Beneath the Mask of Sanity

by Mark Phillips

  Beneath the Mask of Sanity

  By

  Mark Phillips

  Copyright 2014 by Mark Phillips

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is dedicated to my support system, my cheerleader, my biggest fan, my rock: My beautiful wife, Carol Phillips

  “We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”

  ― Ted Bundy

  1.

  Bentley Grimes looked out the window of the car. The road was a blur of grey underneath him. Signs marked what he supposed were progress, but it didn’t feel like progress to him. It felt like death.

  “Nice day,” the man next to him said.

  Bentley turned to look. He was a fat slob of a man. His large belly pressed against the bottom of the steering wheel, curving around it like putty.

  “Sure,” Bentley replied.

  “Name’s George, by the way,” the fat man said. He glanced over at Bentley and flashed a buck-toothed smile. Despite the cool of the air-conditioning and the Autumnal weather, the man still had a large sweat-stain on his arm pit.

  “I’m Fred,” Bentley said. He was spared a handshake that would probably have been wet and uncomfortably long.

  “So you’re headed to San Ignace too?”

  Bentley smiled. “Anywhere, as long as it’s far away from where I was.”

  “Trouble back your way?” George’s voice shook a little. Bentley laughed, he couldn’t help it. It was all too delicious.

  “Nothing more than the usual. I’m hoping that I’ll get a fresh start out here. You know, west coast, sunshine, bikinis.”

  Now it was George’s turn to laugh and what a grating thing it was. Bentley wanted this whole thing over now, but he knew he would have to wait a little longer; unless he wanted to kill all the fun.

  “I stopped paying attention to the bikinis a while ago,” George said. One wife, two daughters, I’ve got enough women in my life.”

  “Do you have a good marriage?” Bentley asked.

  George didn’t answer for a few seconds. “We still love each other. We have our moments, but for the most part it’s been smooth sailing for fifteen years.”

  “How old are your daughters?”

  “Katie’s fifteen and Karen’s six. They’re good girls, we’re really lucky.”

  “So they still love you.”

  George took another glance at Bentley. This one slower, with a little more emotion behind it.

  “Sure.” His voice was weak. Fear hid in every syllable. Oh, this was good, but it would get better.

  “I just mean, that they haven’t gotten to that point where they hate you and your wife. You know, when they think they know everything.”

  George let out a long sigh. “Oh, yeah, they aren’t there yet.” He seemed to consider for a moment. “Say, you can’t be much older than Katie yourself. You talk pretty smart for a kid.”

  And just like that the flip switched in Bentley’s brain. Playtime was over; it was time to get serious.

  “Say, do you think you could pull over for a second.”

  George shot another look to the right. “You mean right here on the road?”

  “Yeah. I gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “There’s a rest stop coming up,” George said. “Just a couple exits down, can’t you wait?”

  “No. I mean I’ve really gotta go, I’ve been having trouble with diarrhea the past couple days. Please man.”

  “All right, all right. Calm down.”

  George flicked on the hazard lights and pulled over to the shoulder of the freeway. Cars zipped by making whooshing sounds that faded as they sped by.

  Bentley ripped the door opened and ran out into the field of roadside trees. This was a tough thing to do, like catching an animal in a trap and then opening the door. The prey could run, it could get away, you had to chance it.

  Yet, it was also one of the best parts. Knowing that the prey’s actions caused everything, that all Bentley did was commit the final act. It was as if they sealed their own fate with their stupidity.

  Bentley waited until he couldn’t see the Cadillac anymore and then he unzipped his pants and raked them down. Cool metal met the morning air. The bar was solid and silver. It was dull here in the shadows, but Bentley could imagine it catching the light of the morning sun and reflecting it to all points.

  Two pieces of tape held it to Bentley’s leg. He pulled it and savored the sting of the tape parting with his flesh.

  For a second he waited with his pants at his ankles and let the soft breeze blow around him. The breaths were coming fast now; his body was pumping up, getting ready.

  “Shit!” Bentley screamed. “Jesus!”

  “You okay down there kid?” George asked. He had exited the car, a good sign.

  “Fucking thing bit me!” Bentley yelled. Though it was more to himself, which is exactly what he wanted it to sound like.

  “What bit you?”

  “I don’t know,” Bentley called up. I think it might have been a snake. Mister can you come down here? It’s hard to move my leg. I think I’m in trouble here!”

  “Why don’t I call an ambulance?”

  “Please,” Bentley pleaded. He moaned out. “Just take a look at it before you call. I need to know how bad it is.”

  Bentley gently lowered himself to the ground, moving the bar behind his back. There were several moments of silence and then the sound of footsteps crushing the leaves that littered the ground. Bentley smiled and waited.

  George’s big shape slowly appeared through the trees. His gait was slow and steady until he saw Bentley on the ground. Then he sped up his locomotion.

  Bentley smiled wanly as George got closer. “Oh thank you. Thank you. Can you take a look at it? It’s on my ass.”

  George stopped for a second and held out his hands. “I think we should let a professional…”

  “Please sir, I just want to know how bad it is.”

  George shook his head but took another few steps closer. It was all Bentley needed. He rocked his legs up and grabbed the bar with his left hand. Then he sprung forward and was off the ground and on his feet.

  At first George looked confused, then his eyes widened as he saw the metal bar, but it was far too late. Bentley ran forward and swung the bar. It arced in the air and slammed into George’s right knee.

  George collapsed to the ground in a heap. His right hand shot down to hold the wounded leg.

  “Shit!”

  “Motherfucker!” Bentley screamed. “You useless, motherfucking, cocksucking, pigfucking, son of a fucking bitch!”

  He swung the bar again, this time connecting with George’s face. There was a snapping sound like a piece of wood on a large fire. George’s face took a subtle shift inward and down.

  “Phwauck!” George managed through his mangled face. He emitted another sound, but Bentley didn’t register it. He was too busy swinging. Blood flew as the bar hit and hit. More cracking sounds, George’s skull as it fractured and then ruptured.

  Bentley swung again and again. Finally, the muscle in his left arm aching for oxygen, he stopped.

  George lay on the ground. Blood was pooled all around him. His head was dented in from the repeated blows with the bar.
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  Bentley reached forward and grabbed the wallet out of George’s pocket. Then he walked up the small incline back to the car.

  The Caddy was still idling on the shoulder and there were no other cars parked around it. The motorists sped on by and didn’t even seem to notice it was there. Bentley walked quickly. Humans were stupid but they would probably notice a kid with blood on his shirt coming from the side of the road.

  Bentley got into the driver’s side and turned off the hazards. He pulled out onto the highway and drove.

  It wasn’t long before he found a good place. The very rest stop that George had been advocating they stop at.

  Bentley pulled into a parking spot and pulled the keys out of the ignition. He put them in his left pocket and deposited George’s wallet into the other pocket.

  There weren’t too many cars in the diagonal spots and he saw only a couple of people on the way to the bathroom. The shirt wasn’t too bad, but it was noticeable. Bentley took if off and flipped it inside out. That done, he exited the car.

  Walking into the men’s room, Bentley saw a man that looked well past retirement age, combing his thin white hair by the sink. Bentley glanced at him and continued down.

  The stall on the end was open and Bentley walked in. He pulled his pants down and his left hand caressed the hard flesh that his nakedness revealed. Hard like the bar, but warm, so warm.

  With his right hand he pulled out the wallet and opened it. His left had begun a steady up and down motion. Bentley could see the tops of bills poking out, but that wasn’t what he was interested in right now. With only his right hand free, he flipped to the picture section.

  The first photo was an older looking shot of who, Bentley assumed, must be George’s wife. An attractive mate for such a fat slob. Her hair was dark as were her eyes. The skin looked smooth and her face suggested a thinness that Bentley didn’t expect. He thought that she would be some fat bitch.

  Bentley flipped the plastic holder and found a good photo. The whole family, George, smiling his shitty smile, the wife, Katie and Karen. They were standing by a fence outside. Probably some fucking family vacation. The kind that the two little cunts would be crying about when they found their pig of a Daddy dead.

  The motions of the left hand came faster and faster as Bentley stared at the picture. His eyes marked each one of the faces as the hand moved up and down. Finally, his member spasmed and his liquid shot out.

  Bentley pumped a little while after the initial explosion and lazy little gobs of cum continued to seep out.

  Cleanup was easy and Bentley put the wallet back in his pocket. He walked out of the bathroom leaving it empty; apparently the golden oldie had decided that his Fonzie cut was perfect and had left.

  As Bentley walked out into the fresh air, he reached his left hand into his pocket and touched the car keys. Instead of heading for the vehicle, he walked towards the highway.

  Before he reached the on-ramp he pulled the keys out of his pocket and launched them into the trees.

  The sound of his shoes clicking on the road made Bentley smile, as did the thought of all those faces in the picture.

  Don’t cry little cunts, he thought. You’ll all be together soon.

  2.

  Detective Miles looked at the body. He’d seen worse and it looked as though the others had as well. It was sad in a way; here was a man, beaten beyond recognition with something heavy. Blood pooled around him, bits of skull and brains spread across the side of a freeway, and it all seemed so normal.

  “How’d you find him?” Miles asked.

  A tall blonde man leaning on the detective’s car blinked rapidly and shook his head. “I stopped to take a piss. Just stopped at the wrong place.”

  Miles snorted and looked back at the body. “Wrong place, huh?”

  The man held out a shaking finger. “Yeah, I’m not getting that outta my head for a long time.”

  The detective shook his head and walked back towards his car. He stopped next to the blonde man.

  “What’s your name again?”

  “Roger Wilts.”

  “Yeah, Roger. Look, I’m gonna need you to come down to talk to me.”

  Wilts opened his mouth. His eyes met Miles’s and he remained taciturn. Wilts seemed to find something interesting on the ground and nodded his head.

  “Good,” Miles said, and walked around the car.

  He leaned into the open window and grabbed hold of his car’s radio.

  “Dispatch, this is Detective Miles, over.”

  “Copy Detective Miles.”

  “Call Mort down to highway five between exits one twenty two and one twenty three. Northbound side.”

  “Copy.”

  “Out.”

  Frank hung the radio back up and turned to look at the ridge. From the road it was impossible to see the crime scene. The motorist had no idea what had happened down there.

  “What do you think happened?” Wilts asked, as if reading his thoughts.

  Miles lifted his head and met the man’s gaze. “Won’t know exactly until Mort and his boys get here, but it seems pretty simple.”

  Wilts nodded, though Detective Miles could tell that it was really more of a go-on nod than an understanding one.

  “Guy’s wallet’s gone. Someone lured him out here, killed him, stole the wallet and the car.”

  Wilts nodded again. “Yeah, I figured it was something like that.”

  Miles shook his head and walked back towards the crime scene. He had been honest when he answered Wilts’s question…sort of. It was simple; in fact it really couldn’t have been simpler. Everything seemed to point to that explanation. Frank had seen enough crime scenes in his time to assess things quickly when they were this cut-and-dry.

  The best thing to do was to wait for Mort and the guys to come down and see what they could find. Hopefully enough physical evidence to catch the asshole that did this and then it would be all over. Police work had become so scientific.

  Still, there was something that didn’t feel right and the feeling only grew as Miles made his way down the embankment and towards the corpse. It was so violent, so brutal. Not really like a robbery. Violent robber’s wanted to incapacitate the victim and then get out. This was more like overkill. Like…

  “It’s like he wanted to make sure the poor bastard suffered,” Miles whispered.

  One of the cops near the corpse looked up. “Did you say something sir?”

  “Just talking to myself.”

  The officer nodded as if this was normal and turned back towards the ground.

  Miles was about to speak again (to say, what, he didn’t know) when a sound cut the air. It was a high-pitched beep that sounded vaguely familiar.

  The two uniforms searching the grounds for evidence knew the sound better, they both reached into their pockets to pull out their phones.

  “Not mine,” one said.

  “Not mine,” the other replied.

  They both looked up towards Miles. He looked back at Wilts.

  “Mine’s in the car,” Wilts replied, jerking a thumb at his blue truck a few feet down on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t hear it from here.”

  “I only have the squad phone,” Miles said. “It’s in the car too.”

  The beep sounded again. It was coming from the direction of the two officers. All four men looked towards the body.

  Miles deliberated for only a second. “Find it.”

  The officer closest to the corpse stepped closer, gingerly. It was as if he were afraid of an electric shock.

  The beep sounded again.

  “Sounds like it’s coming from a pocket in the jacket.”

  “Fish it out.”

  “Sir, shouldn’t we wait for…” The officer glanced up and something in Miles’s face told him to keep quiet.

  Instead, he lifted the flap of the jacket and dug his hand in the pocket on the side. When the hand reemerged it held a cell phone.

  “Answer it,” Miles said. His v
oice was strained, as if he’d just suffered a long coughing fit.

  “It’s not a call,” the officer said. He flipped open the phone and held it to his ear.

  “What is it then?”

  The officer held up one finger. Miles felt blood rush into his face. Anger rose with it, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time for petty emotions.

  The officer lowered the phone. “It was a voice mail. From the vic’s wife. I think you should listen to it.”

  Miles held out his hand and the officer gave it to him. Miles flipped open the phone. A recorded, cheery female voice was speaking out instructions.

  “…in the archives press three. To listen again press four.”

  Frank took the phone away from his ear and punched the number four.

  “Hey babe, it’s me,” a soft female voice spoke. “The kids and I are wondering where you are. I’m making your favorite, so you’d better hurry back. Anyway, call soon. I love you.”

  “To delete this message press one,” the automated voice began.

  Miles flipped the phone shut. He pointed at the officer that handed him the cell phone.

  “These things have id’s right? They can tell you the number that called last.”

  “Sure.”

  “Find out what the number was and then call it. I’ve got to tell her.” Miles opened his mouth and then hesitated. In the end he only repeated, “I’ve got to tell her.”

  3.

  Sheila stood in the kitchen. The dishwasher hummed as she hung a towel on the handle of the refrigerator. Her eyes were red and puffy. Footsteps sounded from behind and Sheila’s body tensed.

  “Mommy?” Karen’s voice was reedy and plaintive.

  “Yes honey?”

  Sheila didn’t turn around; she continued staring out the window.

  “Mommy, when’s Daddy coming home?”

  Now Sheila did turn around. Her body moved slowly, almost against her will. She tried to guard her eyes but she could tell by the look on Karen’s face that she had not done a very good job. Her daughter stood, her slight frame trembling. The pink oval of her face seemed in some kind of bizarre motion. Karen stole a hand up to her golden hair and began to twist.