cranked down the window and listened. Nothing! No engine, the truck had stopped. Ed opened the door and cursed himself when the courtesy light came on. “Idiot!” he said to himself. He quickly got out and gently closed the door, extinguishing the light again. “Well there goes my night vision,” he thought to himself, “just hope that fella didn’t see it”. Up ahead he heard a squeal as a rusty door was opened then slammed shut seconds later. Ed wanted to move forward but as he couldn’t see very far he waited another few minutes before making his way up the track, letting his eyes become re-accustomed to the dark. He needn’t have worried about losing the trail of the driver. Whoever it was must have been certain about being alone as they crashed through the undergrowth, snapping low branches and crushing fallen twigs underfoot. Ed got to the pick-up. It was the same old red post-war Dodge he had seen from his first flashback, he was sure of that. It was hard to tell from that era but with its bull nose, he guessed it was a 1948 or 49 model. The engine ticked gently as it began to cool. There was nothing in the bed, just a large battered tool chest bolted down behind the cab. Crouching low, he slid up the right side to the cab and peaked in. He was relieved to see it was empty. Fearful that he still might lose his pray he went into the tree line, following the trail of broken branches and noise up ahead. Whoever was up there, their progress was slow and Ed closed the gap. He thought he heard a man’s voice curse following the ‘thwap’ of a branch springing back into place. Ed’s eyes were now getting used to the dark and he could see fairly well, well enough that he recognised where he was. The trees had become less dense and he could now see the small stream he had crossed yesterday. Was it only yesterday…..or fifty yea
rs ago? As he made the clearing near the stream he could see a man up ahead just going into the trees on the other side of the water. Instinctively, Ed ducked down but the man never turned around. Ed’s heart sank when he saw the Hessian sack on the man’s shoulders, he was too late. Anger rose again like bile in his throat, burning away. He wanted to crash ahead and tackle the man to the ground. He even started to run forwards but by the time he had reached the stream his sense had returned. He took a deep breath, calmed himself then stepped onto the stones across the water.
The gap between the two men was only about a hundred yards but in a forest area that was more than enough for Ed to avoid being seen. Defying his heavy build, his army training from years ago and his martial arts gave him a lightness of foot. He remembered to place the outside of his feet gently down before rolling the whole of his body weight onto the limb, avoiding unnecessary noise and snapping fallen branches. The wildlife gave off a noisy cover of its own; crickets chirped away rhythmically, accompanied by unidentified night birds and the scurrying of small mammals. Only once did he make a dead branch snap underfoot. He froze and watched his prey; the man ahead paused, turned his head to listen then seemingly satisfied that it was animal noises, continued on. As the land became steeper Ed realised that they were almost at the destination, the small clearing with the fallen trees. With the guy in front carrying the heavy sack, he closed the gap easily and was only thirty yards behind the assailant when he reached the clearing. Still with his back to Ed, the guy unceremoniously dropped the sack then rubbed his shoulder free of aches. He knelt down beside the sack and untied the thin rope holding it closed. Moonlight illuminated the area like a stage set; Ed could see that the man was tall and lean but well-built with broad shoulders. The red check lumberjack-style shirt was the same, tucked into dark jeans. The clothes were hard-working but well-worn and faded. The only item that seemed to conspicuously stick out in its newness was the shiny black belt that held up the jeans and had metal loops and a utility pocket. When the man came back up he was holding a wooden-handled spade. The ground was soft and boggy underfoot and took little effort to disturb with the blade of the tool. Working just a few feet in front of the sack the man began to dig. Ed wasn’t sure if he could watch this any longer, what he wanted to do was jump on his back and rip the guy’s head off then bury him, then take the girl home to her folks. But he and Linda had come up with a game plan that would hopefully catch the guy in the future. The future, now?! But this felt like now, this was no dream, this was real. His head almost ached with the confusion. “To hell with it,” he thought, “I can’t watch this happen”. He stepped out from behind the large pine he had been hiding behind and stepped out towards the man just as the killer threw down the spade and turned to pick up the sack. Ed froze in shock; he knew who it was! The guy was in perfect silhouette; the chiselled jawline and skull-like head made the man instantly recognisable. But more than that, the man’s actions had drawn Ed’s eyes to the sack again as something rolled out. Ed’s shock was complete, the ebony arm that he had expected to fall out was not an arm or even ebony, it was a head, the head of a blonde-haired white child.
nineteen
Ed’s eyes opened suddenly, staring straight ahead. “Oh my God! You scared me half to death!” exclaimed Linda as she shrank back away from Ed. “Are you okay?”
Ed stared out the front screen at the now empty landscape. They were now just the other side of the train crossing, looking into the darkness of open country. “Ed, talk to me, are you okay?” she repeated. Slowly he turned towards her voice, but still not seeing her, his mind still back in the past.
“It wasn’t her” he mumbled.
“What? What do you mean it wasn’t her, wasn’t who?”
“It wasn’t her Linda, it wasn’t Gracie.” He said softly. “I saw him, the killer, I saw him drive into the hills with the body, I followed him. He dug a shallow grave, but it wasn’t Grace Benjamin, it was someone else, a white girl, the waitress was right, there’s more than one!”
“Oh no, please God no, not more of them!”
“It gets worse” he hesitated, “I don’t know if I should tell you or not but if we find them I guess you’ll know sooner or later.”
“Know what Ed? How can it be any worse for Christ sake?”
For the first time since coming round he looked into Linda’s big brown eyes. Reluctantly he said “I saw the girls head, long blonde hair, it had pigtails and ribbons…..but, but that was all, it was just a head. He’d cut it off Linda, she’d been decapitated!”
She leaned across the centre consul and embraced him, pulling him towards her. He was thankful as she wouldn’t see the tears rolling down his cheeks. He put his arms around her as best as the Jeep would allow, he could feel her sobbing quietly too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, maybe when his mom had died many years ago, maybe not since the war. They sat like that for what seemed like forever, until the pain in their hearts subsided enough so that they could think straight again. Eventually, they pulled apart but held hands across the centre of the 4X4. Her dark skin contrasted with his lighter tan. Ed looked down, he thought they looked and felt good together. She did the same, gaining strength from the contact. Finally, she spoke.
“What are we going to do now, is there any point in going up there?” she asked.
“Yes!” he replied, “I want to see if I can find the place again while it’s still fresh in my head. We need to know where they are so we can bring them back. I also need to know I am not going crazy, but the main thing is we need to lead him back to the bodies, it’s the only way to prove it was him.”
“Okay, let’s go find them.”
She put her hand on the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it.
“Who was it Ed, you saw who the killer was didn’t you. Did you recognise him?”
He nodded slowly.
“Who?”
He told her the name of the killer.
“Oh!” she said. There wasn’t much surprise in her voice. After a moment, she steeled herself, said: “Right then.”
She turned the key, selected drive and headed towards the hills.
twenty
The orangey-yellow Toyota pick-up crawled slowly past the entrance to the farm, the driver shadowed in the darkness of the cab. The headlights were off but he could see where he was heading easily enough, he had been out here many times over the years. There was a service entrance a couple of hundred yards past the main house. He could see from the road that only one light was still burning in the farmhouse, in the main living room downstairs. He carefully turned onto the dirt track of the service road for the property, crawling slowly forwards, the quiet engine barely ticking over on idle. The truck bumped gently through a few potholes and came to rest near the back door of the building. The digital clock display said 21.33, late enough he guessed but he would have to hurry. He pulled down the balaclava type woollen hat over his face so that only his nose and eyes protruded. From a backpack on the passenger seat he pulled out a nightstick, a small aerosol can and a roll of black gaffer tape. The tape he put on his wrist like a bracelet, the nightstick stayed in his right hand and the can, a bottle of mace, he gripped in his left hand. The interior light of the pick-up came on as he opened the driver’s door causing the intruder to curse under his breath. He turned and quickly but gently closed the truck’s door, extinguishing the light. Without hesitation, he walked purposefully to the farm’s back door. He guessed that it would be unlocked, and the masked intruder was right. A turn of the big silver knob and the door swung in quietly on nicely oiled hinges. He looked around the darkened kitchen then moved stealthily towards the front of the house where the lights from the living room flooded out into the hall. He slowed and tiptoed towards the entry to the room, the nightstick raised. Esther was sitting by the fire, her back to the door, reading a book, completely unaware that she had unexpected company. As the intruder ent
ered the room, the old wood flooring creaked under his weight, causing the woman to turn around.
“Josh, why are you out of bed?” Her words died away as she saw the masked man coming towards her. For someone in their late 60s Esther was very sprightly and fit. She quickly jumped up and hurled the heavy-bound book at her assailant’s head. He deftly ducked and came at her. He was surprised that she showed no sign of fear but it didn’t slow down his assualt.
“Get the hell out of here!” she screamed as she squared up to the oncoming attack. Unperturbed, he came on, the nightstick raised higher ready for the attack. Esther grabbed the first thing to hand, which happened to be a metal poker for the fire but she failed to see the spray can in the attacker’s other hand. Instead of bringing down a heavy blow towards her, he simply extended his left arm and sprayed mace straight into her face. Dropping the poker, she clutched at her eyes, a scream braking from her lips. Before the scream could reach any volume, the attacker followed through with his right hand, bringing a hard blow across the side of Esther’s head. She dropped to the floor, instantly unconscious, the scream stopped almost before it started. He looked down at his handy work. A small pool of blood was spreading across the floor, quickly absorbed by the carpet. He kicked her hard in the back, to make sure she wasn’t faking, and then walked out of the room towards the stairs.
twenty-one
The Jeep made rapid progress along the empty country road. Ed pondered that except for a few billboards and a signpost reading State Farm Road, the land looked the same as when he drove this way just a short while ago in his dream. As they approached the intersection he pointed right. Linda hardly slowed for the yield sign as she took the corner and gunned the 4.0li high-output engine, thrusting the sturdy SUV towards the hills. As they came into the treeline, Ed leaned forward in his seat, paying closer attention to the road. After a few minutes he asked Linda to slow down a little. She glanced at the map Buster had scribbled down.