Ultimate Sacrifice

by S. E. Green

  “I need tampons,” I tell her my already thought up lie. Mom had a hysterectomy right after Kevin was born, so I am the only tampon user in the house. “Didn’t think you’d want me taking my dirt bike.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’ll go there and come right back,” I tell her.

  “Want me to go with you?”

  “Mom,” I laugh. “Really, I’ll be fine.”

  She nods across the room. “Keys are in my purse. Take your phone.”

  I grab them, and in under a minute I’m outside and in her vehicle. Way in the back already sits the bag I pulled from the pond. I crank the engine, and despite the fact I want to zoom out of here, I make myself slowly pull down our driveway. But when I hit the road, I take off.

  It only takes me minutes to get to the landfill, and when I pull in, I cut to low beams. A few tall yellow lights illuminate the area in a maze of glow and shadows, and I drive past a row of large dumpsters and recycle containers and straight through the open gate. I follow the dirt road all the way to the back where there are giant hills of garbage, several bulldozers scattered about, and a large building that houses the incinerator and recycle facility.

  Even though the place is deserted, I still glance around before climbing from the SUV. I suspect the incinerator is shut tight, but I try the metal door anyway and find it locked, so I grab the bag from the back and walk it into the heaps. I give a good heave-ho and watch as it flies through the night and lands on top of hundreds of other similar garbage bags.

  Then I’m back in the SUV and driving fast down the dirt road toward the open gate. I pull through and flick on my headlights and another set of headlights go on, too. Tires squeal as whoever it is zips away. I eye the tail lights as they race through the night, up a long hill and then disappear down the other side. I know those tail lights—or rather tail light.

  That’s Honey’s car.

  HONESTLY, I DON’T know what I’m going to do—knock on Honey’s door and ask if she was just at the landfill, or if Edwin took her car again? I don’t know, but I do need to know if they somehow saw me dumping the evidence.

  When I reach the bottom of her driveway, I don’t go all the way up. Instead I sit for a second and think about the last time I was here when I saw Travis and Honey and that other couple.

  Then I go back to Edwin. What if he’s more involved in this than anyone thinks? He went to high school with Mark and Bee-Bee and Uncle Jerry. Heck, he even dated Bee-Bee for a while. He’s Mark’s alibi. He was out there that night me and Travis went to the trailer park, and possibly just now at the landfill. What would he have been doing out our way? Seeing Bee-Bee?

  I don’t know, and I’m not entirely sure why, but I turn the SUV off right here at the end of their driveway and climb out. As is most every place in our small town, woods blanket the area, and I stand for a second in the dark, my gaze skimming from here to there, before reaching back inside the SUV and grabbing Uncle Jerry’s hunting knife.

  Gripping it firmly in my right hand, I start the climb up Honey’s driveway. There’s a light on and spilling out the dining room window, the same window I peered into just days ago. Honey’s car is indeed here and so is her mom’s and Edwin’s motorcycle, too.

  For a second, I take it all in, wondering what I’m doing sneaking up Honey’s driveway. When did I become this person—prowling around, disposing of evidence, doubting and questioning those I love?

  Yet I still approach her car and put my hand on the hood to find it warm. Someone just drove it, and I highly doubt it was Honey. The only time she is out our way is to visit Travis, and she wasn’t visiting Travis when I left our house. It had to be Edwin. So then, was he following me? I don’t know. Maybe it is a coincidence, the cars crossing paths at the exact same time. Yet even as I think this, I find myself reaching for the handle of her car.

  It’s unlocked.

  With a glance toward her house, I carefully open the door and immediately reach up and turn off the dome light. As expected, it is neat and tidy inside. I have no clue what I’m looking for, I just look. I look under her seats and in her glove box and above her visor. But there’s nothing odd about any of it.

  The trunk.

  Reaching down, I press the lever, and when I open it, a tiny white light flicks on. Quickly, I cover it with my hand and I peer down into an equally organized trunk. There’s a folded blanket, also a cooler, and what looks like Travis’s track bag. There’s a book bag with EDWIN monogrammed on the underside that looks like something he would have carried years ago in middle school.

  With another glance up to their house, I go on instinct and take the book bag, softly click the trunk closed, and run back down the driveway toward the SUV. I can’t believe I just stole a book bag. This is what cycles through my head even as I drive to a nearby gas station, park in the shadows, and unzip it.

  I find tickets to a football game. A pair of socks. Loose change. A key chain with no keys. A book about welding. And a disposable phone.

  I flip the phone open and power it up and scroll through his call list. There are no names, just numbers with area codes from all over the United States. I close that out and bring up his pictures. There are a few landscape ones and then I see a picture of Michelle.

  And another picture.

  And another.

  There are some of her in full clothes and others in just her panties. Bile claws its way up my esophagus and I swallow the urge to throw up. My hand is shaking, but I continue scrolling through the pics. There’s even one of someone braiding her hair. I can’t tell who, but it’s definitely a man’s arms and hands. Michelle is smiling in all of them, she’s happy. She’s not being hurt. But this gives me no comfort because why does Edwin have these?

  I snap the phone closed, and without a second more of thought I drive straight to the police station.

  IT’S AFTER MIDNIGHT now and me and my parents are sitting in Crandall’s office as he stands outside talking to a couple of other cops.

  “What were you thinking?” Dad furiously whispers at me.

  “What I want to know is, why am I the one in trouble here?” I demand. “Edwin’s the one with pictures on his phone of Michelle!”

  Mom cuts a glance to the glass window and the authorities on the other side. “Lower your voice,” she warns me.

  This is how it has been pretty much since I arrived nearly an hour ago. Why was I out at ten o’clock at night? Why did I think someone was following me? What led me to search Honey’s car? Was I looking for something specific?

  Honestly, I’m about to blow a fuse. I’m not the one who they should be questioning. Why am I the only one who sees this?

  Dad scrubs his fingers through his thick brown hair. “We so did not need this right now.”

  I throw my hands in the air. “You all are unbelievable!”

  Neither of them say a word. They both just stare at me. Then seconds later Mom lets out a weary sigh. “Vickie,” she quietly says, “what you found is strange, but it’s how you found it that is the issue here. Honey’s mother could press charges for this. Trespassing charges. Do you realize that? Plus if that phone or those pictures mean anything, I’m sure it will be considered inadmissible. I’m certainly not a lawyer, but that does seem right to me.”

  “Our justice system sucks!” I snap at the same moment the detective opens the door and walks in. He looks right at me and I manage to cringe a little bit in guilt at my outburst.

  “I know you’ve already told us,” Crandall says to me, “but one more time, how did you come to search Honey’s car?”

  I let out an exasperated breath. “I borrowed Mom’s SUV to run an errand. While I was out, I saw someone following me. When I realized it was Honey’s car, I went to her house. I knocked on their door, but when no one answered I walked over to the car and noticed the trunk was slightly ajar. When I looked inside I saw Edwin’s bag which I thought was odd because it’s Honey’s car. I picked the bag up and out fell the phone. When
I went to pick the phone up, I must have accidentally pushed a button because that’s when the pictures popped up. Then I took the phone and came straight here.”

  Okay, so I stretched the truth a lot. But what was I supposed to say—that I was disposing of evidence at the landfill when I realized I was being followed, and then I snuck on their property and purposefully searched Honey’s car looking for anything suspicious? Yeah, that wouldn’t fly at all.

  Crandall lifts his brows. “Why exactly if you saw the trunk ajar didn’t you just close it? Why did you open it?”

  “Because I tried, but it wouldn’t close. Something was in the way.” It’s amazing to me how one lie so easily leads to another. And another.

  “What was in the way?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” I throw my hands up again. “Aren’t you going to do anything about those pictures? Edwin could be a pedophile!”

  “Just because he has pictures of Michelle on his phone,” Crandall says, “does not make him a pedophile.”

  “She was in her panties!” I yell, and it occurs to me I don’t think I’ve ever been so frustrated and irritated in my entire life.

  “We will follow up with that,” the detective calmly responds.

  “What about her murder?” I demand. “Couldn’t this be a link?”

  The detective holds up the phone I handed over, now contained within a zip lock bag. “Regardless, we now can’t use this in any legal capacity.”

  Then why is it in a zip lock bag? I want to ask.

  Desperately, I look between my parents before going back to the detective. “What about those numbers on the phone? Don’t you find it odd he has so many different area codes in his phone? Did you look up the numbers? He could be calling other members of the—” I stop myself.

  “The?” Crandall prompts.

  The New Satanic Empire, but I don’t say that out loud because everyone is looking at me like I’m insane.

  “Okay,” Dad interrupts, “why don’t we call it a night. Do you have everything you need?” he asks the detective.

  “Yes, I’ll let you know if the family wants to press charges.”

  I shoot to my feet. “This is crazy!”

  “Vickie,” Mom reprimands. “Sit. Down.”

  I look between the three of them, and I know everyone thinks Mark is a babbling fool, but that doesn’t stop me from saying to Crandall, “What do you think about everything Mark has to say about The New Satanic Empire, the string of rituals, and the Ultimate Sacrifice? That is assuming he’s told you everything he’s told me.”

  “Mark Doughtery has been questioned thoroughly,” Crandall assures me. “I can’t go into great detail but I will tell you we have checked into many of the claims he’s making. We are following every lead.” He opens the door, making it clear he’s ready for us to leave. “Now what I need from you, young lady, is to stay out of trouble and to let us do our job. Because we are getting close and things like what you did tonight only put us back, not forward.”

  DETECTIVE CRANDALL’S PARTING words circle and circle my brain on the drive home. They are getting close, he said, and I don’t know if I really believe him.

  I know my family has already refuted this idea, but maybe I should go to the press. They will be all over this Ultimate Sacrifice business. So much so that come this Sunday our property will be inundated and no one could so much as sneeze without the whole world knowing it. Even if Mark is wrong and nothing happens, at least its peace of mind my family is safe.

  Plus, other than the fragments I find on the Internet and gaps filled in by Mark, I’ve got nothing concrete. It’s all so secretive. Reporters would be able to dig up all kinds of stuff I would think.

  From the SUV passenger’s side, I turn to Mom. “I know Crandall doesn’t want us leaving town, but I agree with Kevin. Can we get out of here for a few days? The whole family? I think it would be good for us to spend time away from all of this.”

  “I agree, too, but you know we can’t.” She gives me an understanding smile. “Nothing is going to happen on Sunday. You heard Crandall, they’re close to figuring everything out. This’ll all be over with soon and our lives will go back to being normal. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, only because I know she needs to hear it.

  She cuts her eyes my way. “No more sneaking around. Do you understand me?”

  I nod, and that’s all we say for the rest of the drive home.

  Dad pulls in beside us, gets out, and immediately starts talking, like he was thinking of everything he wanted to say on the ride home. “The next time you think someone is following you, you pick up that cell phone we bought you and call us. I don’t care if it is Honey or Wade or any of your other friends, never, and I repeat, never, go on their property without them knowing it or look through their personal things.” Dad points his finger at me, and I see the stress lurking in his eyes. “Most importantly, do not interact with Mark Doughtery.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He left town.”

  Dad looks over my head at Mom, before bringing his eyes back to me. “How do you know that?”

  “I saw the luggage in his car.”

  “Where did he go?” Mom asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, then, good,” Dad says. “Listen, we’ve got enough on our plates with Kevin, just stay out of trouble. You got me?”

  “Yes.”

  Dad turns toward the house. “I’m going to try and grab a couple hours of sleep.”

  Mom gives me one last glance before shuffling in after him, and I stand in our driveway for a few more seconds. Those pictures of Michelle. There were about half a dozen, and I think through each one of them. The background—some were taken at Michelle’s home and others at the trailer park, and she did seem okay. I know Edwin and Bee-Bee know each other, but it is strange that a grown man who isn’t Michelle’s father, isn’t even related to her, would have pictures of her on his phone.

  The front door to our house swings open and out charges Travis. It’s got to be two or three in the morning. He’s obviously been waiting up. “What the hell were you thinking?” he angrily asks as he jumps down off the porch and comes toward me.

  With a tired sigh, I glance up to the house and watch as the light goes out in the master bedroom. “Can we talk in the morning?”

  “No, we cannot talk in the morning.” He holds his phone up. “Honey called me. Apparently, you broke into her trunk, took Edwin’s bag, found a cell phone with pictures of Michelle, and turned it into the police?”

  Yes, that’s exactly how it happened, but I keep up with the lies. “That’s not what I did. Her trunk was ajar and I—”

  Travis cuts his hand through the air. “Oh, save it. We both know you broke into it. Her trunk wasn’t ‘ajar’. And for your F-Y-I, Edwin has no idea who that phone belongs to.”

  It takes me a second to digest that. “Wait a minute, he claims the phone isn’t his? That doesn’t make any sense. He’s lying.”

  “He’s not lying, Vickie.”

  “Why was he following me?”

  Travis shakes his head with a sigh. “He said he was just out driving around. That you’re being paranoid.”

  “Paranoid? Did Honey know he had her car? Because she didn’t know the last time.”

  “Yes, this time she knew. Vickie, she is pissed at you. What don’t you get about that?”

  With a growl, I turn away and stalk across the driveway.

  “God,” Travis murmurs, “sometimes I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

  I whip around. “Oh, you’re one to talk.”

  His eyes widen a bit. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I saw you,” I blurt out, before I fully realize what I’m about to do.

  “Saw me what?”

  I cast a look across the dark yard and down to where the road is blessedly empty.

  “Saw me what?” Travis prompts.

  I lower m
y voice. “The other day at Honey’s house. Naked. Sex. That man watching.”

  Travis’s eyes widen even more.

  “Yeah,” I bring home my point. “Talk about not knowing someone.”

  Silence.

  Complete and dead silence.

  He looks at me. I glare at him.

  More silence.

  Then he closes his eyes. “It’s not what you think,” he quietly says, and his softer tone drains the anger straight from me.

  I take a step toward him, keeping my voice low. “Well, then, will you explain it to me? You wanted to be doing that, right? They weren’t making you?” I ask, even though I could tell it was consensual.

  His eyes snap back open. “Oh, God, don’t think that. Yes, I wanted to be participating. No one was forcing any of us.”

  Even though I already knew it, I still breathe a sigh of relief at hearing him actually say it.

  “We’ve been doing that for about a year now,” he hesitantly tells me. “We role-play with that other couple. Sometimes he watches, sometimes I do, sometimes the ladies.”

  My face gets hot. I know this stuff goes on, but I just didn’t think my brother and his longtime girlfriend would be doing it. I didn’t think I’d ever actually see it. “That man,” I say, “he seemed so much older.”

  “He is. They’re both in their thirties.”

  “Oh . . .”

  “This is mine and Honey’s business. Please don’t tell anybody about it.”

  More secrets. “I won’t,” I assure him. Then it occurs to me, “That number on your phone, the one I called. Was that . . .?”

  “Yes, it was the woman.”

  It’s not like me to be so nosy, to call numbers I find on Travis’s phone. But with everything going on, it’s making me crazy. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay out of your business.”

  Travis stands. “I’ll talk to Honey. I know the cops were saying her mom might press charges, but she won’t. She loves you, she’ll understand, and she’ll forgive.”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  Travis goes to leave and it’s there, right on the tip of my tongue, what I did tonight at the landfill. What I found in our pond. What he thinks about it all. Could someone be framing us, or did the murderer simply dispose of it there?