“Let’s say we do hire this guy. I’ll tell you what he’s going to say. He’s going to tell us that Cody is suffering from PTSD, dope him up on anti-depressants, and then drain our bank account with an endless number of therapy sessions. That’s what’s going to happen.”
“Well, maybe that’s exactly what he needs.”
“Drugs and psychobabble bullshit?”
Maria narrowed her eyes. “Then, you tell me, Aaron.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If not therapy and medication, what do you think we should do?”
“I think…” Aaron glanced away and shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but… I think he needs to talk to a priest.”
†
“Dude, where’d you get that joint?” Kevin asked, grinning in anticipation.
Peter pulled a marijuana cigarette from his pants pocket. They both sat on a bench near the boat ramp at Maple Hills Park. The stars and full moon reflected off the surface of the lake. Crickets and toads chirped mating calls, while Randy urinated into the lake where Peter and Kevin had found the bloated torso of Donald Travers.
“Don’t worry about where I got it.” Peter held the joint between his lips and lit it with a Zippo lighter he had stolen from the 7-Eleven on Main Street. He sucked in, held his breath for a moment, and exhaled, while he passed the cannabis cigarette to Kevin. “Hey, Randy, you gonna smoke this shit with us or stand there jacking off all night?”
“Ha, ha.” Randy glanced over his shoulder while he zipped and buttoned his pants. “I was taking a leak, you jerk.”
Kevin laughed and caught himself from falling off the bench. He took a pull from the joint and passed it back to Peter. “Hey, you hear what happened to Cody? He freakin’ tried to kill himself yesterday.”
“Bullshit,” Peter said, holding the joint between his thumb and index finger.
“No, man. I’m serious. That’s why he hasn’t been at school. My cousin told me. She’s a candy stripper at the hospital.”
“I heard about it, too,” said Randy as he returned from the water’s edge. “I heard he tried to hang himself. And it’s candy striper, you moron.”
“Whatever,” Kevin said, and giggled. “And you’re wrong, dude. He took a bunch of pills or something. What a freak!”
“Yeah, what a total douche.” Peter inhaled on the joint and coughed. “Man, this is some good shit.” He offered the joint to Randy, but he shook his head. “Oh, don’t be a pussy, Randy. It’s just a joint.”
“I don’t want to, okay?”
“Dude, it ain’t gonna kill ya.”
Kevin laughed. “Yeah, not like it’ll make you want to put a bullet in your head, like Creepy Cody.”
“Will you listen to yourselves?” Randy said, disdain in his voice. “You don’t feel at least a little bad about what happened? I mean, what if he did it because of us?”
Kevin and Peter faced each other and snorted in laughter. Peter handed the joint to Kevin, got up, and draped his arm around Randy. “Dude, I don’t give a flying sack of shit what happens to that freak. And neither should you. If he wants to off himself, that’s his problem.” Peter waited for Kevin to take a hit from the joint, then took it back from him. He held it in front of Randy’s mouth.
Randy pulled away from Peter. “I already told you, I don’t want it. I’m not getting high with you, okay?”
“All right. Fine. Be a fucking square, then.” He handed the joint back to Kevin and lifted Randy by his legs, slinging him over his shoulder.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Randy yelled, while kicking and punching Peter’s back. “Let me go!”
“You’re such a pussy, you know that, Randy? No better than that freak, Cody.”
Kevin took another drag from the pot and laughed hysterically. He fell off the bench, which only made him laugh even harder. “Throw him in, Pete! Maybe the gator that killed Mr. Travers will bite Randy in the ass!”
Randy continued struggling to break free from the much larger teen’s grip. “Don’t, Pete. I’m sorry. I’ll smoke it, okay? I’ll smoke it!”
“Too late, motherfucker.” He tossed Randy into the lake. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. And from now on, you can just hang out with that queer. I’m done with you.” Peter turned around and yelled out to Kevin, “Get off the ground, dumbass! Let’s go.”
“What about Randy?”
“Fuck him. He’s on his own.”
Randy stood in waist-deep water and yelled, “I’m sorry, Pete!” He tried to move, but one of his shoes was stuck in the thick mud. “Oh, crap. I’m stuck guys! Help me out, man!”
Peter continued walking away and lifted his middle finger. “Better move quick before that gator gets you!” Peter and Kevin laughed, mounted their bikes, and pedaled away. “See you at school tomorrow, Randy! Don’t stay up too late!”
Their laughter became faint as they rode out of the park, leaving Randy alone in the water with his foot stuck in the thick mud. Something splashed in the water behind him. He cried as he struggled to pull himself free. “It’s just a fish,” he told himself, looking over his shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
Something brushed against his leg. “Help!” he screamed, and finally broke free from the muddy grasp and waded towards the embankment. As soon as he reached the shore, he noticed the silhouette of someone standing near the gravel road next to his bicycle.
“Is that you, Kevin? Could you give me a hand?”
Randy tried to pull himself up the embankment, but he slipped back into the water. When he regained his footing, the person near his bike was gone. His eyes shot around the darkness of the park.
“Where did you go? I could use some help.”
He grabbed hold of a root and managed to get enough footing to pull himself out of the water. Crawling forward a few feet on the shore, he lay on his back, and caught his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment as footsteps in the grass approached him. When he opened his eyes, someone dressed in a black hooded tunic stepped up to him.
“Rise,” a voice whispered from within the dark hood.
Randy swallowed and rose to his knees. “Who… who are you?”
“I am… Redemption.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Redeemed
Frank Ramirez went through the same routine every weekday. He would wake up at four-thirty in the morning, take a shower, drink his coffee while reading the newspaper, and hop into his Lost Maples County Parks and Recreation vehicle for a day’s worth of maintaining the beauty of Maple Hills Park. He arrived on Thursday morning at his usual six forty-five to open the park. Today, there was already a vehicle parked outside the main entrance. He recognized the old green Ford pickup truck. It belonged to an unemployed twenty-year-old youngster named Daniel Corbin. He was on probation for a misdemeanor drug charge, and Maple Hills Park was his primary community service work site.
Frank unlocked the gate and pulled it open. He waved the restitution worker by and met him at the shop, where he had to unlock another gate. Daniel parked his truck outside the fence while Frank parked the county vehicle inside near a small white trailer which served as the Maple Hills Park office.
“Good morning,” Frank said, while shaking Daniel’s hand. “You working all day again?”
“Nah, not today. Did some extra work at the Goodwill last week, so I’m down to my last four hours.”
Frank congratulated the man while he unlocked the door to the office. After Daniel checked in on the restitution worker log sheet, they got in the county vehicle to do their morning rounds picking up aluminum cans and other trash, and emptying the barrels scattered throughout the park into a large dumpster.
“So, when you off probation?” Frank asked, while he and Daniel loaded a trash barrel onto the back of the truck.
“Two more months and I’m off paper.”
“Good for you,” Frank said, and hopped back into the truck. “So, whatcha gonna do when you get off?” He put the truck into gear
> and drove towards the boat ramp.
“Don’t know, man. Prolly leave this town behind.”
Frank parked the truck and glanced at a bicycle on the grass near the gravel road by the boat ramp. “Why? You don’t like it here?”
“Nah, man. Too much bad memories. Plus, they ain’t no jobs here.”
“I think the Dairy Queen is hiring. So is H-E-B,” Frank said, as he stepped out of the vehicle.
“I ain’t working at no fast food joint,” Daniel said, while picking up a beer can off the road. “And I already worked at that grocery store. Didn’t like it.”
Frank inspected the bicycle. “So, whatcha wanna do then?” He scanned the area for the bike’s owner. “Ever think about going back to school? Maybe one of those internet colleges?”
“Yeah, I thought about—What the hell?” Daniel pointed to a nearby barrel. “Is that… blood?”
Frank rolled the bicycle over to the truck and joined Daniel, stopping ten feet away from the metal barrel. He stared at what looked like blood on and around the trash bin by the boat ramp. The two men shared glances with each other and slowly stepped towards the trashcan. A small swarm of flies buzzed around it, and the closer Frank and Daniel got to it, the stronger the putrid scent.
Frank waved his hand around to ward off some of the flies and peered into the can. He immediately stepped backwards and held his stomach. “Aye, Dios mío!”
“What?” Daniel’s eyes were wide with panic. “What is it?”
“We’ve got to call…” Frank turned, vomited on the grass, and ran to his truck. He reached inside the cab and grabbed his CB radio, his eyes focused on the bloody trash barrel.
Daniel hesitated, alternating his attention between Frank and the barrel, but he took a few steps towards the barrel and looked inside. As soon as he peeked over the edge of the can, he tripped backwards and fell on his butt. “Frank,” he said, gazing at the man with the CB radio in his hand. “That’s… Holy shit, Fr—”
Daniel turned to his side and vomited onto the grass.
†
Emergency vehicles and law enforcement personnel surrounded the crime scene at Maple Hills Park. Local reporters had already set up outside the yellow police tape by the time Aaron arrived. Sergeant Henderson and the two deputies on Aaron’s team had done a thorough job of placing yellow tent-style numbered markers and orange crime scene flags for photo evidence. From the car, Aaron counted at least twenty flags sticking up from the ground all over the grass near the boat ramp.
He spotted Sheriff Donovan standing next to an ambulance alongside a short, Hispanic man with black hair, wearing a Lost Maples County uniform, and a tall Caucasian man with light brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a white tee-shirt. The Hispanic man appeared to be middle-aged; the tall guy much younger, maybe early twenties. Aaron glanced back at the crime scene and suppressed his own curiosity for the moment.
“Are these the gentleman that discovered the body?” he asked the Sheriff.
“This is Frank Ramirez,” Sheriff Donovan pointed to the Hispanic gentleman. “He’s the groundskeeper. And this young man here is Daniel Corbin, one of our restitution workers. They were making trash rounds when they found the victim.”
“Did either of you touch that bicycle over there?” Aaron said, pointing to a bike next to a Lost Maples County truck.
“I did,” Mr. Ramirez admitted. “But I was wearing work gloves.”
“Okay, and what time did you find the victim?”
“Around seven-fifteen, I guess. Not sure exactly.”
Aaron jotted the information on a note pad. “Who closed the park last night? You?”
Mr. Ramirez rubbed the back of his neck and answered that he had closed the park.
“And what time was that?” Aaron asked, noticing how Daniel Corbin’s eyes constantly bounced around between him, the Sheriff, and Henderson.
“We close the park at eight every night.”
Sergeant Henderson approached them with an evidence bag in his hand and a camera hanging from his neck.
“Yes, but what time did you lock up last night? I need you to be as specific as possible.”
“I started closing the gates a few minutes after eight.”
“And what time did you leave?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“And did you see anybody in the park? Anybody near the boat ramp?”
“No, sir. The park was empty.”
Henderson stood a few yards away while Aaron finished his questioning.
“And what about you, Mr. Corbin?” Aaron asked the young restitution worker. “Do you visit the park at night?”
“No, sir,” he answered and glanced at Sergeant Henderson. He rubbed the top of his hands. “I only come here to do my hours.”
“Know anybody else that comes out here at night? Maybe to fish?” Aaron made a mental note of Daniel’s fidgeting hands. “Anybody that might have seen anything?”
Daniel shook his head and glanced at Sergeant Henderson again. Or was it specifically at the evidence bag? His forehead was beading in sweat too.
“You nervous about something, Mr. Corbin?”
“Huh? Um, no.” Daniel looked towards the lake. “It’s just… um… I ain’t never seen no dead body before.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Aaron said, his voice demonstrating as much compassion as he could muster. He wasn’t sure what to make of this kid, but he also wasn’t ready to add him to the suspect pool yet. He turned back to the park employee. “When you left the park, did you see any cars stopped alongside the road? Anybody walking on the street nearby? Joggers? Anything?”
Mr. Ramirez shook his head. “No, sir. Just a few cars driving by, but nothing—” He lifted his index finger. “You know, I did see some kids—three, I think—riding bikes about a mile down the…” He shifted his attention to the bicycle and then back to Aaron.
“Mr. Ramirez?”
The man pointed at the bicycle. “I think I saw… Dios mío!” He swallowed and teared up.
“What did you see?”
“I think I saw the boy that was…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I think one of them was that boy in the barrel.”
“How ‘bout them other two boys?” the Sheriff asked. “Can you describe ‘em for us?”
“I don’t know. It was dark, but one of them was…” Mr. Ramirez held his arms out to his side in arcs. “… muy gordo.”
“So he was chunky. Anything else? Have any idea how old he was?”
“Fifteen? Sixteen? The others were twelve to fourteen, I guess.”
“Ever seen them at the park before?” Aaron asked. “Did you recognize them?”
Mr. Ramirez breathed a heavy sigh. “Just the one in the…” He pointed to the bloody trash barrel.
Aaron pursed his lips and gave him a slight nod. “I understand. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Mr. Ramirez’s chin quivered. “What type of monstruo would do that to a child? Why would anybody—?”
Aaron put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Mr. Ramirez, but we’re going to do everything we can to find out.” He handed him a business card. “If you can think of anything else, please give me a call.” He leaned towards the Sheriff and whispered into his ear. “I don’t like the way that Corbin kid has been looking at Henderson.”
He nodded. “Me, neither,” he whispered.
“Got any more questions for me?” Daniel asked, rubbing his neck. He glanced at Sergeant Henderson again. “Or can I go now?”
Aaron thought about that for a moment, but put off any more specific questions for later. However, he did request personal information from Daniel such as his address, date of birth, employment status, and the name of his probation officer. That kid was nervous about something, and he wanted to find out what it was. Chatting with his probation officer might shed some light on that subject.
Aaron and Sheriff Donovan weren’t the only two who noticed the nervous ticks and not-so-
subtle interest in the contents of the evidence bag. After the Sheriff had escorted their witnesses away from the crime scene, Sergeant Henderson handed Aaron the bag. Inside was a marijuana bud and part of a joint he’d found on the park bench by the boat ramp.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Aaron said, while holding up the evidence bag to eye level.
“We can get DNA off that joint.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I was thinking.” Aaron handed the bag back. “I think our shaky friend there may not be unemployed after all.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I think he’s dealing. And I think he may be the source of that joint.” Aaron walked with Sergeant Henderson towards the trash barrel. “It’s probably why he was so interested in what you had in that bag. That dope might be the key to us finding out who killed this kid last night.”
Henderson stopped just short of the barrel. “It’s bad, Aaron,” he warned. “I wanted to warn you before you looked in there.”
The images of Jason Dexter, Cullen Chandler, and Kyle Blaney were still fresh in Aaron’s mind. “I think I can handle it, Scott. But thanks, anyway.”
He was wrong. The condition of the boys at Memorial Heights Cemetery in Austin was horrific, and the chimera had only left one of them in an identifiable state, but this was much different. It was worse than anything Aaron had ever seen in his entire career as a homicide detective. The body had not only been dismembered and decapitated, but every part of him had been stuffed into the trash barrel. The chimera hadn’t done this. He was certain that demonic beast wasn’t his suspect this time. No, it was clearly the work of a human being… of the malevolent, psychopathic variety.
“What are you thinking?” Henderson asked. He stood a couple of feet away from the barrel.
Aaron bent over with his hands resting on his knees. He took a moment to compose himself before returning to the barrel for another examination. “Did you notice his eyes?”
“You mean, the absence of them?”
“Yes,” Aaron said. He rubbed his hand over his mouth and chin. “I’ve seen that before.”
Devil's Nightmare: Premonitions (Devil's Nightmare, Book 2) Page 20