by Roger Hayden
My parents both passed away deeply in debt, but they had managed to leave me something. I had later learned that Nick, my best friend in high school, had died in combat overseas. He was a Marine, which had surprised me, given his short wimpy physique back then. Upon being released from the burn center, I attempted to settle back into the world. I wanted nothing more than to find my place and pick up from where I left off. I first purchased this cabin on the outskirts in town. I was going to be a nature writer. I still used a cane, but at least I could walk some.
For the time being, I could do what I wanted with the six hundred thousand awarded to me. I truly did want to forget about the past and move on. Then it all came back to me, just like the doctor said it would. High school, Betsy, Cooper, my Ford Escort, the factory, and even the night of the explosion all returned to my consciousness. And with it came Betsy’s bedside confession. I collapsed onto the floor of my empty cabin room and stared at the ceiling with paralysis taking hold. I didn’t know if I was having a seizure, but I soon passed out. When I came to, I crawled to my bed in the corner and hoisted myself up.
I sat on the edge of the bed with only my thoughts and a tube of cream I carried to moisten the dryness in what was left of my lips. With the return of my memories came an overwhelming rage, screaming to get out. Soon I began to think of Betsy and her friends each day. Their betrayal consumed my mind. Even if her bedside confessional was some delirious dream, it still made complete and utter sense to me. I would embark on a journey of vengeance unlike anything anyone had ever seen. They would pay for what they did to me.
It would take many years of planning and research, but all I had left was time. I remembered the movie “Darkman.” Nick and I saw it in the theater. The plot involved a scientist played by Liam Neeson who nearly perishes in a lab explosion after being left for dead by the mob. He emerges, hideously deformed, and gets even with those who wronged him. I had always liked that story. And after my accident, I could relate. I opened a high school reunion chat room with the user name Darkman74 to find out all sorts of information on my former high school peers. My hope was that they’d face the wrath of a soul long forgotten. The past was not so easily forgotten.
Disenchantment
Sterling tossed the notebook aside and quickly typed “Darkman74” onto the laptop log-in screen. She pressed enter and was met with a spinning wheel icon. Stunned, she stepped back in disbelief that it had worked. An hour or so had passed since she had escaped, and she didn’t know how much time she had to stop anything. The equipment lying around the room showed evidence of bomb making. The wiring and explosive materials left behind were a stark indication of things to come. But she wanted to know more. She had to know exactly what he had planned if there was any chance of stopping it.
It seemed that Landon had meticulously planned each murder to coincide with the twenty-fifth high school reunion. Betsy, Gordon, Cooper, Liz, and Victoria had each been singled out. In some ways, they never had a chance. She could think of a dozen scenarios of what was to come and the likelihood of pulling it off. For the time being, all she could do was speculate.
The desktop screen took a few minutes to load. Sterling pulled her stool closer to the screen where there were dozens of folders spread out. There were some labeled under different months of the year and other with the names of Greek gods. She moved the cursor around with the keyboard touch pad and navigated the cursor toward the folders marked, Athena, Hades, Poseidon, Zeus, and Ares among others named after random Greek deities.
The time on the bottom right-hand corner of the laptop said that it was 4:36 a.m. It was also Friday—the day of the reunion. Landon had said that the answers would be on his laptop. There was no reason to believe him, but his messages had gotten her this far. He wanted her to read his story, she believed, to better understand him. It was clear in his writings that he considered himself a victim. But Sterling didn’t see it that way. He was a killer without remorse who justified his actions through a martyr complex. She believed that he took pleasure in destroying lives. His goal was to inflict suffering onto others. And he showed no signs of slowing down.
She opened a folder labeled Zeus. Hundreds of documents were inside named with different dates. She randomly opened January 10, 2010 and saw what appeared to be another journal entry.
I hiked around the forest today. It’s a beautiful place, and I can’t help but feel that we are a mistake. Human beings, I mean. I’m a mistake. Every action of every day is a mistake as long as we’re still here. Someone needs to end it all.
She moved on to the next folders. There was Poseidon, the god of the sea, Hades, the god of the underworld, and Ares, the god of war. She took a gamble and opened Ares first. If Landon connected with anyone, it was him.
She opened the folder and saw several picture icons labeled under different names: Cooper, Betsy, Victoria, and so on. It was clear to her what was probably contained on those images. She opened the Cooper picture and was met with an image of his stabbed body lying on the dirt. Closing the picture immediately, she scanned a list of Word files, stopping at one labeled, “Sterling.” Startled, she paused and turned her head to look around the room, wondering if the entire thing had been a setup.
Curious, she opened the file and waited for it to open. The message, it seemed, was addressed directly to her. The amount of steps Landon had taken to ensure that she’d find the message baffled her. There was a chance that she would have never escaped the room or gone back inside after leaving. Yet, there she was, prepared to read the latest message of many he had left her in some sick, twisted game. He seemed to acknowledge as much in the message’s opening lines.
Detective Sterling,
If you’re reading this message, it means that you not only figured out the password to my laptop, but you’ve found the right folder as well. I must commend you. Then again, I may just be talking to myself here. I supposed you want to know what I have planned for tonight’s festivities. I’m prepared to tell you everything. Just read on and you’ll find the answers laid out clearly.
I am a man of my word, and when I say that I’m going to kill as many people as possible during Summerville’s twenty-five-year high school reunion, I mean it. Part of me had died in that fire. That’s what I believe. Now I have been reborn.
Cooper Erickson wanted my father to sell our factory to his father, and when that didn’t happen, he planned to destroy it. I know this to be the truth now. It’s insane to me that after twenty-five years, he got away with it. The past is not the past. All is not forgiven.
I’ve spent many years studying bomb-making in addition to crafting my revenge. Cooper’s sabotage of my factory was sloppy work. My send-off won’t be near as hasty. I’ve read much about the insurgent tactics in the Middle East. Roadside bombs or IEDs are their primary method of attack. They are hard to detect and can be ignited remotely by the simple press of a button on a cell phone. I’ve borrowed heavily from their tactics as you will see.
I’ve planted four thirty-gallon drums under the fair grounds of Hyde Park. The plastic drums are packed with enough explosives to blow up a building. They’re mixed with fertilizer, gunpowder, hydrogen peroxide, and ammonium nitrate to ensure maximum casualties. I’ve also included enough nails and ball bearings to maim or injure anyone within one hundred feet of the bombs. The drums will be detonated remotely via cell phone at approximately 6:00 or 7:00 p.m., whenever the crowd size is at its largest.
To remain inconspicuous, I will be stand in the center of the crowd and die with them as an act of defiance. I will not be captured and paraded through your courtrooms as a spectacle. Most pleasing of all, no one will never know who was responsible. Detective Dobson will have his suspicions, of course. But he won’t be able to prove anything.
I can see that your mind is racing with ideas of how to stop me. I do admire your tenacity. I have devised and planned this retribution for many years, creating fake social media accounts in addition to my high school reunion chat roo
m. One of my profiles, Jenny, helped plan the reunion. She also had a big part in canceling it.
The event has been moved to Hyde Park where a candlelight vigil will be taking place. It is there where I’ve buried the four thirty-gallon drums of explosives. Nothing can stop this, Detective Sterling, not even you. You see, I’ve set up explosives throughout my cabin. You activated them the moment you logged onto my laptop. Remember the old Mission Impossible show? The last line in those secret messages was always, “This message will self-destruct.” That’s true here as well. Thanks for reading. - Landon.
Sterling backed away from the laptop in panic. Her legs froze as she looked around the room for any signs of explosives. She braved forward and examined the back of the laptop where several cables were connected. Kneeling, she followed the cables down and saw the shape of a large plastic drum under the table with several other wires running throughout the room. She soon realized that there were other drums in the room, either under tables or hidden in the corner. She stood up and backed away slowly toward the door with no idea how soon they would explode, if at all. The laptop screen then flickered and went black. Sterling turned around and left the room in a hurry with no time to second guess anything.
She ran down the hall, desperate to escape, and rushed inside the kitchen. Her hip smacked against the edge of the countertop and caused her to stumble forward in pain. The cabin could be annihilated in a matter of seconds and her with it. All she could do was try to get out.
She pressed on with a frantic dash toward the front door. Her heart pounded as she swung open the door and stormed outside with a scream, just as a deafening blast ripped through the cabin and launched her outside the door. The explosion tore through the cabin, decimating it into an instantaneous, fiery ball.
The impact threw Sterling into the air, heat against her back, as pieces of wood blazed past her. She collided against the jagged ground, tumbling down a hill into the forest. A split second later, she lay in a bush on her stomach, unable to move or hear anything beyond a high-pitched ring. The fire crackled in the distance with thick black smoke billowing from where the cabin used to be.
Sterling didn’t know if she had survived. The blast had pummeled her with one blinding flash. Each gasp of air indicated that she could breathe. Fumes spread down the hill and into the forest. A bright orange blaze flickered from above. Debris fell all around her. She shifted onto her side just as a burning metal pipe landed inches from her head.
She gaged at the smell of her own burnt air while feeling the tattered remains of her jean jacket. Nothing felt real. Her surroundings were ominous and unknown. All Sterling knew was that she had to move.
Sterling stretched one arm in front of the other and began to drag herself across the ground as scattered bits of wood and glass lay all around her. With gritted teeth, she pulled herself toward the forest and away from the blazing heat.
Smoke clouded her vision and filled her lungs. Adrenaline propelled her forward, despite the taste of fresh blood in her mouth and the stinging burns on her back and legs. She rolled next to the base of a tree and lay on her side. Her ribs hurt with every breath. Her jeans were torn and burnt. She bled from a cut on her forehead as tears trickled down dirty cheeks. She escaped the raging fire and closed her eyes with her steady breathing.
She pressed against the ground and slowly pushed herself up, shouting in pain. Through the trees she could see the bright glow of a raging fire. Thick black smoke spewed into the sky. On her feet, Sterling trembled as she balanced against the tree. She tried to step forward, but her leg nearly gave out. She caught herself and stood still for a moment. Head pounding, she tried to recall what had just happened.
“Dobson…” she called out in a faint, scratchy voice.
She stepped forward again with one hand carefully against the tree. She let go and continued walking, using other trees for support along the way. The smoky haze clouded her vision and made it hard to breath. She coughed into her balled fist and moved through the woods, squinting. She reached the hill she had been thrown down and trudged over debris. She reached the top, short of breath, and saw a path leading away from the fire.
She marched one while holding her forehead. Dizziness increased with each step followed by sharp and sudden chest pains. She swatted at the charred ends of her hair, which had been burnt half a length shorter. Her eyes followed the dirt path as it winded around with darkened forest on both sides.
The air began to clear, along with her vision. But it was still dark. She pushed herself to move faster and then tripped over a rock. Startled, she hit the ground and lay silent for a moment to catch her breath. She groaned as a helicopter a sounded in the distance. The aerial whooping in the air grew closer. She rolled onto her back and stared up as a large spot light shined across the starry sky. A helicopter soon hovered overhead, offering a glimpse of hope in Sterling’s disoriented state. She opened her mouth to scream out to it but could barely speak. She knew that she had survived something terrible, but couldn’t place exactly what it was.
Hyde Park
Friday 6:00 p.m.
Detective Dobson stood among a team of police officers and detectives near the Hyde Park fair grounds where the candlelight vigil was scheduled. The local news was also on location, prepared to cover the event, which had been billed as an important step toward “community healing.”
Leesburg mayor, Norman Brown III, was scheduled to speak, along with others, to the estimated crowd of one thousand. Memorial services for the victims were to follow throughout the weekend. The manhunt was still underway, and residents were urged to report all suspicious activity to the authorities. A ten o’clock curfew had been implemented for later that evening. After the abrupt cancellation of the high school reunion, Dobson decided to change strategies.
His sting operation would change from the hotel to Hyde Park, where he anticipated Landon’s presence. Though he wasn’t sure what the killer would do. All Dobson knew was that he had to find and stop him. He had passed on Landon’s information through the channels to Captain Nelson, the Chief of Police, and the FBI. They all knew about him now, though there was no definitive proof of Landon’s involvement in any of the murders and no recent information on him. The only one certain was Dobson.
Detective Harris leaned against the hood of his squad car with Detective Jones standing nearby. They watched as police set up security barriers around the fair grounds. Many of the attendees had arrived and were making their way to the field. Dobson kept a close eye on the crows as they moved between the roped paths directing them. He and the other detectives had positioned themselves near a closed information booth away from the festivities. If Landon had arrived, they hoped to keep their presence unknown.
No official directive from higher up had been issued. Dobson had learned just that morning that the FBI were in the process of taking charge of the case. Sterling’s disappearance had expedited their involvement, and with every passed hour, Dobson felt further from finding her. Rachel and Penny had been relocated to Radisson Hotel under twenty-four-hour watch. Dobson had done much convincing to ensure their safety. It was the best deal he could work out. The captain had initially argued against the idea and said that if Dobson was sure that the killer was coming after his wife and daughter, why not set up the sting at his home? But Dobson refused. He wasn’t going to use of family or house in that manner. At the least, he then suggested, they put an unmarked car on his street to watch the house. Nelson surprisingly agreed.
As of that evening, the local news had not been told anything about Landon Kearney. Officially, they were pursuing a “suspect,” without any further details provided. There was picture to accompany the manhunt. No know photograph of Landon existed after the summer of 1991. There was no record of employment, no income history, or past residencies in the national database. No one could believe it. He was a close to a ghost as anything they’re ever dealt with. The candlelight vigil could be a significant break in the case or an utter f
ailure. There were differing opinions among the force of both sides. Detective Jones was among those who didn’t like the idea, which she was quick to make clear.
She paced around near the squad car, head down and hands on her hips. Leaning on the hood, Harris took notice and asked her what was wrong. Jones stopped and glanced up at him, crossing her arms with her blue blazer top on.
“I want to know what we’re really doing here. It’s foolish.”
Dobson was too distracted watching people shuffle onto the field to pay her objections much mind.
“It’s probably our best bet of catching this guy,” Harris told her as he tore open a small bag of peanuts.
Jones held her hands out, confounded. “That poor girl has been missing for over twenty-fours. We should be out there banging down doors and looking for her.”
Harris stretched his head back toward the sky and tossed a peanut from his snack-sized bag into his mouth. “Can’t do that. Captain wants to keep this thing quiet.”
Jones spun around livid. “Oh, forget him! Why are we downplaying this thing? Why isn’t this Landon Kearney scumbag all over TV right now? He’s killed four people that we know of. Maybe more!”
Harris fumbled for an answer as Dobson placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to catch him, Gabby. We’ve just got to be patient. Believe me, it’s driving me crazy. But this is what we have to do.”
She stared at him unconvinced and then pointed to the field where several people were gathering near a stage. “What do you expect him to do? Just walk up to us and announce that he’s here?”
Dobson shook his head. “Not at all. If there’s one place he wants to be, it’s here.”
Jones stepped away and turned around, dismissively. “What about all these people? Shouldn’t they know too?”