He looked down at the ground and lowered his head; his fists were clenched at his sides. “I did what I had to do. He deserved every second of it, and this world is now a better place. She deserved what she got, too. She was the one that chose to have a baby with him. She didn’t protect me like she should’ve. She was so stupid! She let him hurt me! And now she will burn in Hell with him.” A look of pain crossed his face as his jaw muscles clenched, and a huge vein started to protrude from his forehead.
“Lori? What did you do to Lori and Bill?” I wanted him to say it. If he didn’t say it out loud, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
He started to laugh. At first slowly, and then it seemed to come out uncontrollably. He was laughing so hard that he began to grab his sides in an effort to contain his amusement. I wanted to throw up and started to feel dizzy and stumbled backward. Luckily a tree caught my fall, and I leaned up against it, trying to regain my footing.
“He taught you how to be a monster.” The taste of bile from my stomach fueled the words coming out of my mouth.
“You’re wrong about that, Jake. He didn’t just teach me how to be a monster. He taught me how to embrace it. How to manipulate people. How to enjoy having control over another living thing. There’s no greater feeling in the world than power. Power over those that are weak. He beat the weakness out of me all those years ago. I suppose I should thank the bastard. Oops, too late for that.”
He cocked his head to the side as if he was taking a bow. “Now there’s only one loose end left, and that’s you. You have conveniently provided the police with enough evidence to blame Bill for those missing women, and I will now play the role of a grieving son who lost both of his parents and survived a terrible ordeal.” He placed both of his hands up to his eyes and acted like he was crying. “When I got home from the store I discovered her lifeless body in the basement of our home. He then turned on me and tried to shoot me, but I managed to wrestle the gun away from him and shot him in self-defense. My poor childhood friend Jake tried to help us, but his body was discovered in the park, shot to death with my father’s gun.”
He pulled a small caliber revolver out of his pocket and pointed it at me. “Period, the end. Now I go on living my life as a free man, rid of the two people who I despised most. Sorry, Jake, that you have to be the lone casualty. It just has to be this way, my friend.” He cocked back the hammer, which made me flinch.
“Wait, wait, wait. You won’t get away with this! The truth always comes out.” I needed to stall to give myself more time to come up with a way to escape. My eyes darted toward the two trail cameras in place.
“Outsmarted once again, Jake.” He lowered the gun. “How stupid do you think I am? I followed you to the park today. I saw you place those fucking trail cameras in the trees.” He reached in his pocket and threw something hard and metallic at me. A pile of batteries landed at my feet and rolled in different directions. “Pretty sure they need batteries to work, don’t you think?” A smirk crossed his face, symbolic of his arrogance.
What do I do now? He raised the gun again and pointed it at me. I was out of time, and now he was going to shoot me. I did the only thing I could think of, stupid as it was. I raised my hands in front of me, hoping they would somehow deflect the bullets. There was a loud pop, and it felt like I just got punched. Warm wetness began to trickle down my right shoulder, followed by intense pain. Someone screamed, and I realized it was me. A plume of smoke rose from the barrel of the gun. He’d shot me!
“Let’s have a little fun, why don’t we?” The tone of his voice was like ice; he was enjoying every second of this and far from done with me. I knew that if I didn’t do something fast, I wouldn’t have another chance. There was a click, and he cursed. He’d tried to shoot me again, but the gun was jammed. He pulled the trigger again and still nothing. This was my chance to run.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I dashed toward the closest group of bushes and started to roll down a small hill. Ethan’s voice cried out behind me, cursing along with more clicks of the gun. Then came the crashing sound of his footsteps behind me, and I knew he was giving chase. He was at the bushes I’d just come through, and I could feel his eyes searching for me. My heart was pounding, and I tried to breathe quietly, praying that the thickness of the brush was dense enough to hide me. Just as he was about to venture in after me, headlights flashed through the darkness.
“Fuck!” The word exploded out of his mouth like a stick of dynamite. He lingered for a second longer and then disappeared, presumably back to the trail. I couldn’t stay where I was. He would come back for me. I tried to apply pressure to my shoulder and winced. My first instinct was to try and stand up, but I had a better chance of staying undetected if I stayed lower to the ground. Each of my movements was slow and calculated so that I wouldn’t make a lot of noise. It was difficult in the brush, and I was constantly worried that I would step on a twig or slip on some loose gravel. I looked behind me periodically to see if he was following me, following my blood trail.
Someone got out of the car that was now parked at the overlook where I was shot. Hopefully they would see something suspicious and investigate further. My hopes were dashed when I heard them get back into the car. The engine roared to life and the car slowly started to drive away.
I kept moving because I had to. I was just beyond the overlook now and came to a fork in the path. I had to decide to either go left or right. I decided to go left, back toward the overlook—it would be my best chance to find help. Just as I was about to trek left, a scene from a horror movie came to mind. It was one where the person being chased tried to trick their attacker into thinking they went one direction when they went the other. I swerved right and spotted a tree close to the path. I smeared some blood onto the tree and shuffled my feet just past it to make it look like someone had just traveled in that direction.
I carefully made my way back to the fork and went left. Blood was trickling down my arm, so I used the bottom of my shirt to soak it up as best I could. My attempt to run didn’t last. I was getting lightheaded again and needed to take a break. There was a big boulder just off the path, so I sat down and tried to slow my breathing. I didn’t want to go into shock and start hyperventilating.
Suddenly I heard a noise in the distance. Dirt and rocks crunched underneath shoes. They were close. I ducked down behind the boulder, trying to see who or what it was. Something hard in my pocket made it awkward for me to bend down. I reached in and grabbed it. My phone! I’d forgotten all about it until now. No service flashed across the top.
Damn it! I needed to get to higher ground or a clearing to see if I could get better reception. I shoved it back into my pocket and looked around.
I squinted my eyes, trying to focus them in the darkness. A small light was moving through the brush. It was a ways away, but I could just make out the form of a person dressed in black and the faint silhouette of a gun in their hand. Ethan was back and looking to finish me off. Then it hit me. In my panic, I’d forgotten about the knife on my ankle and the pepper spray in my pocket. I went to reach for the knife and decided it would be better to use the pepper spray since it could be used at more of a distance.
I pulled it out of my pocket and slowly began to retreat backward. I hid behind another big rock and watched the light. It stopped and started to scan the area. First it went left, pointed in my direction. Then it went right, where I’d made it look like I traveled. It came back left for a few seconds and then started moving right, his pace picking up speed. He must’ve seen the blood on the tree. With the pepper spray gripped in my hand, I continued left. Any direction away from Ethan was a good one.
It wasn’t long before I made it back to the Castle Ridge Overlook. Service on my phone was spotty at best, so I knew I had to get back to the parking lot at the park entrance if I was going to try and call 911. I started down the trail. Every noise reminded me that Ethan was out there looking for me, wanting to kill me.
I
started to stumble down the path. Woozy from losing blood, I was becoming disoriented. Occasionally my eyes rolled back into my head, but if I fainted that meant certain death, and I wasn’t ready to die. Halfway down the trail to the parking lot, I heard a car behind me. I dashed off the trail and tried to hide just as it started to pass me. The car was probably only going about 20 mph. It looked like a Jeep of some sort, and once I was able to focus my eyes I realized the side of it said, “Headley Park Patrol.”
Thank God. I darted out of the bushes, screaming and trying to flag it down. It kept going. No, no, no!
I looked around for something to throw and spotted some small rocks. Like a wild man, I picked a handful up and threw them as hard as I could toward the Jeep while trying to run after it. Adrenaline was in full swing because the ache in my shoulder was no match for my will to live. One of the rocks must’ve hit the back of the Jeep because the driver came to a full stop. I was exhausted; every part of my body ached. My run slowed to a walk, and then I just collapsed on the road. The reverse lights of the Jeep turned on, and the low hum of the car came toward me. A park ranger jumped out of the car and ran toward me, flashlight in one hand and radio in the other.
“Ethan shot me,” I said weakly. “Help me, please.” After that, I was in and out of consciousness. Blurs of the ranger’s face followed by red and blue lights flashing, numerous voices talking at me and then around me. I was being lifted onto a stretcher and asked what my name was. “Jake . . . Jake How . . .”
My name trailed off as I let the darkness claim me.
Chapter 14
Her voice was distant and dreamlike. She was humming a melody that I didn’t recognize. As I started to come around, the voice became louder, more pronounced. I struggled to open my eyes; it felt like they were glued shut. Small fragments of light began to peek through, and I slowly opened my eyes. My vision was a little blurry but seemed to improve quickly. I tried to say something, but my throat was so dry it felt like cracks had formed in the underlying tissue. I looked around and saw my mom caressing the top of my hand. Her angelic voice was humming the unknown song that I heard in my dreams. She looked up at me and smiled.
“Honey, thank God you’re awake.” Although she was smiling, I could see exhaustion and worry painted all over her face.
“Water,” I whispered. She stood up and grabbed a cup from the little table next to my bed and lifted it to my lips. The little bit of water that made it in my mouth felt good on my throat. I drank a little more, relishing the taste. The pain in my shoulder was dull but noticeable. I was hooked up to all sorts of machines, and beeping noises filled my room. I looked around and noticed a large display of cards and a bouquet of balloons in one corner of the room.
“How long have I been here?” My voice was weak and hoarse.
“A little over a day. They found your backpack at the overlook in the park that night while searching the area. A policeman spotted Ethan walking on the trail not too far from the overlook.”
She looked at me and then immediately looked away, as if she wasn’t sure if she should continue. I wanted to hear more, more about Ethan. Raising my eyebrows, I stared at her, beckoning for her to go on.
“When they tried to stop him, he ran. They gave chase, and he ran deeper into the park. I guess they had him cornered at Soaring Eagle Ridge and he had nowhere to run. When they tried to apprehend him, he jumped. As far as I know, they’re still searching for him. Or whatever is left of him. I don’t think anyone could’ve survived that fall, honey.” She tried to be reassuring, but her eyes told me something different. She wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead.
“And what about Bill and Lori?” Ethan had alluded to their fate that night, but I wanted confirmation.
“The police aren’t saying much except that it’s an active investigation. The coroner’s van was parked out front for a long time, and our neighbors saw them wheeling out what looked like two bodies. Based on that, I would say they are probably dead.” My mom’s voice was solemn, something completely out of character for her, but considering the circumstances, I understood.
“Sydney has been here to visit you,” she said, her voice brightening noticeably. “She called the police after she heard the partial voice message you left her. I guess it captured a good portion of Ethan’s confession.”
I totally forgot about calling Sydney and didn’t realize that it had picked up part of our conversation. That was good news. On the other hand, I felt sad for Lori and Bill. They had their faults, especially Bill, but they didn’t deserve to die. I had mixed emotions about Ethan. It was hard to fathom the person he had become, and I grieved for the boy that I’d grown up with. That boy died a long time ago and was replaced with a shell of a human being.
My head began to hurt thinking about all of the events leading up to now and how wrong I was about Ethan. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The evil inside of him took root years ago and continued to grow unbeknownst to those around him. There were probably red flags. There always seemed to be, and they always went unnoticed until you looked back and tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. It would be a long road to recovery for me. Even after the physical scars healed, the emotional and mental ones ran deep, and I worried that I was past the point of no return.
One thing was certain: The blissfully ignorant and naive life that I knew and enjoyed was gone.
Chapter 15
It’s been seventeen years since I discovered the madness that lived in the Meyer household. Right after everything happened, I took a semester off to give myself time to heal. After the first month of being a hermit, I decided that I needed to do whatever I could to try and live a normal, peaceful life. I dove headfirst into school and ended up getting my doctorate to be a therapist, essentially abandoning my original plan to go into forensics and investigative work. I thought if I could help others, that in some small way I would also be helping myself. I learned how to function normally again in therapy, and it bought me back from the brink. I wanted to be a lifeline for others. Now I run my own successful practice and have a long list of clients. My days are spent helping people sort through the challenges of life and helping them learn how to return to a sense of normalcy, quite possibly even happiness. Most nights I eat dinner with my wife and two children and settle into my well-worn reading chair before bed.
Although I have dedicated my life to helping others improve their mental health, I still struggle some days with my own. It’s almost ironic that I get paid to do what I do, and yet, if people truly knew the skeletons I have in my closet, they might think twice about coming to see me. I’m sure if someone were to Google my name and managed to peel back multiple layers of search pages, they would find a small article related to the Meyer case. No one ever asks me about it, so I assume that it remains buried. I don’t know what I would say if someone dug it up. I’ve thought about it several times, and I never come up with a way to truly explain the horror I went through.
There have been a handful of occasions where a light will be left on, or a door will be open when it shouldn’t be, and my wife will ask me if I’m responsible for it. I always take the blame for those instances, but I never remember doing it. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me or PTSD is creeping in again. Or maybe it’s Ethan reminding me that he is around, watching and waiting.
They never found his body, so they declared him dead after three months of searching. After the investigation wrapped up, it was reported that Lori and Bill had been shot to death. Lori had one single gunshot to the head while Bill had two gunshots. All of the fingernails on his right hand had been ripped off.
Underneath one of the floorboards in Ethan’s room, they discovered a leather box filled with souvenirs from his victims. Pictures of four different women were found, along with a collection of locks of hair and jewelry. In the box they also found Lori’s wedding band and Bill’s watch. Some of the families were able to identify the jewelry as belonging to one of their missing loved ones, and D
NA testing on the hair served as a secondary confirmation. They searched the park and the woods behind the house but never found any bodies.
The indented, distorted skin on my right shoulder is a constant reminder of Ethan and the evil that lived inside him. Whenever I steal a glance at it in the mirror or one of my children casually brushes against it, I think of him. I still visit my parents’ house on Bainbridge Way once or twice a month. They are settling into old age and enjoying their golden years. I always make it a point to visit during the day and to try and leave before darkness falls.
On rare occasions, when I muster up a bit of courage, I find myself peering out toward Ethan’s house, which is now dilapidated and mostly boarded up. No one has lived there in years. Ethan’s bedroom window is only slightly visible underneath the splintered wood that blankets it. Usually my focus is on his window. I’m not sure why, but my attention is always drawn there. My eyes play tricks on me sometimes, and I see a light inside that window. It’s dim and barely noticeable but it’s there. I’m the only one that ever sees it.
I worked hard to get where I am, and I know that most people think I have a wonderful life. And on the surface, I do, but there will always be a small part of me that died that night seventeen years ago. I know that a piece of me will always live in the darkness with him. I have become accustomed to being called many things. Son, husband, father, and doctor, but there will always be a title that I can never escape and never wanted.
I’ll always be the witness.
The End
About the Author
Sharon Harclerode lives with her family in the southwest. She is an avid reader and enjoys several different genres. Her head has always been in the clouds, dreaming of imaginary worlds and characters that have lived in her mind until now. You can follow her adventures on Instagram under @adventurous_daydreamer.
The Witness Page 6