by Simon King
Sam sat up and peered into the darkness, the shadows shielding whatever the animal was. But as she continued watching, its faint yelping reached out to her. It was a puppy, that much she could tell.
As Sam rose to her feet and slowly walked towards where it stood, she could make out a leash hanging from its neck. It appeared to be snagged on the hedge, the puppy struggling against it. The closer she got, the more the puppy seemed to thrash about.
“Hey,” she whispered as she knelt down, reaching for the leash.
“Huh?” Tim asked.
“There’s a pup caught in the hedge here,” she whispered.
“Where are you? I don’t see you anymore.” Sam realized that in her haste to help the pup, she had ventured into an area mostly cast in darkness. The nearest lamp post was right next to the bench, but its light failed to reach to where she now stood. The trees that surrounded the hedge acted as a light shield, casting the area into an even deeper darkness than the surrounding area.
Before she had a chance to react, strong arms suddenly enveloped her, pulling the much smaller girl off her feet.
“What the-“ was all she had time to say before a hand clasped itself over her mouth.
“Sam?” Tim whispered as she first tensed instinctually against her captor, then relaxed herself, giving in. She knew if this was the man they were here for, he’d probably be armed with a knife and the body armor Tim had given her to wear only covered so much.
The man held her close, his hand covering her airways.
“Don’t move or I’ll break your neck, bitch,” he whispered into her ear.
“Damn it,” she heard through her other ear.
The man relaxed his grip on Sam’s face slightly as he began to walk backwards, carrying her further into the brush. She looked down and saw that he did indeed have a knife in the hand wrapped around her middle, its dim shape barely visible. His other hand was still fixed on her face, although he’d relaxed it enough for her to breathe as they pushed through the undergrowth.
“Can’t wait to taste you, luscious,” the man whispered into her ear.
“Me either,” Sam thought to herself, her mouth already salivating at the thought. In her ear she could hear Tim whispering frantically for her, but without a chance to respond, she was nothing more than a mute witness.
“Read about me in the papers, bitch? Know what I’m gonna do to you?” Time seemed to slow at that moment as Sam realized the words he’d just spoken. Even Tim seemed to grow silent; that was until his whisper returned, confirming what Sam thought she’d heard.
“Did he just confess?”
But before she had a chance to answer, the man lifted her slightly, slid the hand from her face onto her chest and flung her down on the ground. She hit the deck hard and for a moment, lay stunned. As Sam lay beneath him slightly winded, the man knelt down on her chest and held the blade a few inches from her face. It looked like an oversized pocketknife, the blade ominously close to her cheek. As if to clarify his intentions, he ran the tip of the blade down the side of Sam’s face as the other carefully felt between her legs.
“I can feel your heat. Mmmm, you need to suck my dick, bitch,” he whispered, momentarily fixed on that spot. It was the distraction Sam had been waiting for and before the man could react, she swung an open palm at the flat side of the blade while her other hand punched his wrist in the opposite direction. The weapon spun from his grip in a blink, Sam catching it neatly before arcing it around and running it over his throat.
He looked thunderstruck as Sam swung one leg up and in front of his neck, before pushing back as hard as she could, bringing her other leg up and around to pull him off balance. The would-be killer fell backwards as a familiar gurgling filled the air and as Sam sat up with the momentum of his falling weight, prepared for the grand finale as the familiar smell filled her nostrils like freshly baking bread.
His arms tried to grab her, but Sam was too fast, brushing his clutching fingers aside to the sounds of his continued objections. With the swiftness and grace of an Olympic gymnast, Sam spun her legs around each side until her knees were firmly seated on his chest, before once again swinging the blade, this time bringing it down as hard as she could into his genitals. As her victim tensed like a board, reaching down to protect his most valuable asset, Sam carefully lent forward to whisper into his ear, a spray of blood painting her face. The sensation of the warmth had nothing on the hypnotic smell that gripped her, which soon she would finally taste.
“Suck my dick, bitch,” she cawed as the struggles began to subside. It wasn’t until she sank her teeth into the welcoming heat of his neck that she finally gave in to her own cravings, the warmth filling her mouth as his struggles came to a halt.
The ceremony in the memorial room the next day was a sombre one for Sam, the faces of the victims running through her mind as she pushed the button to end the chain of lights on the killing spree for good. There were half a dozen other people attending, the rest out on assignment. Once it was finished, Tim led her back to the elevator and pushed the button for Mumma’s office.
The arms that embraced Sam as she stepped into the room were strong, fueled by the gratitude of the woman behind them. Mumma had a friend who’s sister was one of the victims of the Allegheny Rapist.
“Thank you,” Mumma whispered into Sam’s ear, before letting her go and returning to her desk. “Unfortunately, there’s no time to waste,” she said, sitting back down, her fingers instantly working the keyboard.
“There never is,” Tim said, following Mumma and dragging a chair beside her. “Watcha got?”
“Think we have an Uncle Pennybags,” she said.
“A what?” Sam asked, sitting on the edge of the desk, facing the bank of monitors lining the wall in front of Mumma’s desk.
“Uncle Pennybags is what we call someone who looks to be setting up a game with the authorities. You know, like Monopoly. Uncle Pennybags is the-“ Tim offered, but was cut off.
“I know who Uncle Pennybags is,” Sam said, sounding a little defensive.
“Some serial killers set up the crime scene like a board game, you know, to play the cops. A ‘come try and find me’ kind of game.” Tim tried to sound diplomatic, not wanting to come across as arrogant.
“How do you know this is one?”
“Oh, child, this is one. Of all the Uncle Pennybags I have ever seen, this would have to be one of the most obvious,” Mumma said, continuing to tap away on her keyboards.
As Sam watched, 4 monitors lit up before them, two with photographs on them, the other two each with a map.
“Victims?” Sam asked.
“In a way. The old man on the left is Nathaniel Johns. He was buried in Danville, Kentucky after passing away three weeks ago.”
“Sounds normal,” Sam said.
“He was found sitting on a park bench on the shores of Eagle Lake in Maine, a week later.”
“What?” Sam sounded shocked more than surprised. Mumma continued.
“The other man there, Eugene Garcia, was found in Nathaniel’s coffin, buried as if it had been his own all along.”
“Someone switched the bodies?” Tim asked, sitting up in his chair.
“Someone switched the bodies,” Mumma repeated. “And that’s not all. There may have been another one.” She punched a couple more buttons, another two screens flashing on. “That’s George Andrews. He was buried last Tuesday in Orderville, Utah. His body was found this morning, sitting in a bathroom cubicle at a gas station on the outskirts of Stigler, Oklahoma. The police are currently at George Andrews’ gravesite to see what they find.”
“He seems to be going through an awful lot to get someone’s attention,” Sam offered, peering at the image of the new face.”
“That’s a long way to transport the bodies. What if he gets pulled over?” Tim asked.
“Something tells me that’s the least of his worries. He’s managing to hide these bodies all over the country and leaving them in places
where they will get discovered relatively quick,” Mumma said, pausing her fingers. “I’m not sure whether it will serve any purpose, but maybe you two might want to head to Danville. Maybe start where it all began. Try and see what you can find. I’ll keep poking around and see if I can find something from this end.” Sam looked at Tim and both nodded at the same time.
“Deal,”Sam said. “Wanna organize the plane?”
“Already on it.”
After stopping off at the equipment room and grabbing all the possible items they needed, Tim led them back outside to where Sam’s Mustang sat, glistening in the late afternoon sun. The novelty of it was still strong and felt the butterflies of excitement each time she laid eyes on it, still finding it hard to believe that the car was hers.
She hopped into the driver’s seat as Tim slid in beside her, fired the engine and sat and listened as it roared to life before settling into a calming purr.
“Any ideas?” Tim asked as Sam gunned the car, spewing two neat little jets of gravel behind them as she tore down the driveway.
“Certainly twisted,” she said, steering with one hand as she turned down the radio.
“Twisted is a given. But what a way to get some attention. The way I see it, he’s either doing it to specific victims he knows, or they’re complete randoms that are serving a higher purpose for him.”
“Don’t forget, it’s only one of the two that was killed by the perp. The other one was already dead.” Sam barely slowed as she swung the mustang onto the hardtop, the tires squealing briefly as they tried to find purchase.
“Well, at least we know what their purpose was.”
The Milton Ward jet was already waiting for them on the tarmac when the pair reached the airport. After handing her keys to one of the attendants, Tim gestured for her to climb aboard, then followed, handing his bag over as well. The attendant thanked them, passed the keys to one of his colleagues, then followed his passengers aboard.
Just like her car, Sam still felt the overwhelming sense of novelty each time she experienced another aspect of her new life, despite being with the secretive organization for a little over 6 months. The car; the home; the plane; it all felt like a world away from the reality she once knew.
Tim sat in his seat and snapped the seatbelt into place, watching as if to ensure she followed suit. When Sam did, he peered towards the front expectantly, waiting patiently for the pilot to get them moving.
A few moments later, the wheels left the runway as the plane steadily climbed into the darkening Kansas sky. Sam sat and peered out of her window, still overcome by the power of the engines that pushed her back into the seat. The view was incredible with the multitude of lights stretching out across the horizon, her face almost pressed against the glass, like a child on her first flight.
Tim watched as his partner stared at the view beneath them, the lit-up cities and towns stretching out in every direction. He himself used to do the very same thing when first exposed to the excitement of private plane travel. He grinned as he imagined her excitement, now just a distant memory of his own novelty.
Sam turned back once they reached cruising altitude, reminding herself of the reason for the trip. Tim sat with his laptop open, busily looking through the files Mumma had already accumulated for them.
“Anything new?” she asked as a flight attendant handed her a bottle of water.
“Not really. Nothing from the latest grave site, anyway. Just trying to find something on the man they discovered in the coffin of the first guy. Shot in the head. He would have stared into the eyes of his killer.” He continued scanning through other documents as Sam went to the bathroom. When she returned, the laptop was closed.
Tim sat watching the window, staring out into the blackness beyond. Every few seconds a distant light would slowly float past, another town slipping by in the distance. Sam sat back down and took a drink of water, aware of something bothering him.
“You OK?” she asked, stowing the bottle. He turned and looked, offering her a smile.
“Sure. Just tired. Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Can I ask you a question?” There had been something playing on her own mind, a name that occasionally crept into conversation. She had first heard it during the very first trip to the compound, although no-one elaborated who the person was.
“Of course,” Tim said, turning a little in his seat.
“Who’s Evie?”
Sam watched as Tim’s expression instantly changed, turning from inviting and friendly to something resembling torment. She regretted asking the question the instant it left her lips.
“I,” he started, but found the words stuck in his throat, suddenly feeling like thorns. He reached for his own bottle of water and took a long drink, his cheeks looking flushed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She felt her own cheeks burning slightly at seeing his reaction and felt instant relief when one of the attendants came from their compartment.
“We’re about to start our descent.”
Neither of them spoke again until the plane was taxiing towards the private terminal of the small country airport.
“The town is just a few miles up the road,” Tim said, his tone sounding forced, resembling his smile. “Mumma has booked us into a nearby motel and there’s a car waiting for us. Probably a good idea to wait until morning. Nathanial’s widow is in her 80s and I doubt she’d be the kind to take strangers in for tea this late at night.” Sam nodded as Tim looked out at the few buildings nearing them.
Once the plane stopped and the doors were opened, the pair didn’t waste time to get their items and make their way onto the tarmac. Another attendant was waiting for them, car keys in hand.
“Welcome to Danville,” he said, handing Sam the keys. “I’m sorry, it’s not the most luxurious vehicle, but unfortunately we have a limited supply.” He pointed towards where a red Toyota Yaris sat, looking like an outcast where it sat near a shut-down fire truck.
“It’s perfect,” Sam replied. “Thank you.”
They didn’t waste time, and soon Sam was navigating them out through the gate and towards town.
“I’m sorry for bringing her up. I didn’t mean to pry.” Tim reached out and squeezed her arm.
“No, honestly, it’s OK. It’s just that it’s not an easy subject for me.” She expected him to continue, but he instead stared blankly out at the road ahead, falling into another bout of silence.
As the houses began to pass them near the edge of town, Tim pulled out his cell and opened the email Mumma had sent.
“It’s not far,” he said, reading the signs as they passed. “Third on the left and then hang a right. There should be a small motel about halfway along the block.”
Sam followed his directions and felt a little relieved when the motel sign appeared lit up in the distance. She swung the Yaris into one of the parking spots and watched as a woman appeared in the window of the reception area. She waved, then abruptly hurried out to them.
“Hi,” she said as Tim opened his door for her. “You the couple from Milton Ward?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tim replied.
“Wasn’t sure you’d make it before I left. Normally just leave the key in the safe over there.” Instead, she held it out to him and Tim took it from her. “Got you folks set up in room 11. It’s right over there by the stairs, ground floor. Is three nights correct?” Tim looked at Sam and slowly nodded.
“Yah, three nights is perfect, thank you.”
“Great. OK, well, you can park your vehicle right by your room and a breakfast tray will be dropped by your door at 7 sharp.” She pronounced vehicle as if it was two words, annunciating ‘hicle’ like a long lost friend.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Sam said and the woman waved before returning to her own apartment as Sam drove to the allocated parking spot. By the time they stepped out from the car, the woman was gone, the lights in the reception area switched off.
The room was like a studio apa
rtment and large enough to put a lot of city options to shame. While the furniture was dated and the television looked like a direct relic from the 70s, it was clean and well maintained. There were two beds, almost side by side and Sam put her bag on the one in the corner as soon as they stepped into the room.
Tim put his bag on the table and made the bathroom his first stop. The mood between them hadn’t changed and Sam began to wonder whether she’d actually upset him by asking the question. She considered apologizing again, then decided against it. Sometimes it was better just to let things as painful as that go.
When Tim returned, he pulled his laptop out and set it up on the table as Sam grabbed her bag and went for a shower. She always found the heat helped her sleep better and with a big day ahead, wanted to be as refreshed as possible.
After absorbing the warmth of the water for a good ten minutes, she finally returned to the room where Tim was tapping away on his keyboard.
“Anything from the second grave yet?” she asked, setting her bag down beside the bed.
“Not yet. Guess the cops aren’t in a hurry to file their report. Might have to wait till morning. Think we might start at the cemetery first, what do you think?. Maybe just to get a feel for what we’re in for.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Hopefully, we’ll know more by then. I’m sure Mumma will find more information.”
Sam grabbed the remote and flicked the television on, scanning through the channels before settling on an episode of Seinfeld. Tim continued to work the laptop, but after finding himself distracted by Kramer’s antics, closed the lid, turned the overhead lights off and hopped on top of his bed.
After watching back-to-back episodes of Seinfeld for over an hour, both viewers groaned as Frasier took the next spot in the viewing schedule. After flicking back through the limited channels for something else to watch, both agreed to call it a night, Sam switched the television off and turned on her side, listening to the sounds of the motel reaching out through the darkness.