by Glenn Trust
“Well, that’s all there is. And at that, it’s more than Lyn and me had.”
“I don’t give a shit what you and that sneaking little bitch had!” He turned towards Lyn’s bedroom door. “You hear me in there you sneaky bitch. I know you’re listening. Afraid to show your face you little pissant! Always sneaking around. Get your scrawny ass out here!”
Mama was getting angry now. It was one thing to abuse her, but leave her baby out of it.
“You leave her be! She ain’t done…” Mama’s words were cut off by a sickening thud followed by a heavy thump, like the sound of a sack of potatoes hitting the floor.
6. He Just Was
Unaware, the girl drove her small car within fifty feet of the silhouette watching in stillness. It was a curiosity to him. Did she sense anything? Was there a twitch, a ripple of fear or nervousness sliding up her spine…the feeling that she had somehow come close to something very dangerous and menacing? Or, was she completely oblivious of her proximity to the danger and her fate?
Perhaps the tingling at the back of her neck faded as she navigated her car safely through the parking lot. Sitting in its secure, familiar interior doing a routine thing in a routine way, did the familiarity and the routine push the nervous, tingling fear away?
It was more likely that there was no tingling, no psychic connection warning her of the impending, nearness of extreme danger. He was good at that. She would not know of his presence until he wanted her to…until he needed her to.
As she turned to pull out onto the main road, he started his car. It moved quietly, not disturbing the flow of movement around it, but becoming part of that movement, using the flow around it to disguise its driver’s focus on the small car a hundred yards ahead.
She was young. Her car was not expensive. No rich daddy or sugar daddy was taking care of her. Likely, she was on her own.
He absorbed the information unconsciously, unaware of the cunning and instinct within that noted these things. It just was. He just was. That was enough.
7. The Closest Bug Lost
George watched the two boys disappear down the road in their ragged pickup. They could have been him twenty years earlier; hanging out, under age, sneaking a beer. Things didn’t change much. It was unlikely, he knew, that they would have ever done anything to hurt the Cutchinses. But a few beers might lead to some bad judgment, and then to a bad idea executed on an alcohol-tinged whim.
Watching until the truck’s taillights turned off the road, he walked through the wooden screen door and into the small building. Mrs. Cutchins looked up from her counting. A smile crossed her face.
“Evening Deputy,” she called across the room.
“Evening, Miz’ Cutchins.” George walked over to the small counter, crowded with racks of chewing tobacco, snuff, lighters, pocketknives, and gum. “Looks like you had a pretty good day.” He nodded down at the stacks of bills she was counting out, separating them by denomination.
“Yep. We did good today. We were due.” She smiled and continued her count, not missing a beat as she sorted bills from her hand into the stacks on the counter.
“Wonder if you could do something for me?”
A wisp of white hair moved around her forehead in the breeze from a small fan behind the cash register as she looked up questioningly. “What is it, George?” she said, laying the wad of bills on the counter.
“I would appreciate it if you could do your nightly count in the back room or somewhere but here, where everyone can look in and see what kind of day you had.” He nodded down at the neat stacks of bills on the counter. “Quite a temptation to some young fella wanting to take his girl to Savannah for a big weekend.”
“You think so?” The surprise was evident on her face. It had never occurred to her that someone might be tempted by what she and her old man had.
“Yep. I do,” George said firmly. “Doesn’t take much to tempt some, especially these days. What you got there would be quite a lot to a lot of people; like maybe some young boys out having a few beers.” George looked her in the eye, his face expressionless.
“You mean those Gantry boys. They were in here earlier,” she said nodding, skepticism in her eyes. “They’re harmless. Good boys just out passing some time.”
“I mean them and lots of others,” George said. “They may not mean any harm, and ordinarily it wouldn’t even cross their minds, but…a few beers, a wad of cash, a hot night and a pretty girl waiting…it could happen. Probably good boys, but it’d be nice for them to stay that way. No need to put a temptation in front of them that would follow them the rest of their lives.”
“Suppose you’re right,” she nodded. “I’ll tell Mr. Cutchins, too.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thanks.” He added a question. “By the way, you wouldn’t know where those Gantry boys got the beers I made them pour out in your gravel, would you? Seems like a waste of good beer. Besides, it’s illegal, them being under age, you know.”
The old woman started to smile, then realized George was serious. “Well Deputy, I make it a point never to lie, especially not to an officer of the law, so I guess it’s best that I just didn’t hear the question.”
George nodded. “Well, I’m not much for lying myself, so I reckon it’s best I don’t hear an answer. Just remember, it’s illegal…buying and selling in this case.”
Reaching down into a barrel filled with icy water, George pulled out a can of Coke. He pulled some coins from his pocket and placed them neatly on the counter beside the stacks of bills.
“Thanks, Miz’ Cutchins. See you tomorrow,” he said pushing open the creaky screen door and walking out into the night.
“You too, George,” she said as the screen banged shut. Brushing back the strand of white hair around her forehead, she reached down for the stack of bills and continued her nightly count.
Standing in the ring of gravel illuminated by the light from the store’s window, George popped back the tab on the drink can and took a long pull. The night air was warm in this part of Georgia, even in the fall. The single light on a pole over the gas pump cast a cool fluorescent glow. A bat circled the swarm of moths and beetles that in turn circled the light. Flitting in what seemed an erratic way, it would dart here and there into the swarm. George knew that the bat’s movements were not erratic at all.
Each swerve by the bat was the stalk of some unsuspecting insect selected by the bat from the hundreds in the swarming mass of insects. Selection seemed random, or it might be based on some rudimentary judgment by the bat. Size, type of insect, or taste perhaps played a part in the selection of the bat’s victims. Or, maybe it was just proximity to the bat. The closest bug lost.
There was no way of knowing. One thing was certain though. Each darting attack into the swarm was a kill.
The light blinked off as Mrs. Cutchins threw the breaker and closed the store. In an instant, the bat and insects scattered into the night, but the hunt continued.
8. She Didn’t Go Home
She didn’t go home. She never would now. The little car traveled several miles. The four-lane highway turned into a two-lane road. The area was more suburban now, on the verge of rural. After another mile or two, she stopped at a discount supermarket. It was at the intersection of another larger highway. There were clusters of houses in small developments scattered around. Urban sprawl from the big city, but the area was far more country than city. The clusters of lit homes and buildings surrounded by the dark countryside made them seem more isolated.
It was an older store with an almost deserted parking lot. He drove by on the main road as the brunette cruised in and found a space midway down the parking row directly in front of the store’s entrance. Turning at the next corner, he pulled into the parking lot from the side entrance and saw her walking across the asphalt and into the store.
“Yes.” The word came out a slow hiss, guttural and low. It was an expression of aching hunger, like the deep-throated sound, not quite a growl, that the great cat makes before springing. He w
anted her. He would have her.
Scanning the lot and exterior of the building with practiced eyes, he quickly saw that there were no cameras. This far out in the country, security was a minor concern. The only predators people knew here were gators along the banks of canals and ponds, and the occasional panther deep in the swamps. That would change.
Waiting until she had entered the store, he moved the old Chevy beside her parked car, with the passenger door next to her driver’s door. Then, exiting his vehicle and leaving the keys in the ignition, he adjusted the passenger door so that it was slightly ajar. The interior light of the car did not come on. Always prepared, he had removed the bulb.
He had just started this ‘runaround’. That’s what he called it. When people at work asked where he was going, it was a runaround. They thought it meant a vacation road trip. To him it was something very different.
It was early in the runaround to be seeking a kill. When he had stopped, it was just to gather some supplies, but the feeling had hit him as he pulled into the mall parking lot. It was early in the trip, but it felt right, safe. The instinct took over. Within an instant, he had become the predator, and now he was outside the grocery store waiting for the girl.
Crossing half the country on I-10 in a day and a half, he had only arrived in northern Florida that afternoon. Sometimes it worked that way. With a successful hunt here, he might have a chance for another project before his vacation runaround ended. Who knows, maybe even two more. That would be a record, three on one runaround.
He walked across the parking lot and stood behind a van parked thirty feet away from the two cars. Twenty minutes passed before he saw her walking from the store, pushing a grocery cart. She didn’t have much, just a few plastic bags.
He readied himself as she pushed the cart to the passenger side of her vehicle and placed the bags on the front seat. For a moment, he thought he had made a tactical error. She looked as if she was going to push the cart to the return stand, off to his right and closer to the store. If she did, she might see him moving around the van to stay out of sight. Not likely, but still, he was careful. It was a detail that might cause him to call it off. If his senses felt that the moment was lost, he would let her go and immediately leave in a different direction.
But that hadn’t happened. She hesitated as if she sensed there could be some danger in crossing the parking lot in the dark. She was smart and careful. She left the cart by her car, as he knew she would, and walked around the rear to the driver’s door.
People usually did that. Even though going around to the front was normally closer, they almost always went around the rear of the vehicle to get to the driver’s side. It was a small idiosyncrasy that he found curious in the way a house cat might curiously regard a mouse trapped in a corner trying to find a direction to run. Of course, the girl had no idea that the cat was so near or that she was trapped. But she was.
He sensed which direction she would take, like a leopard sensing which direction the gazelle would leap. As she crossed the rear of her car and turned towards the driver’s door, he moved. He was quick and silent. The thirty feet to the car were covered in seconds, long before she had a chance to unlock the car door.
The hunting knife in his pocket was out in a smooth, practiced motion. He pressed against her, pushing her against his car, the knife at her throat. He was positioned so that anyone in the store looking out would only see his back and not the hand holding the knife. She had only time to give a short, startled gasp before his hand was on her throat. He was not an overly large man, but the grasp was powerful. There was terror in her eyes. He smiled.
Her mouth opened as if to scream. Shaking his head, he pressed the knife more firmly against her throat, until the blade drew the smallest trickle of blood. Her mouth closed, and her head nodded understanding. No sound.
With a fluid motion, he opened the passenger door of the car, pushing her in with his body. He forced her down on the seat, holding her there with his weight. Pulling a plastic tie wrap from his pocket, the kind electricians use to bundle wires and cables, he looped it around her wrists and pulled hard. He knew that police officers used similar tie wraps to secure prisoners when they ran out of hand cuffs. Smart boys, those cops were.
The girl gasped in pain as the narrow, hard plastic strip cut into her wrists. Taking another plastic tie wrap from his pocket, he looped it through the one on her wrists and then through the seat frame by the door. This had all taken only a few seconds. The small gasp she had made could not have been heard inside the store and probably would not have been audible more than a few feet away.
His actions were swift, decisive, and powerful. The young woman was thrown into a state of confusion fed by her fear.
It hadn’t always been that way. His hunting skills had been acquired through trial and error. He had been lucky more than once, but that was also part of the thrill of the game.
Now, years of planning and practice made his movements reflexive. When to make his move…how fast to move…how hard to grip the throat…where to press the knife. There was no thought about what he was doing. He just did it.
It was almost a little disappointing to him. He was too good. The thrill of chance was missing.
But it couldn’t be helped. Better to be safe than sorry, he reminded himself when he felt the urge to take an unnecessary chance. He would have to make up for the lost thrill in some other way.
This thought must have flashed across his face in some way because the girl’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth as if to scream. That was only for an instant though. He pushed the knife hard against her throat, and this time blood trickled down onto her shirt.
“No sound,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Do you understand? Do what I say, and you will be okay. If you don’t…” The knife’s point pressed harder against her throat again making a new, small cut.
She nodded. Through eyes dimmed by tears, she saw him smile.
He closed the door softly, but firmly, not bothering with duct tape over her mouth. That was dangerous in public, even at night. Duct tape was fine to prevent screams from attracting attention when they were out of sight. In public, duct tape over the girl’s mouth would attract immediate attention. Even at night, a roaming police car might get close enough for the officer to observe the girl in the seat.
Besides, it wasn’t necessary. He was in control. The girl’s trembling silence was testament to his ability.
It took him only a second to scan the lot for anyone who might have seen as he moved to the driver’s side of the car. No one had.
Sliding behind the wheel, he turned the key. The old car started quietly. It was in excellent running condition, despite the fading paint job. The car glided through the parking lot, not too fast and not slow; just the right speed for a person who had picked up a few groceries and was casually heading home for the evening.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head towards the store. Two cashiers and a couple of customers could be seen through the brightly lit window. A teenage boy was bagging groceries for one of the customers. She could see them, but he knew that they could not see her trembling, tear stained face or hear the soft sobbing sounds she made, as she struggled to follow his command to remain silent.
Huddled against the door, she was just a silhouette, sobbing in the dark car. Regarding her with curiosity, he wondered what she was feeling.
How deep was her fear? What thoughts crashed through her mind?
Sympathy, nor guilt, did not exist for him…only an intense, hungry curiosity. He would know. She would reveal it all to him. The fear. The terror. The hope for survival…and then her terrible realization that there was no hope. He would know it all before the night ended. It would all come spilling, tumbling onto the floor. He would wash himself in it.
“Are you ready for our night on the town?” he asked, almost softly.
Her sobbing grew louder. Perfect. A small shudder of excitement coursed through his
body.
“What do you want?” she whispered between sobs. “What did I do?”
“Do? Why, you didn’t do anything. You were just there.”
His words were intended to show her the random and hopeless nature of her circumstances. They succeeded. Her sobbing grew louder again, “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? Why, I’m not going to hurt you. Have I hurt you yet?” He let the question linger in the air, letting her consider it. Maybe there was hope. He wanted her to believe that for now. It would make her later realization of the truth even sweeter.
It worked. She calmed and her sobbing became softer again.
“Then why are you doing this? Please let me go. I won’t tell…just please let me go.”
“Calm down, honey. I could have hurt you, but I didn’t…I won’t.” He let the lie linger there in the quiet of the car knowing that it would deepen her hope. Squeezing every ounce of pleasure and satisfaction out of this game was a practiced ability.
“You know why I won’t hurt you?” He looked over at her and saw the glimmer of hope brighten in her eye. “Because I have…needs. You can help me with those. Then I’ll let you go,” he said softly and honestly.
It was honest because it was true. When he had taken what he wanted…what he needed…from her, he would send her on her way…into the darkness that he imagined death to be.
Of course, his honesty did not extend to telling her that, or in what condition she would be when he did let her go. That would come later. She would know.
For now, he wanted her to hope, to believe, that she could survive. When the time came, her disappointment and terror at the realization of what he really meant would be exquisite.
He could almost hear her thoughts. They were like electricity in the car. Rape? Okay rape. I can get through this. I can deal with rape. Just survive. Don’t do anything to make him do more than rape me. Survive.
She was the rabbit surprised and caught in the talons of the owl, lying still in the cool night grass thinking that if it made no sudden movement, the owl might release. But eventually the owl would tear into the flesh, and the rabbit would scream its high-pitched, eerie scream, knowing that death was near.