“Mother--”
The interior basement door was shut, and there was no one there. Bonnie stared at the door a moment with a look of confusion. She opened the lower door. Her mother fell down the last stone step and collapsed to the basement floor with blood covering the entire front of her shirt. Bonnie jumped back and screamed while staring at her lifeless mother. There was a deep slit across her throat and a symbol was carved into the side of her neck. A floorboard creaked from upstairs. Bonnie gasped and looked at the plank wood ceiling. She then looked at the basement stairs past the ironing board that led to the kitchen. Someone was upstairs in the kitchen! Bonnie looked past her dead mother to the outer basement door at the top of the concrete steps. She jumped over her mother and ran up the steps to the closed outer door. She attempted to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed impossible, since it only locked from the inside. Bonnie cried out with each thrust to the door. The wooden basement steps creaked. She spun with a gasp and held her breath. She looked down the concrete steps and across the basement toward the stairs past the ironing board. She didn’t see anyone. She scanned the basement and saw an old ax near the small pile of firewood in the corner. Bonnie hurried down the concrete steps, jumped over her mother’s slain body, and ran for the ax.
She grabbed the ax, clutched it in a deadly fashion, and looked around the basement from her position near the ironing board. As she looked around, it was evident there was no one hiding within the basement. She clutched the ax in trembling hands and looked at the steps leading to the kitchen above. If she didn’t want to be trapped in the basement, she’d have to go upstairs. There weren’t any phones in the basement. She looked back at her dead mother, attempted to control her emotions, and then looked back at the stairs. She nervously walked closer to the stairs while clinging to the ax. Bonnie paused to the side of the bottom step and attempted to peer to the top. The basement door in the kitchen remained opened. Nothing moved and there were no sounds from upstairs.
She inhaled deeply and slowly crept up the creaky, old steps, carefully avoiding making any sound. As she reached the top of the stairs, she paused just before the opening to the kitchen. She clutched the ax and quickly moved into the doorway. Bonnie looked around the bright, empty kitchen. There was no one there. She sighed with relief and stepped into the kitchen. When nothing moved, she bolted for the phone on the kitchen wall, and snatched it from the cradle. She pressed speed dial for emergency services and kept herself from sobbing. As the dispatch responded on the other end, Bonnie sighed with relief and turned while speaking into the phone.
“Thank God--”
Bonnie stared at the white lab coat directly in front of her. Her eyes lifted to see the moderately scruffy, burley man with wild, dark hair staring back at her. Bonnie suddenly screamed, dropped the phone, and attempted to raise the ax. Hal Burgass grabbed the ax handle, slammed it into her chest, and forcibly plowed her backward against the counter. As he held her back, he slashed the scalpel across her throat, leaving a large, gaping wound. She cried out only briefly as blood spilled down her body from the slit in a waterfall of blood. Her scream was gurgled as blood flowed from her mouth. She clutched the ax he held against her body and sank down the counter to the floor. Her lifeless eyes stared up at Hal. His pale lips curved into a pleased grin as he lowered himself over her nearly lifeless body and carved into her neck with the scalpel.
†
Sunday, 6:50 A.M.
The police cruiser was parked outside Bonnie’s small farmhouse with its lights flashing. Deputy Monroe walked out of the house, removed his hat, and wiped his brow on his sleeve. Sheriff Freeman, a man in his late fifties, joined him on the porch with a slightly pale expression.
“I can’t believe this,” Deputy Monroe breathed softly and shook his head. “It has to be the same guy.”
Sheriff Freeman sighed and looked around the farmland and tall cornfields with his hands on his plump hips. “He’s out there somewhere just waiting to strike again.”
“Suppose this rules Asher out as a suspect,” Monroe said faintly and stared at the sheriff.
Sheriff Freeman looked sharply at Monroe. “It proves nothing of the kind.”
Monroe appeared surprised. “But all the victims followed the same pattern. They had the same symbol carved into their bodies. Certainly that should prove--”
“Konrad Asher is a very intelligent man,” Freeman remarked sternly. “We don’t know anything about his past. He’s an independently wealthy man who didn’t seem to exist prior to three years ago.”
“With all due respect, Sheriff,” Monroe said simply. “I don’t believe he killed her. No man could’ve loved a woman more. You could see the love between them.”
“I know he’s your friend, Monroe, but sometimes things go wrong even with a seemingly perfect relationship,” Sheriff Freeman remarked. “I’m not finished with Asher yet.”
†
Jacey sat on the corral fence at her farm and stared sadly at the lead rope she held in her hands. It had been two days since her pony took off for parts unknown, and no one would let her go out searching for him. There was no explanation; just that she wasn’t allowed to leave the house by herself. Her mother hung wash on the line near the house as the police blazer drove down their long, dirt driveway. Jacey looked up and saw Deputy Monroe get out of the blazer and approach her mother. Jacey jumped off the fence and hurried toward the deputy.
Her mother saw him approach, cleared her throat, and smiled lightly. “Jacey, Deputy Monroe is going to keep watch for Patches. I’m sure he’ll be back home soon.”
Jacey looked at the large, imposing deputy. “You’ll find him?” she asked sadly.
Deputy Monroe forced a tiny smile and nodded. “I’ll find him, I promise. Why don’t you go inside and play?”
She suspiciously stared at the man in uniform then looked back at her mother. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, everything’s fine,” she said gently. “We’ll talk later. I think you’d better go inside and play in your room for now.”
Jacey still wasn’t convinced. She turned and approached the house. As she entered the kitchen, she looked back out the door. Her mother and Deputy Monroe spoke, but she couldn’t hear what they said. Her mother began pointing toward the old mining road just near the barn. It went quite a distance and eventually came out on a road on top of the hill in the woods. Her father took her for a ride to Mr. Asher’s house two years ago just before her father’s death. Her mother now appeared upset. Jacey went upstairs to her room and stared out her bedroom window. The police blazer finally drove back along the long driveway and to the main road. The kitchen door slammed shut. Jacey stared across the large field past the barn. Her pony stood near the tree line and grazed in the distance. Jacey jumped to her feet, lifted the screen, and scaled out the bedroom window. She hurried across the porch roof, jumped into the old, oak tree, and climbed down to the porch. She jumped off the porch railing and ran across the farm and through the recently cut field. She slowed as she neared her pony. Patches continued to graze, though he watched the young girl.
“That’s a good boy,” Jacey said proudly and slowly approached the pony.
There was the rustling of underbrush from within the woods. The pony’s head bolted upward with a snort. The pony stared at something in the woods. Jacey looked through the trees and tilted her head. She saw something move but wasn’t sure what it was. Jacey turned to her pony, grabbed its mane, and swung onto its back with ease. The pony jumped around nervously. Jacey turned the pony toward the farm with use of her legs. They trotted down the slope toward the barn. Jacey’s mother ran out of the house with her mouth hanging open and stared at her daughter.
Jacey smiled proudly. “Look, Mommy. Patches came back on his own,” she announced.
“You get that horse in its stall and get in this house!” her mother shouted.
She was stunned by her mother’s overreaction. Something was definitely not right,
and she wondered if she did something to anger her mother. All the adults were acting crazy the last few days, and she wondered why.
Chapter Five
The small town of Stony Ridge was one of those perfect places to live and raise a family. The streets were quiet and clean, and cute, well-maintained homes lined the roads. Every house had a yard with the standard, white picket fence. The townspeople mostly got along with one another, and any disputes were easily resolved. The worst part about Stony Ridge was chronic gossiping by busybodies whose sole enjoyment was minding their neighbor’s business. It was never proven, but it was speculated they had a club and met three times a week. Town Hall was a monstrous building over one hundred years old and sat at the end of Main Street. Most of what happened in Stony Ridge was conducted in Town Hall. It was one of the few buildings able to hold a majority of the town at one time. Raised voices could be heard from within Town Hall that Sunday evening. Half the town gathered for the meeting held by Mayor Bradford. Mayor Bradford sat behind a table with Sheriff Freeman and Howard. Mayor Bradford didn’t look the part of a politician. He was actually the town pharmacist. There wasn’t room for a full-time mayor in their small town, so he volunteered for the job. The wooden gavel repeatedly slammed down on the desk. Everyone jumped and looked to the front table at the mayor.
“Silence! Let’s have some order here,” Mayor Bradford shouted above the crowd.
Jill shot up from her seat and pointed a finger at the mayor. “I demand that you shut that institution down immediately. The place is cursed!”
There was a commotion that followed. The gavel struck the desk once more.
“Order!”
Panic flooded the room.
“What’s being done about that killer on the loose?” another woman cried out. “We’re afraid to let our children play outside! How many innocent people must die before something is done?”
More voices were heard rising from the townspeople and it was starting to get out of control.
“I assure you, Mrs. Reed,” Sheriff Freeman announced over the rising voices. “We are searching every field, forest, and structure for this man.”
“That’s not good enough,” Jill cried out while wildly gesturing. “The institution must be shut down! Who’s taking responsibility for the deaths of the patients in the east wing? My brother’s dead! Why didn’t the fire alarms sound? Why hadn’t the sprinklers been discharged? Who’s accountable?”
Howard lurched from his seat near the mayor and leaned over the microphone on the table where they sat. “The fire was an unfortunate incident started by the escaped patient,” Howard said. “Somehow he’d managed to disarm the alarm and the sprinklers by the main box. There was no possible way we could’ve foreseen this tragic incident. Measures are being taken to prevent this. Any parties responsible will be dealt with accordingly.”
“Who were the guards?” Jill shouted out. “They should be held accountable for the escape of this patient and the deaths of the people he’s killed!”
“We’re investigating the incident,” Howard retorted firmly while digging his fingers into the table. “There’s a possibility that Nurse Asher may have, for reasons unknown, released the patient from his bed.”
“That will not do,” shouted a male voice from the back above the crowd. The firm, harsh voice spoke with such sharpness, everyone fell silent and turned toward the back of the hall.
Howard straightened and stared at Asher as he slowly walked along the aisle toward the front. His piercing gaze was fixed on Howard standing behind the table.
“I will not permit you to tarnish my wife’s reputation to save your own asses,” Asher said forcefully and paused by the first row of chairs.
Howard held his breath then gently cleared his throat. “It’s not tarnishing her reputation nor is it putting any blame on her for her actions, Mr. Asher. It’s sometimes necessary to release patients from their beds.”
“She was murdered in the file room,” Asher stated firmly without emotion. “There was no struggle, just one, quick, deadly cut. The guard reported she was on her way to the file room just twenty minutes before her attack. Also, the patient was resident to the second floor, not the first floor. He wasn’t even her patient. She wouldn’t have had any reason to release him from his restraints.” Asher raised his head proudly, and his eyes narrowed. “You will not breathe my wife’s name nor make reference toward her again in this meeting. I will not permit it.”
There was an odd silence from the entire room. Howard stared at Asher in silence with his mouth partially opened. He shut his mouth and gently cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Mr. Asher,” Howard responded gently then returned to his seat, turned toward the mayor, and whispered, “I thought he was still in the hospital.”
The mayor shrugged.
“I will repeat Mrs. Reed’s earlier question,” Asher announced sternly. His tone commanded the attention of every person within the hall. “What is being done to capture this monster? You really expect four baby-face deputies and one overweight sheriff to search this entire town and all its farms?” He looked at the crowd within the hall. “Gentlemen, I believe it’s time you’ve called in some additional help.”
Mayor Bradford straightened in his chair. “Mr. Asher,” he announced firmly. “The police in other towns have their own crimes to worry about. Our police are competent enough to find this man. It’s just a matter of time.”
“People are dying,” Asher hissed lowly. “How many more lives will it be until you’ve caught this butcher? Perhaps I must find some outside help myself.” Asher looked past the six men on the council. “Offer a one hundred thousand dollar reward for the capture of this monster--dead or alive.”
Voices began to murmur loudly from the townspeople as well as the council. Mayor Bradford struck the gavel to the desk then pointed the gavel at Asher.
“That would be an invitation for every bounty hunter and gangster to flock to our quiet, little town,” Mayor Bradford snapped. “I will not allow you to turn this town into a battlefield.”
Asher approached the table, placed his hands on it, and stared directly into the mayor’s eyes. “You’d better hope your men get to him before I do, because if I find him first, there won’t be anything left of him to identify.”
Sheriff Freeman approached Asher. “Take a seat,” Freeman growled lowly and reached for his arm.
Asher spun to face the sheriff and pulled his arm back. The look in Asher’s eyes was enough to stop Sheriff Freeman. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” he growled then lowered his arm and relaxed. “I was just leaving.”
Everyone watched in silence as Asher walked along the aisle and for the door. Derek glared after Asher as he left the hall.
†
Deputy Monroe drove along the dark, back road in the wooded hillside area of the county. The light rain sprinkled across the windshield as the wipers squeaked while moving back and forth. The headlights reflected shadows within the trees lining the road. Something moved to the right of the police blazer. A woman suddenly appeared in the headlights. Monroe stepped on the brakes and clutched the steering wheel. He let out a startled cry as the tires skidded on the wet, gravel road and came to a grinding halt. The woman collapsed across the hood then fell to the road. Monroe stared at the front of the blazer a moment with a look of horror in his eyes. He hadn’t hit the woman. She hit him! He put the blazer into park and sprang from the vehicle. Monroe moved quickly, yet cautiously, to the front of the cruiser and looked at the fallen woman. Blood covered the teenage girl’s shirt, arms, and hands. Her eyes were open with a fixed stare. Monroe lowered himself to her side and felt her neck for a pulse. She was dead.
†
It was nearly dawn as the police blazer drove along the narrow lane and into the secluded clearing in the woods. An old, blue car came into view at the back of the clearing. The secluded location was a local hot spot for teenagers to park and fool around. Monroe sat in th
e driver’s seat of the police blazer with a young, newly appointed deputy alongside him. Monroe pointed at the car.
“That car belongs to the dead girl’s boyfriend,” he announced to his young partner. “She was with her boyfriend last night. His parents said he never came home.”
The young deputy looked at the old, rusted vehicle. “Look at the window,” he said softly while pointing a trembling finger.
The back driver’s side window had been shattered. They drove closer to the old car. Despite the light rain, blood remained streaked along the shard glass. Monroe stopped the blazer. Both men climbed out and drew their weapons. They cautiously approached the vehicle and peered into the backseat. Blood covered the old, leather seat. The right, rear passenger door was open. The young deputy stepped around the broken glass just outside the car, indicating the glass had been broken from the inside. Monroe hurried around the back of the car and studied the surrounding area. There was blood on a nearby tree. The girl had apparently traveled the gravel road the entire distance. She was found just a mile from the secluded area. It seemed improbable that it was her blood on the tree. Someone had entered the woods by the vehicle, which was in the opposite direction. Both deputies followed a small deer path through the woodland. There was another tree with a large amount of blood on it. The rain hadn’t been heavy enough to wash it away.
“Monroe, look,” the deputy cried out with panic and pointed past the tree.
A young boy lie on his back in the thick brush beyond the tree. Insects and slugs covered his damp, blood-soaked body. He had several gashes on his arms and upper body, indicating there had been a struggle with his attacker. His throat had been slit, ultimately killing him. The telltale symbol was carved into his neck just like all the other victims. Monroe shut his eyes and lowered his head.
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