The Light In the Dark

by Craig A. Smith

  Young David gently grabs the girl by her arms and says to her, “Hold on, I need to put on a rubber.” The girl impatiently nods as she lets David up out of her firm embrace. She unbuckles her tight jeans and removes her underwear. David stands over her, smiling as she motions for him to come to her. He stands above her, his hand trembling as he slowly reaches into his back pocket. When his hand re-emerges she is horrified to find that he is holding a hunting knife rather than a condom. Looks of immediate confusion and fear come over the face of the young girl as she begins to scream, but her scream is immediately silenced when young David pounces and his knife penetrates her throat, severing her vocal chords. He stands over her body, expressionless as a thick stream of blood runs down both sides of her neck. Watching her bleed out is exhilarating to him, he watches her chest as it moves up… down… up… down. After her last breath has passed, he pulls down his pants, climbs on top of her and slowly has his way with her body as if he were gently making love to someone that he actually cared about. The older David becomes excited as he relives this moment, his eyes roll into the back of his head. The desire and sexual release manifest, causing a small convulsion. He slides his hand down his pants and begins to violently masturbate. The younger version of David and the girl disappear as he finishes. He falls backwards onto the ground and slides his hand out of his pants. He stares above at the moon coming through the top of the tree line. The massive trees seem to reach into the sky and the beam of light coming through the treetops feels like it was designated for his presence.

  He thinks, “The first one… man I miss being young. Even though I had already slept with a few girls, it was like losing my virginity all over again. It’s the only other time I could think of when the feelings of exploration, ecstasy, fear and connection all hit me at the same time. And then I read about what I did in the newspaper the next day, but just like sex, the longer you go without it… the more you need it just to feel alive. The more you chase it. That’s when I got the taste, knowing that I will be the last person they see alive, that last connection to all that is this miserable existence. And I am in control, not God, not Allah or whatever a fool chooses to believe in. I am the one who causes and watches their last breath.”

  David sits up and looks at the spot where the fantasy manifested. He thinks, “That’s where I’ll put them, right there, tomorrow afternoon.” He has to think long and hard about this. There are still several undiscovered sites, the police haven’t found half of the bodies and they never will. There are still many places he can go and relive his ghastly deeds on those nights when the hunt doesn’t go so well. Nature has been kind to him in the places; the only surviving remnants of victims now only exist within his mind, forever etched in his memory. Some of the bodies he has kept on his property; but those were burials of necessity, times when he was unable to scout and find a proper location due to personal issues. But this spot needs to be found, it has been a full calendar year. If the police find the bodies, he will never return to this soon-to-be sacred ground. He takes a picture of the spot and puts his camera into his backpack, beginning to walk the short trail back to his vehicle. A female hiker holding the hand of a small child passes him. He looks at the child and smiles, the child waves and the woman smiles at him. He only smiles because that is what he is supposed to do in the situation, but the true experience of friendliness is non-existent to him. He begins to second guess the site due to the unusually heavy traffic, but thinks better of it. It is still early evening and if he goes later at night, he should be fine. He finally makes it to his vehicle, a red older model Volvo station wagon. He has a Ichthys symbol on the bumper and a bumper sticker that reads “My boss is a Jewish carpenter.” It suits him, who wouldn’t be afraid to get in the car of a well-meaning Christian? He gets into the car and begins his short ride home.

  Ten minutes later he turns onto his long gravel driveway in Pine County and stops just past the mailbox, the headlights revealing the gravel chalk that has been unsettled upon his arrival, forming several light clouds in front of the vehicle. David’s home is an older, upper-middle class home with a large yard that slants downhill and leads to the opposite side of the aforementioned lake. The home is much like any upper-middle class home you would see in a rural area. He gets out of his car and walks to the mailbox with a distraught look about him. Even though it is much cooler, the hot day has taken its toll on him, which is evident by his heavy perspiration and slowed pace. He walks back to his car and drives down the gravel driveway until he reaches his house, entering it and walking into the living room. He tosses his mail and cell phone down on the coffee table. He sits down on the couch, thumbing through his mail. The first piece of mail is from a bank, it is addressed to David W. Bell. He opens the envelope to find that he is two months past due on his mortgage, which doesn’t surprise him. He takes a deep breath and throws that envelope onto the coffee table and opens the next, which is from a credit card company. His reading is interrupted by his ringing cell phone.

  He picks it up and answers, “Hello.”

  “May I please speak to David W. Bell?” the caller asks in a foreign dialect.

  “This is David Wayne Bell,” he responds.

  “Well sir, this is Jeff from credit card services and you have an outstanding bill of eight hundred ninety-two dollars and forty-eight cents, we can take care of that now with a check-by-phone or credit card payment.”

  David becomes visibly more agitated as the call continues, but maintains a calm and collected voice.

  “Yes, I am aware of that account...” David says, but is quickly interrupted by the aggressive collector.

  “Great,” the collector says, “Just give me your bank account number or another credit card number and we can get this taken care of.”

  “I’m sorry,” David says, “but I cannot make a payment because I don’t have any money to give you right now.”

  “Then how are you living right now sir?” the collector asks. David tries to control himself and begins speaking like an angry parent trying to calm their child down and preventing a tantrum in a store.

  “I am barely living,” David says with his voice now trembling, “this economy has been absolutely horrible, nobody wants anything built and my livelihood depends on building homes and docks.”

  There is a brief and awkward silence that lasts about ten seconds, which over the phone seems like a very long time.

  “You do understand sir that if this bill is not handled promptly that we will be forced to send it to collections,” the collector says.

  “Yes, I understand that it can go to collections and I am sorry, I just don’t have any money right now.”

  “Are you currently receiving unemployment?” the collector asks.

  “No, I am unemployed but my unemployment ran out some time ago,” David says.

  “You should look into finding another career path,” the collector says with a judgmental and annoying tone, “You need to pay your bills.” Another awkward silence ensues. “Well, I will be in contact with you until the matter is resolved and if your circumstances change you can call our call center at the number listed on the bill,” the collector says.

  “Okay, thank you,” David says.

  “Have a nice day,” the collector snidely says as David hangs up the phone. David tosses the phone back onto the coffee table and leans forward on the couch. He slides his hands up his face and puts his head between his legs, his hands slide to the top of his head and lock, as if he is holding his head down. His knees begin to bounce up and down, almost as if it is an uncontrollable tick, but it is actually pent-up anger and nervous energy. He sits in that position, not moving one inch.

  After some time passes and the anger has been shifted out of his conscious, he begins to look around the room, thinking of all that might be lost if he doesn’t come up with some money soon. He looks up at a picture of his grandmother, the woman who raised him, on the wall across from him. He thinks back to when he found out she rea
lly wasn’t his mother, a fact relayed to him in the heat of an argument between them long ago. His real mother was a prostitute who ran away and left him to be raised by his father and grandmother immediately after giving birth to him. His father was stabbed and killed shortly thereafter in a dispute at a local bar when he tried to cheat a biker in a game of poker, although he didn’t find out about that story until he ran across a microfiche slide in high school of the local paper that revealed the story when he was looking for his fathers obituary column. He always wanted to talk about his parents, but was cut off by his “mother” anytime he had a question regarding either of them. She gave him a generalized description as to what a horrible jezebel his mother was, but was never willing to talk about his father other than the fact that he was killed in a place that he never should have been at in the first place. Growing up, David always wondered if his father had ever loved him. He thinks about the pain everyone has caused him in his life and he begins to feel emotionally numb. He enters a catatonic state, staring at the picture for hours.

  Midnight has come and David has finally emerged from his catatonic state. He picks up the television remote and turns on the set. He walks over to a cabinet and opens it. Several DVD’s, neatly arranged in a seemingly chaotic fashion line the shelving. He passes over several and then slides out “MCGRAW/GIBSON”. He puts it back in its place and pulls out a DVD entitled “DALTON/JONES” and puts it into his DVD player. He walks over to the couch and sits down. He finds the remote to the DVD player and hits the play button. The KY News station icon comes over the screen and a handsome anchor begins the broadcast.

  “He is back,” the anchor says, with a look of planned seriousness, but with a tone of excitement “the Baptist Butcher has again struck the Central Kentucky area… once again in Pine County. Jeanette Holcomb is on site with the details… Jeanette.”

  The program cuts to a young and petite female reporter standing in front of crime scene tape in a snowy wooded area. She brings the microphone up to her chest; it is obvious that this program was transferred from VHS, evidenced by its grainy and dated appearance.

  “It has been thirteen months since we have last heard from the Baptist Butcher, last time in November of 1987,” she says. David leans forward on the couch with a crooked smile on his face. These videos are something he can always turn to that can always make him feel a bit better, reminding him of his importance and giving him a sense of meaning, accomplishment and most importantly, identity.

  “This time police have found evidence of the crime as the killer might have left boot prints at the scene,” the reporter continues.

  David laughs and speaks to the television, “that’s why I wore boots three sizes to big and then bleached and burned them,” he says.

  “Police are saying that there are two victims and that the M.O. matches that of all of the Butcher’s previous crime scenes. Later on in the program we will talk to Deputy James Flanigan, who has just been named lead investigator on the case following the passing of Sheriff Paul Horgandy… back to you in the newsroom,” she says.

  David fast-forwards through the commercials and other segments until the interview. Jeannette reappears with a young, handsome uniformed deputy in his late twenties.

  David smiles and mutters, “My old friend Jim Flanigan, not looking so great tonight are you boy?”

  Jeanette looks at Flanigan and asks, “Is it true sir, that the killer finally gave you a lead in the investigation by leaving boot prints at the scene?” Flanigan looks shocked by this but quickly composes himself.

  “Yes ma’am, he did… but we have retrieved evidence from other crime scenes in the past as well and until we can find a viable suspect, that evidence is pretty much insignificant,” Flanigan says.

  Jeannette nods and continues her questioning, “This is the fifth set of victims found since Brenda McGraw and Jenelle Gibson were found in Pine County in 1980. Are police any closer to finding the killer?”

  Flanigan quickly responds, “We have received assistance from federal law enforcement and like any investigation, it takes time.” Flanigan says.

  “With the recent passing of Sheriff Horgandy, many in the community believe that you will be his successor. Is there anything different that you will bring to the investigation?” she asks.

  “Well, as you know Jeannette, I was the one that found the first set of bodies and I have been on the investigation since that day, Flanigan says, “There has been talk of starting a task force since he has also hit Fayette and Mercer counties and tonight I got a call to lead that task force. I don’t think anyone can really just walk in like this and fill a man’s shoes right off the bat; especially a man like Paul Horgandy’s, but I can tell you that I do have a very personal connection to this case and I am willing to do anything to get this animal locked away. He will slip up someday and I can guarantee you I will be there throwing the cuffs on him when he does,” David puts the video on pause and stares at the frozen picture of the young, determined Flanigan.

  He confidently shakes his head and imperiously mutters, “How many years has it been? You are nothing without me you loser… you haven’t caught me yet, and you never will.” The look on David’s face is a competitive cockiness, like the look a basketball player gives another right before he crosses him over and dunks on him. David turns the DVD player off and walks into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. He grabs some bread, peanut butter and strawberry jelly and prepares a sandwich. While he is making the sandwich, he occasionally glances at the kitchen door, which has two oddly-placed deadbolts securing it. He spreads the peanut butter on the bread and glances again. “Not tonight,” he thinks. He smears the jelly on the bread, puts the pieces of bread together and returns to the living room and turns on the television. He flips through the channels while eating his sandwich until he finds a program he likes, “The First 48” on A&E. Even though he is a serial killer, he has always liked and been fascinated by law enforcement since he was a child; his knowledge had also made him a more elusive killer over the years. Of course the best shows are the ones which focus on his killings and he revels in the inaccuracies and misportrayal of some of the incidents. He finishes his sandwich and turns on the alarm on his cell phone. He lies down on the couch and falls asleep in the middle of the program, he quickly drifts into a dream.

  A sixteen year old David is lying in bed with his girlfriend Janet. They have just finished making love for the first time. He looks into her eyes.

  “Let’s run away and get married,” he says.

  She smiles and runs her fingers through his long, brown hair. “My daddy would kill me if he found out I wasn’t in my room tonight,” Janet says, “just imagine what he would do if I ran away.”

  “I don’t care, I just want to be with you… more than just the few nights a week when my mom’s at work,” David says. He stares at the ceiling while she is leaned over him in bed.

  “We’re only sixteen baby,” she says as she gently runs her long fingernails across his chest, “we can get married in a year and a half and nobody could stop us.”

  David turns his attention away from the ceiling and looks at her. “You promise me you are still going to want to be with me?” David asks.

  “Of course,” Janet replies, “didn’t I just prove to you how much I like you?” David smiles at her.

  “Yeah, you want to prove it again?” he asks. She slides on top of him and they begin to make love once again.

  Morning has come and David’s mother pulls into the driveway, unbeknownst to the sleeping young lovers. She quietly walks to the door and unlocks it, trying to make sure she doesn’t awaken David. She enters the house and puts down her purse on the coffee table. She takes off her coat and sits down on the couch. She opens her Bible and begins reading, quietly humming a hymn. She is struggling to stay awake, but she cannot go to sleep until David has left for school. She gets up off of the couch and goes into the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. She yawns and sits at the table, lis
tening to the comforting rhythm of the coffee brewing. As she pours a cup, she looks through the kitchen window and sees the sun creeping over the horizon. She makes her way to David’s bedroom. She opens the bedroom door and finds David and Janet lying in bed together. She rushes across the room and lunges at Janet, pulling her out of the bed by her hair.

  “YOU LITTLE WHORE!” she screams.

  Janet screams, “GET OFF OF ME!” as David’s mother drags her across the floor by her hair. David is horrified and speechless. David’s mother releases her grip on Janet’s hair, strands of it still between her fingers, bloodied at the roots. Janet crawls and quickly begins to pick up her scattered garments, one by one from off of the floor.

  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING MOTHER?” David cries.

  “You had better just shut your mouth young man,” his mother says, “if your father was still around you wouldn’t be acting like this! He’d be more than happy to tell you what happens to you when you run around with sin-filled little jezebels like this one here!” She continues her rant as she races back over to Janet, smacking her in the mouth, “And I will make sure that you won’t be seeing this little whore again on my watch.” Janet, obviously ashamed and overwhelmed, slowly puts her clothes on while crying.

  “Don’t you call her that,” David says jumping in between them, “I love her!” His mother storms out of the room. David jumps out of bed and tries to comfort Janet, who is sobbing uncontrollably.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. She looks up at him.

  “No… I think that it’s over,” she says to him, rubbing her bloodied scalp and staring at the hair in her hand.

  “What are you talking about baby?” he asks.

  “I will never be able to handle this or be around her again, it is over,” she says.

  “Handle what?” David asks.

  “Any of it, her… you,” she says, “You just laid there and let that psycho do that to me.”