by Glenn Trust
“Well then, why all the commotion, coming in here like you was after Billy the Kid.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Carlson. Can you tell me which cabin they’re in?”
“Of course I can, Grover. I checked them in, didn’t I?” The old woman slapped her hands down the front of her shirt in an effort to beat some of the dust off. “They’re in twenty-three, creek side. Around the bend and last cabin. They wanted some place quiet where they could rest up. Been driving all night.”
“All right then. You and Gannet stay here in the office. I’ll check things out. There may be some other folks coming. More deputies, state patrol maybe too.”
“More?” Marge Carlson’s voice rose in a small crescendo of concern.
“Yes, ma’am. If they do, just point them in my direction, please.”
“Right, Grover. We’ll do that.” Gannet moved onto the porch beside his wife and took her hand. It was clear that there was more to this than just checking something out. “You be careful now, Grover, you hear.”
“Yes, sir, I will. You two stay here now. No matter what. Okay?”
The couple nodded solemnly at the young deputy who climbed back into his car and moved forward down the drive. The car disappeared into the surrounding trees, and Gannet Carlson led his wife into their small home.
A hundred yards down the drive, Deputy Parsons passed the turn off to the left to the forest view cabins. Another fifty yards further, and he came to the turn to the right that led to the creek side cabins.
The car coasted to a gentle stop at the turn with just the slightest squeak of the breaks. Ahead the creek rushed noisily, full from the previous night’s rain. To the right, the drive continued in front of the cabins that lined the creek.
Peering down the line of cabins, Deputy Parsons saw the old Chevrolet. It did appear to match the description of the one they had been giving in the BOLO from the state for the last two days. Of course, there were a million other old cars on the road that would also match.
Exiting his car, Deputy Parsons reached down and turned the volume down on his portable radio. The air was crisp and cool by the creek, full of the aroma of the lush vegetation lining its banks. With an eye on the cabin, alert to any movement, Parsons crossed the drive to the creek and went down the short bank to the edge of the water. Crouching low, he then moved along the creek towards the cabin until he could make out the tag on the rear of the Chevy.
Peering up over the bank through the trees and vegetation, there was not much chance that he would be seen, even if someone were watching for him. Still, cautious hunter that he was, he took his time and slowly moved his head up until his eyes could see the cabin and the car.
Curtains fluttered in the window by the door, and he became motionless, watching. After a few seconds, he determined that the window was closed. No one was visible. His eyes shifted to the car. The license plate of the Lone Star State was impossible to mistake. He had confirmed two critical pieces of information, the car and the tag.
Moving slowly, he made his way back down the bank to the spot where the drive came down from the office. His car was there, parked on the drive beside the first creek side cabin and invisible to anyone looking out from the end cabin.
Crouching by the side of the car, Parsons spoke into his portable radio mike and advised the dispatcher and responding units that the vehicle was an older model Chevrolet bearing a Texas license plate. He had seen no one and could not confirm who the occupants were or if the female was in danger.
“10-4 Rye County. Be advised, instructions remain to standby unless there is imminent threat to the female.”
“10-4,” he acknowledged.
Imminent threat. How the hell was he supposed to know what was happening in the cabin. The girl could be imminently threatened right now, and he would never know it.
Still crouching beside his car, he leaned back against it. Wondering what to do. Standby. Those were the instructions.
If the man in the cabin was the suspect they were looking for, he was definitely armed and dangerous and had killed at least two people in the last couple of days. That thought definitely made standing by seem like the best course of action.
But there was the girl, if she was there. The Carlsons never actually saw her, after all. If this was the right car and the right suspect, the girl might be in no immediate danger. Or, she might already be dead. He pushed that thought away.
Watching the cabin, he contemplated the best way to approach and maintain the element of surprise. They would need to have a plan when the other officers arrived. He could at least help with that.
Crouching beside his car, Deputy Parsons considered the best ways to approach the cabin and maintain the element of surprise. Surprise would be critical.
Minutes ticked by. Parsons had come up with a plan of approach. It was really pretty simple. Start from here on foot. Stay close to the fronts of the line cabins so that you were invisible to anyone looking out the front window of the cabin at the far end, until you went up on the porch that is. Surprise would be gone then. Still it was the best you could do.
A few more minutes ticked by as Deputy Grover Parsons watched the cabin. A woodpecker rapped a staccato beat on a nearby tree. It was the only sound audible above the rushing of the creek.
He looked up into the cool, clear autumn sky. Dappled sunlight filtered down through the trees, most of which still had their leaves. Mid-afternoon, he thought, taking a deep breath of the cool air.
The sound of a vehicle approaching slowly on the dirt drive turned his head, and he stood up. About time, he thought, and then added in a mixture of surprise and consternation, “What the hell?”
81. Confronting the Beast
The sign to the Creek Side Cabins caught Clay by surprise, and he slid the truck’s tires trying to slow enough to make the turn. Not knowing what to expect, and expecting to be in some trouble with the GBI and the big Pickham County deputy if they saw him, he proceeded down the drive cautiously and much less recklessly than Deputy Parsons had before him.
As he approached the small cabin-like office, an elderly man and woman came onto the porch. He started to stop and speak to them, but they motioned him around, pointing down the drive. It was clear they were signaling him to go further.
Shrugging, he thought, okay. Clay continued down the long dirt drive, figuring he was committed now. In the mirror, he saw the couple, arms around each other, watching him and speaking into each other’s ears as if they were whispering. Very strange.
Approaching the bottom of the drive, he could see the creek and the first of the line of cabins that stretched along the creek. Parked on the drive beside the first cabin was a brown sheriff’s car, and beside it was a deputy whose crouching form rose as Clay came to a stop twenty feet behind the deputy. The look on the deputy’s face was primarily one of annoyance, with just the slightest trace of relief mixed in.
The deputy approached as Clay climbed out of his pickup.
“Who are you?”
Clay tossed the portable radio he had been holding onto the truck seat and turned to the deputy. “Clay Purcell,” he responded, offering nothing more.
“Mr. Purcell, I’m going to have to ask that you back up the drive and stay at the office for a while. The Carlsons shouldn’t have sent you down this way.”
“They didn’t. At least I don’t think they meant to. They motioned me on like they thought I was with you.”
“Oh, right,” Deputy Parsons nodded remembering the instructions he had given them. “Well, you’re still going to have to go back and wait at the office.”
“What’s going on?” Clay ignored the deputy’s instructions, not feeling too intimidated by this young deputy after his dealings with law enforcement over the past couple of days. Grover Parsons was not Trooper Collins of the Georgia Patrol after all.
“An investigation, Mr. Purcell. Sheriff’s business, and you are going to have to turn around right now and go…”
“Is it t
he old Chevy with Texas plates?”
The reaction on the deputy’s face told Clay his question had the desired effect. The deputy took a step back, so that he could see Clay’s entire body. The look on his face turned from its initial surprise to stone.
“What do you know about that?”
“Quite a bit.”
“I assume you have a good explanation for that, so start talking.”
Two minutes later, Clay had explained how he came to be at the Creek Side Cabins on that sunny, fall afternoon.
“So you’re the one the patrol stopped last night. I’ll be damned. Well, you’re a hardheaded son of a bitch. I’ll say that for you.” Grover Parsons shook his head before continuing. “So what is the girl to you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe something.” Clay looked down at the ground trying to come up with a good answer, and finding none he said simply, “Conscience I guess. Guilt.” He shrugged not able to give a better response.
He changed the subject and asked, “So, what’s the plan. Have you spotted them.”
“The plan is to stand by for the other units. You heard that on the radio you…borrowed.”
“They said stand by if there was no threat to the girl. Is there a threat?”
“Well, not that I can tell,” Parsons responded, clearly not comfortable with his answer.
“Not that you can tell? What does that mean?”
“Means…I don’t know,” said the deputy honestly, looking Clay in the eye. “I’ve been squatting here trying to decide what to do and come up with a plan. Truth is, I have no idea what is going on in that cabin.”
“So, the girl could be in danger. There could be a threat.”
“Could be,” Parsons agreed, looking down and avoiding the look on Clay’s face.
That look was a reflection of what Parsons was feeling inside, and the realization stung enough that he looked up and said, “You’re right. I don’t know if there’s an imminent threat or not, but I know that if this is the suspect, the man has killed. If the girl is with him, nothing good is going to come from it. That would seem to be a pretty clear threat.”
Parsons turned and walked towards his car.
“What are you gonna do?” Clay asked the young deputy, realizing for the first time that they were about the same age, and that the deputy must be about as scared as Clay suddenly was.
“Gonna check it out. Backup might be thirty minutes away, and I’ve been here fifteen already. As far as I’m concerned, there’s a threat.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Parsons replied without looking as he reached in his car and pulled the shotgun from the rack between the front seats. “Go back to the office and wait. I’ll let you know when things are in hand.”
“I’m going with you.” Clay’s tone was firm.
The deputy regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. “Okay. You have a weapon?”
Clay shook his head.
“Take this,” Parsons held out the Remington twelve gauge shotgun. “You’ve got five rounds. Use it to protect yourself only. You know how to use it?”
Clay replied by pumping a round into the chamber.
“Good. Now be careful, and let’s hope nothing is going to happen. Sheriff finds out I handed you my shotgun, I’ll get a bunch of time off…that is if I don’t lose my job.”
“I’ll be careful,” Clay assured him, holding the shotgun with a familiarity that put Parsons’ mind slightly at ease. “Just for protection. I got it. ‘Course if it comes to that, I guess we’re both gonna be in the middle of a shit storm,” They exchanged a quick grin and a nod as they turned towards the cabin.
“You go to the rear. Stay in the tree line. There’s a small back deck on each cabin. Watch that area. If he comes out, try and keep an eye on him, but don’t let him see you if possible. Let the backup units know which way he went.” Parsons paused and looked at Clay one last time. “That shotgun is for protection only. Remember.”
With a final nod, the young men moved forward to confront the beast, slightly less confident than when they had been considering their plan, but committed just the same. They were not aware that this same beast had been the object of manhunts in a dozen other states. None had come so close before, or in such proximity to its fangs before, other than its victims.
82. To Hurt or Not to Hurt
The softness of his voice and the false tenderness were more frightening than if he had screamed at her. Awake and energized by his nap, Lylee was ready for the final feast.
He would use the girl up completely now. He would not stop until he had consumed everything. He would gorge himself until the pleading terror in her fear-widened eyes dimmed, and the eyes became empty.
Kneeling beside her, he whispered in her ear.
“Time to wake up.”
Slowly, the girl’s eyes opened, and she returned to the room. To the present. To him.
He stood up taking a grasping pull on her hair. His hand moved in a wide arc leaving a stinging slap on her face. Lyn was wrenched out of the faraway, safe place she had found until she brought her eyes up to meet his. When they did, they widened with fear.
Drifting back to reality, to the cabin, Lyn’s eyes darted around the room trying to understand. Trying to remember where she was, why she was there. Wide, fear filled eyes swayed back and forth while her head was held stationary by his grip on her hair.
Slowly, she realized that they were still in the cabin, and the memory flooded back, unwanted, into her mind. She had to find a way back to the safe place, to the swaying pines and cool breezes, away from the man standing nude in front of her, tearing at her hair.
The curtains over the air conditioner hung limp. The air conditioner was off. Her arms were still secured to the chair. No cricket hummed and chirped. There was no escape.
“Let me explain how this is going to work,” the man whispered into her ear, so close that she felt his breath on her neck. “We’re going to spend some time together until you give me what I want. And you will give it to me. Understand?”
Lyn tried to nod her head, but his grip prevented her from moving. He could feel her try though.
“Good,” Lylee said. “Now, I’m going to take the tape off of your mouth. We’re going to talk.”
Still holding her hair, he moved his left hand up to her throat until Lyn felt the knife press firmly against her trachea.
“If you make one sound, except to answer me or to talk when I say, anything at all, I am going to hurt you.” He looked fiercely into her eyes. “I will hurt you bad. You believe me, don’t you?”
She tried to nod again, and this time he let her hair go enough that she could move her head up and down a little.
“Good,” he said while reaching down with the knife, cutting the plastic tie wraps that had held her in place since he had strapped her to the chair.
Lylee jerked her roughly out of the chair. She stood uncertainly. Her legs were numb. They tingled painfully as the blood began to flow through them. Lyn became conscious of the plastic she was standing on. Looking down, she saw dried red spots and smears on the plastic. She knew it was blood…her blood.
With the knife still at her throat, Lylee pushed her towards the bathroom. The door was partially closed, and he thrust her in bumping her hard into the door.
“Clean up. Five minutes. Pee or shit if you need to, but get clean,” was all he said.
He turned away leaving the door open. Lyn looked into the mirror and saw the dried blood and cuts that covered her shoulders and chest. She stared at herself. The image staring back at her brought her back farther from the faraway safe place and closer to reality than she had been in hours. Was this image really her? Was this really happening?
“Clean up! And be quick!” Lylee said sharply from just outside the door.
Lyn picked up a washcloth, wet it, and began to wipe her face, arms, and chest. Tears fell across her cheeks. She was alone. What was going to happen, would happ
en.
She may be alive for the moment, as long as the man needed her, but she knew that her life was already slowly draining away, washed down the sink with the reddish brown drops rinsed from the washcloth in her hand. The image in the mirror was a shell. Soon there would be nothing of substance left.
In the bedroom, Lylee busied himself with straightening the plastic under the chair and making sure there were no telltale signs of what had been taking place in the room. This was not the first time he had toyed with his prey before the kill, but it was definitely the longest period of time he had allowed himself to do so.
Again, the cautious predator came into his mind warning him. End this. Quickly, before they come, end it!
He pushed the cautious voice out of his brain. The need to extract what he wanted, what he needed, burned in him. In his mind, he shouted back at the cautious voice. I will end it when I have her…all of her!
He looked into the bathroom. The girl stood in front of the sink, robotically wiping her body. The washrag was streaked with dried blood. Remember the rag, he thought. Have to take the rag and towel with what was left of the girl. But not just yet.
Lyn’s right wrist stung as the man reached into the bathroom and jerked her roughly. The skin where the plastic tie had secured her to the car and then to the chair in the cabin, was a raw, red, bleeding sore spot that burned at his touch.
Pulling her to the spot on the plastic in front of the chair, he stood close in front of her. His hand moved up between her legs. Her body stiffened.
“You ignoring me? Don’t.” The word was a warning.
Lyn tried hard to focus on the curtains. Tried hard to find a way to the safe place, as she had done before. It was gone, and she could not find her way there.
“Do – not – ignore – me,” he said, each word a separate and distinct threat.
His hand moved to the inside of her thigh. He grabbed the skin and pinched hard.
Lyn gasped at the sudden pain. She tried to push his hand away with her left hand, despite the knife that rested point first against her abdomen, as they stood close. He pinched harder.