by Evan Bond
While he waited for the body to be picked up, Harrison had a look around. There were obvious drag marks in the dirt leading to the clearing. A huge area of dirt had been disturbed, suggesting she struggled to get free. He truly wished she had been able to wiggle free. He wanted it all to stop. Things like this never happened here. It was the whole reason he chose to be a small town sheriff. There was no excitement, no car chases, no dead bodies, no drug dealers. Nothing. Carlisle had been the perfect town, until now.
The body had not been the most disturbing part of this particular murder. No, that came in the form of an unusual letter in Harrison's mailbox this morning. When he had gone outside to retrieve the local paper, as he did every morning, he noticed the little red flag on the mailbox was up. He knew there was nothing he had been trying to mail so he chalked it up to young kids playing pranks in the night. Harmless fun. Harrison himself had partaken in similar acts as a teenager. Curious, he pulled open the mailbox anyway. He found a folded-up slip of paper inside.
He grabbed it and unfolded the edges carefully, not sure what to expect. The note was handwritten and somewhat sloppy. Either a man with a heavy hand a quick writing style or someone writing in the dark. The note explained the exact location of a body in the woods. The directions were clear and concise. There was no doubt the killer had left the note, not some anonymous tipper. Thinking about the killer standing in front of his yard, touching his mailbox, gave him chills. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be real. It was something ripped straight from one of the detective novels he read quietly on his back porch.
Harrison now stared at the wrinkled and bloodstained body before him. It was all too real. No childish pranks. This killer was the real deal. It was an awful truth plaguing this town. His next move would not be an easy one. "Jesus," he said to himself. "How do I break the news this time?"
Chapter Eight
The morning was crisp and beautiful. Birds chirped in the trees, morning dew dripped from vibrant blades of green grass, and a cool breeze blew in from the north. All of this, however, was lost on Sasha. Her depression and anxiety had flared up to levels of intensity once again. It wasn't always easy to figure out where these mood swings came from. Often, there was no answer and she was forced to ride them out like some sort of horrible amusement park ride. Of course, it didn't mean she could ignore her motherly duties. Sasha couldn't afford to take a break. Being an only parent with crippling depression was difficult, to say the least.
"Good morning, sweetheart." Sasha greeted her messy haired daughter who sat slouched at the kitchen table. "How did you sleep?"
"Good I guess."
Sasha smiled.
"Glad to hear it, sweetie. I'm making pancakes if you want some."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, please."
Sasha smiled again. Even when her mind was at its worst, Tara always found a way to make her smile with no effort at all. Sasha was certain her daughter was a peace offering from God. A benefaction for the life she had been forced to live.
Sasha brought the plate of freshly made pancakes over to the table and set them down gently. Tara began to dig in without a second thought. Sasha smiled and returned to the kitchen to refill her empty coffee cup.
"Mommy," she heard Tara call from the dining room. "Are you not going to eat any?"
Sasha shook her head. Looking at her daughter from the small pass-through between the two rooms she said, "Mommy's not hungry" She gulped down the lie with a swig of lukewarm coffee. If she had been honest with her daughter, she would have told her she was, in fact, hungry but her stomach was tangled in painful knots. She wouldn't be able to keep food down if she tried. Maybe later when everything had finally settled down she would get something in her belly. If she had known about the mutilated corpse Sheriff Harrison had found only a few yards from her home, she might have never eaten again. At least, not without picturing such a grotesque scene.
When Tara finished eating, she ran off to her bedroom to change. Within seconds, she was heading for the back door. "Hold on. Where are you going?"
"Outside. The leaves are pretty and I want to play in them."
"I don't know. The last time you went outside-"
"I won't run off, mom. I promise."
"You'll stay where I can see you?"
"Yes."
"You promise?"
"I swear."
Sasha nodded reluctantly and watched as Tara cheered and opened the door. More than anything, Sasha wanted to join her daughter but her nerves were far too shot. Instead, she would sit on the couch and attempt to calm herself down. The little orange bottle of Xanax danced in her mind, taunting her to take one. She would hold out as long as she could, hating the way they made her feel.
She closed her eyes and tried some of the calming techniques her therapist had taught her. She was only part way through picturing herself on a tranquil beach when she heard a scream that turned her blood to ice. Before Sasha could even register what was happening, she was up from the couch and running out the door. Instincts took over and she snatched her daughter from the ground. Tara pointed down at the grass near the base of the home and Sasha knew instantly what had scared her. A human heart, still dripping with fresh blood, rested only a few feet away.
Bile rose in her throat as she rushed her daughter inside, forcing herself to choke it back down. Sasha called the police and a deputy told her the sheriff was on call and would be there as soon as he could. Sasha did her best to thank the unconcerned sounding man and hung up.
Less than five minutes later, the sheriff was knocking at the door. Sasha was relieved with his response time but also a little shocked. She swung open the door with a grunt of panic and stared at the man at her front door. "That was quick." She said.
"I was in the neighborhood."
Sasha scanned the driveway and noticed his truck was missing.
"How did you get here?"
"I was very close. Please, may I come in?"
Sasha ushered the sheriff into her home and offered him some coffee, to which he politely declined. She nodded and tried to hide the fact she was shaking, though she knew she was doing a poor job.
"Smith tells me you found something in your backyard."
"My daughter did, actually."
"Sorry about that."
Sasha nodded.
"What did she find?"
"It's better if I just show you, I think."
Sasha led Harrison to the backyard and pointed at the heart still sitting there. Harrison coughed, clearly not expecting to see it.
"Jesus Christ," he said.
"Yeah, how do I explain this to my daughter?" Sasha asked, averting her eyes from the bloody organ. "Better question, why is there a heart on my lawn?" She was close to screaming now. "Is it some sort of terrible prank because we're new? Is this how the town tells us we're not welcome?"
"Of course, not-"
"Then are me and my daughter in danger?"
"Please, allow me to exp-"
"You're the sheriff, you need to do something about this. First the dead woman and now there are organs showing up on my lawn. What kind of shit is this place into?"
"Ma'am, please calm down and I'll explain everything to you."
Sasha placed her hands against her temples, nursing a major headache. The stress was too much to handle. She needed that Xanax now but she refused to take it. Sheriff Harrison took her by the hand and ushered her inside. Getting her a glass of water, he sat her on the couch and did his best to relax her.
"Here's the thing, and please keep this between us for now. There was another body found."
"What?"
"Yes, this morning in fact. The scene was morbid. The victim's heart was missing."
"Oh my God."
"I have no idea why it was left at your house. It may have been dropped by mistake."
"How could it have been dropped by mistake at my house?"
"Well, the body was found in a small
clearing in the woods not too far from here."
Sasha's blood ran cold. She knew the very spot. Tara had found it only yesterday. Her hands began to shake in terror. Was the killer out there when she had fetched Tara from the woods? Was he watching them? Could Tara have been killed if she had not made it to her in time? Maybe the heart was a warning they were next. Her mind raced with idea after idea until she could no longer take it. Out of breath, she raced into the kitchen and grabbed the little orange bottle, spilling several pills on the counter. Harrison watched as she gulped down a pill and nearly vomited in the sink.
When the panic attack began to subside, she started to feel ashamed. She couldn't help it. It was embarrassing. It was beyond embarrassing.
"I'm so sorry about that."
"Please, don't be. I understand."
"Do you? Do you understand what it's like to lose sleep because you can't shut off your mind? Do you understand what it's like to hate yourself and spend every waking moment scared of what might go wrong? Or, do you understand what it's like to believe that your family would live a better life without you?"
Sasha breathed heavily now, regretting everything she had said. It had been nothing more than an angry outburst. At least, it's what she wanted to believe. But something happened that she had not expected. Sheriff Harrison looked up at her with a single tear rolling down his cheek.
"In fact, I do. I served during the Gulf War. Two tours, actually. I went over there thinking I was protecting freedom, my country, and my family. But, I came back different. I would sit in my bedroom in complete darkness for days and wouldn't even speak to my family. I would contemplate signing up for a third tour, only to let some towel head off me to save my family the torture of watching me whither away to nothing. I lost my family because I wasn't the same person. I understand all too well what it's like to hate yourself."
Sasha sat down next to Harrison and placed a hand on his shoulder. There were no words she could have said at that moment to make him feel better. People always felt the need to say something but sometimes it was better to just be there. Sasha understood that. It felt good knowing someone who could relate to her. Finally, she didn't feel so alone in this world.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I should get your yard cleaned up for you. I'll have my deputy out here right away to take care of it. If you need anything," he wrote down a number on the back of a slip of paper. "Call me directly, alright?" Sasha nodded as she took the paper from his hand, their fingers briefly touching.
Before Harrison walked out the front door, he stopped and looked at something in her living room. Sasha followed his gaze to the black candle she had found in the end table. She thought there was a look of suspicion in his eyes before turning back to guilt. He then headed out the door.
As promised, the deputy arrived and the heart was bagged into evidence. The deputy was nice enough but seemed a little socially awkward, though Sasha couldn't judge. She knew she was as socially awkward as they come. He gave her a smile and a wave as he jumped back in his truck and headed back to the station.
Sasha was left wondering about the, now, double homicide plaguing the town and why part of the body had been left in her yard. It couldn't have been a coincidence. There had to be a meaning behind it, but what? Her mind raced with the possibilities until she felt herself become too drowsy to think. Knowing she couldn't sleep, she got up on her feet and began to work on any chores she could think of.
Her mind slipped to a place where she did not want to be. Memories of her ex-husband were the last thing she wanted on her mind. But they flooded back all the same. Attending to random chores had always been a good way for her to avoid contact with her ex-husband. She had avoided many violent outbursts and sexually charged beatings by doing something useful around the house. He hated lifting a finger so much he would avoid her while she was working, even if he was furious with her. Her only defense had been to work long enough until he had passed out from drinking. Only then had she been able to relax. Though, it did not always produce the result she had wanted.
One night, in particular, she had taken up organizing the kitchen drawers. She claimed they were getting far too cluttered and needed to be adjusted. Brent had been out drinking at a local bar, one of his usual hangouts. When he came home, he was ready to have his way with his wife. Sasha, not wanting to be degraded again, told him she was busy and to relieve himself.
He came close to and stuck his face next to her ear. She could smell the perfume of another woman on his neck. Clearly, she wouldn't be the first he had been with that night. She saw red. After everything she had put up with, after all the beatings, after all the abuse, after all the anal sex she had been held down and forced to endure, he dared to sleep with another woman? Why? Was dominating and breaking his wife not enough for him? Did he need to humiliate her too?
She had gripped a butcher knife from the drawer and thought about cutting his throat. It would have taken mere seconds and he would have been gone. She could have easily claimed self-defense. God knew she had the bruises to prove it.
"I want it" he whispered into her ear. With that, he started caressing her inner thigh. When she pulled away, Brent grabbed her by the throat. Tightening his grip, he stared into her eyes. "You’re my wife, don't tell me no." She gasped for air and it only helped to excite him.
Spinning her around, Sasha was shoved to the kitchen floor. Brent pulled at her pants and began to have his way with her. Like so many countless nights, Sasha dug her nails into the floor and cried. All she could do was wait for it to be over. But this time felt different. This time, something in her had changed. Thinking on it now, she wondered if it had been similar to how Sheriff Harrison had changed after coming home.
She was tired of the abuse. She was tired of the rape. She was tired of the humiliation. She was tired of lying to her daughter about the bruises. But above all, she was tired of a disgusting man treating her like a slave, no, an object. He fucked her and tossed her aside like a used napkin. Right there on the cold kitchen floor, she knew it would be his last screw. After tonight, he would never touch her again. With a plan forming in her mind, she began to grind back and forth with the illusion of pleasure. She wanted him to think he was breaking her in. It would make it all more worthwhile in the end.
Chapter Nine
Reluctantly, sheriff Harrison had announced the second death in the small town of Carlisle. They reacted much like a scared group of people would react. They panicked, they questioned authority, they demanded answers. Harrison couldn't give them the answers they wanted to hear, not yet. All he could do was reassure the killer would be caught and brought to justice.
However, there wasn’t a single person he could even remotely accuse. He knew everyone in town and he couldn’t believe any of them were capable of the crime. Of course, it couldn’t be true. Someone had committed the murders but he hadn’t the foggiest idea who. There seemed to be nothing to link the two victims together. It was almost as if the two crimes were completely random. The only link was the upside-down crosses. They had to mean something.
There was the obvious. Satanic ritual. But Harrison had his doubts. He suspected it was nothing more than subterfuge. Classic misdirection. Which meant, the killer was trying to hide something. Harrison was meant to focus on the possibility of the occult in order to miss something important. For Harrison, being cleverer than the killer gave him credit, it caused him to pay more attention to the little details. If it were meant to be a distraction then what was it distracting from?
Planted evidence was usually to frame an innocent party and throw suspicion away from the guilty. In this case, there was no one the imposed idea of devil worship implicated. It was an odd detail for sure. There wasn’t a single person in town suspected of devil worship. It was the twenty-first century, after all. That kind of thing didn’t exactly happen anymore.
The question burned in the back of his mind like a hot iron. What were the crosses for? Then there was the bone knife found at th
e second scene. It had to have been left for a reason, same as the victim's heart at Sasha's home.
A full set of prints had been lifted off the knife but he had no way of matching them locally. Instead, he forwarded a request to the FBI database in hopes they could come up with a match. It would take several days to get back but it would be done right. Normally, it would be an odd request for a local sheriff to enlist the help of the FBI in a simple murder case. But, being a war veteran had its perks and he still had friends in high places.
Harrison paced in his living room recounting the few facts he had. "Let's break this down," he said. "Ms. Shepard is stabbed in the forehead, presumably with the same knife as Ms. Granger, and upside-down crosses are painted on her cheeks in blood. Then, Ms. Granger is stabbed to death in the woods and her heart cut from her chest. The knife is tossed only a few yards from the body and the heart is left in Sasha's backyard. Again, upside-down crosses are drawn on Ms. Granger's cheeks.
I have to assume the knife and heart being left behind were not accidents. They were planted there with purpose, but why? Is Sasha involved somehow?" He doubted it before the sentence even left his mouth. "Is someone trying to frame her? No, that doesn't make sense. Why leave a piece of the body outside her home if they're trying to frame her. And the crosses wouldn't make any sense." He thought for a moment.
"Someone is trying to intimidate her. Wait, why the crosses?"
Whichever angle he viewed it from it was always cloudy. If only he could figure out what they meant. He felt like something was missing but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There had been something that stood out to him in Sasha’s home but what was it?
"The black candle!" he yelled out loud. There had been one at the scene of Ms. Shepard and an identical one at Sasha's home. But a candle wasn't enough to link anything. For all he knew, it was a coincidence. And if it wasn’t a coincidence, what could it possibly mean? What did a black candle signify?