by John Coyne
“The little girl was brutalized. Her face was smashed up. Whoever did it knocked a hole in her skull. You know how you can take a hammer to a Halloween jack-o’-lantern and smash in the hollow pumpkin with one blow. Well, that’s what happened to this kid. Her brains were all over the fuckin’ forest.” In his agitation, Santucci had moved away from Tom and had begun to thrash nervously through the deep cushion of leaves.
“There were no marks on the other children,” Dine responded, defending himself. “I’m just saying there might be a connection between the orgasms and the deaths.”
Santucci came back to him. “Look, Tom, what you see here is a progression. You’re seeing a series of murders that are becoming more violent as the killer goes progressively madder. We’re dealing with a psychopathic mind. I know what I’m talking about. I studied all this at George Mason University. We got ourselves a real psychopath loose in Loudoun County. Now get out of here with orgasmic stuff.” He started to laugh, amused by the information.
Tom Dine flipped closed the pad, angry at how Santucci had reacted to his information. “You don’t have shit, Santucci,” he answered, defying the detective, and then he turned away, and walked up the slight rise and out of the small circle in the woods.
It was a ploy. He wanted to force Santucci into telling him something, but the detective didn’t call him back, and Tom went under the police rope and through the crowd of villagers who still stood at the edge of the wood. He was right: Santucci didn’t have anything on Delp or know why the children were being killed, and that gave him a sudden fear for Sara’s safety. It meant that none of them knew who was attacking the women and children in Renaissance Village.
TEN
Benjamin Fleming looked out his window, and saw Cindy Delp playing on Dante Drive. She had a homemade slingshot and was picking up loose gravel and shooting stones across the empty yard, towards the new houses under construction.
It was an effort that required some skill, but Cindy was clumsy and uncoordinated, and her stones scattered harmlessly into the field.
Benjamin had his eye on the slingshot. He had never seen one so magnificent, and even from the second-floor window, he saw it had been carefully carved from the wood of a tree branch, that the arms had been varnished, and then rope twisted around the handle to make a firm grip. His mouth watered. The slingshot was useless to Cindy Delp, he knew, and he abruptly spun away from the window, ran out of his bedroom and down the stairs.
“Benjy?” His mother heard him on the front stairs. “What are you doing, darling?” she called from the kitchen.
“Nothing.” He came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the staircase.
“You’re not to go outside,” she reminded him.
“Oh, come on, Mom!” he shouted.
“That’s final, Benjamin. No arguments. If you’re bored, come into the kitchen and help me make dinner. Neil’s coming over and, oh, he told me to tell you that he’s got a small telescope from the Observatory. If it stays clear, you two can go up on the ridge tonight and look at the stars.”
“I don’t want to look for stars,” Benjy cried.
“Don’t whine, darling,” Marcia said nicely. “It’s unattractive.”
Benjy jumped off the landing and hit the hardwood floor of the foyer with both feet.
“Please, Benjy, you’re wrecking the house. Come out to the kitchen. I miss you, honey.” She spoke sweetly, coaxing him.
Benjamin went instead to the bay windows of the living room and searched for Cindy. She had moved further up Dante Drive, and was still looking for stones at the edge of the street. He should help her, he thought, show her at least how to shoot the slingshot. He wouldn’t need to leave the street, he reasoned, and if his mother wanted him, she could easily see him from the front windows.
“Benjy?”
“Mom, for cryinoutloud! I’m just here in the living room.”
“What are you doing?”
“Reading,” he answered, glancing at a book left on the window seat.
“Okay. Fine. Just checking.” Her voice was soft and amused.
He picked up the book, flipped rapidly through the pages, and leaving it open on the window seat, tiptoed to the colonial coat rack in the hall, took down his jacket, and quietly slipped out the front door.
He zipped up his jacket as he ran, yelling out loud with excitement, the sting of the cold September afternoon on his cheeks. At the top of the street, Cindy Delp turned and cocked her head. Her black eyes watched the small boy run up the slope towards her.
It was too quiet in the living room, Marcia realized. Benjy wasn’t a boy who read in silence, and she wiped her hands clean and went to check. She saw the book abandoned on the window seat and called his name.
“Benjy, are you in the bathroom?” She shouted from the bottom of the stairs and listened for any noise of him scurrying around upstairs. Where was he? she thought, angry with him for making her nervous.
She turned around then, to head for the basement, and saw that his bright red jacket was missing from the hall.
“Oh, Benjy,” she whispered, “how could you?” Her fear brought tears to her brown eyes, making them shine like copper.
She ran out into the cold afternoon. Within seconds she was shivering, but she kept searching, up and down the street. She shouted his name and it flew back into her face. Then she ran into the house and called Neil and Sara to tell them Benjamin was missing.
Cindy ran away from him. When Benjamin reached the top of the hill, she crossed the street and stood in the vacant front lawn of another new house.
“Do you want to play?” he shouted at the girl, then watched as she picked up another stone and aimed it right at him. But when she pulled the thick rubber sling, the stone popped out and flew harmlessly a few feet in the air. “You’re not doing it right,” he shouted at her.
She did not respond, nor pick up another pebble off the ground. The slingshot hung loose in her hand, as if she had momentarily forgotten its purpose. He kept his eyes on it. She didn’t want it, he thought. She would throw it away soon, and he could pick it up, keep it for himself.
He stepped off the curb and moved across the street, kicking a stone forward as he walked. It was windy at the top of the hill. The wind blew his long dark hair into his face, and he tossed back his head so he could see.
When he reached the middle of the street, she tensed up and drew back. Her head was cocked and her blank eyes stared vaguely at him, unfocused, but keeping him in sight. She wore only a light summer jacket and a short cotton dress. Her bony knees were red from the cold and her long, blond hair flew in a tangled web around her thin face.
When Benjamin reached the other side of the street, she backed away once more, moving farther into the front yard of the new construction.
“Do you want me to show you how to shoot that?” he asked nicely, but still she did not respond.
“Hey,” he shouted next, “can you hear me?” Still she did not answer. She stood with her head to one side, her mouth open, and her eyes unblinking.
Benjamin shoved his hands into his jeans and moved along the street, not gaining on her, but changing his position. She moved with him, turning not only her head but her whole body as she tracked him with her large eyes.
“Hey, what’s the matter,” he asked, “can’t you talk?” He had never talked to someone who wouldn’t answer him.
She bent over, picked up a tiny piece of limestone, and aimed it at Benjamin. But again, the stone flew up harmlessly into the air.
“Hey! What’s the matter with you?” He picked up several small pebbles from the edge of the sidewalk and threw them at Cindy, aiming low and trying not to hit her, but one bounced off the hard ground and caught her leg. Cindy screeched and backed off.
He grabbed another stone and squeezed it in his fist, held it ready, waited for her to shoot at him again, but she didn’t react. Instead she turned and moved towards the open farm field.
“Hey!” Benj
amin shouted, unsure of what he should do.
When she reached the field, separated from the Village by a barbed wire fence, she paused, looked back at Benjamin, then waved, as if inviting him to follow her.
“He may have just gone out to play,” Neil tried to reason with Marcia, “and he knew if he said anything, you wouldn’t let him go.” He glanced at Sara and Tom Dine, soliciting their agreement. “Let’s not panic,” he added, and motioned with his hands for all of them to be calm.
“I can’t just stand here,” Marcia announced. “I have to go look for him.” She zipped up her parka and checked the pockets for her gloves.
“We’re all going, Marcia, but let’s do it with some order,” Neil said quickly, and again looked to Tom and Sara. He was as tall as Tom Dine, but thin, and he seemed weak in comparison. “Tom, you have a car, right? Why don’t you go with Sara in one car, and Marcia and I will take mine.” He spoke with his hands, and they flashed in the air like signals.
“No,” Marcia protested. “We’re not going to find Benjy by driving around. He’s not on the streets, I’m sure. He’s gone off somewhere, with someone, into the fields, or down by the river, or to the woods.” She glanced nervously at the others. No one had yet said anything about Benjamin being in danger.
“I agree,” Sara nodded. “It would be more effective if we split up. Neil, you take the car and tour the streets, and the rest of us will go into the fields.” She, too, was already moving toward the door, ready to leave.
“Marcia,” Tom asked, “is there any particular place where Benjy might go? Somewhere around the Village where he likes to play?” He did not raise his voice, and his calm direct question momentarily eased the tension in the foyer. They waited and watched Marcia as she tried to think.
“We’ve been here such a short time. I mean, he doesn’t know many places, usually he plays in the yard, or the small park …”
“Would you check the park, Sara?” Tom asked, and Sara agreed. She felt immediately better, seeing that Tom had begun to organize the search.
“… And he has been fascinated by the barns …”
“I’ll go to the barns,” Tom answered. “Let’s plan on meeting back here in half an hour if we haven’t found him.”
Cindy let Benjamin keep her in sight. She slipped through the fence, and kept moving downhill towards the barns, but Benjy was able to stay with her. They were out of the Village, yet still in sight of the houses. He could see, over the tops of the corn stalks, the brown shingled roofs of the Village, and he wasn’t afraid.
Once in the field, however, Cindy began to run, cutting diagonally into the corn, jumping from row to row and increasing her speed. He had to run to keep her in sight, and even then, she was only a bright flash of color among the stalks of high corn.
Then all at once he lost her. He had kept running as fast as he could, racing between the tall, thickly-planted rows, out of breath and panting, his small feet stumbling on the plowed ground, and he suddenly realized he couldn’t hear her thrashing up ahead of him.
He stopped and listened, but no sound came back to him on the cold wind.
“Cindy!” he shouted and his voice rang clear in the empty afternoon. He shouted again and again, and then, exhausted, he fell sobbing to the dirt, a tiny figure lost in the forest of corn.
Tom Dine walked from Marcia Fleming’s house down to the barns below Michelangelo Court. The cul-de-sac circled the giant sycamore, and the Delps’ white house seemed out of place and awkwardly big among the smaller and newer contemporary homes.
The barn was a hundred feet to the right of the farm house and up a slope. Renovation had already begun, but it still was an old-fashioned red barn, with its steep gables and wide doors. Tom followed the tractor tracks up to the wide double doors, and went inside.
He searched the cattle stanchions and the horse stalls, then went upstairs to the loft, calling out Benjy’s name as he moved through the dark, silent building. The loft was empty except for a half-dozen bales of hay left in one corner. It was best to make certain, Tom thought, and climbed up to look behind the stack.
Cindy was there, hidden between the bales, curled up into a tight ball with her legs drawn up, her face tucked against her body.
“Cindy?” he whispered and crouched down closer to the child.
He did not touch her. Her unapproachability made him wary, yet when she didn’t respond to his voice, he gently moved his hand across her arm.
She curled tighter, like an animal, shrinking from his touch. He leaned closer to catch a glimpse of her face and now he could smell her unwashed body. It startled him, and he edged away.
“Cindy, let me take you home,” he said and took her arm, trying to pull her loose.
She hit him hard across his face. Her small fist caught him flush on his chin and knocked his head back, hurting him.
“God damn it!” He reached for her with both hands, but she slipped loose, flaring her arms and scrambling away.
Tom caught hold of her right ankle, and she kicked wildly at him with her free foot, and screeched out loud. Her violent sounds were frightening, and for a moment he hesitated, slightly afraid that if he let go, she’d attack him. Then he tightened his grip on her ankle and moved forward.
She kept scurrying away, using her hands to grab hold of the bale wire and pull herself forward. He reached for her left leg and Cindy kicked out at him, missing his face and hitting him on the shoulder. It momentarily knocked him off balance, and he lost his hold on her ankle. She got up and climbed rapidly, out of the bales and over the top. He pulled himself up and, jumping over two bales, cut her off, trapping the child in the dark corner.
“Okay,” he whispered, breathing deeply to get his wind back. “You’re coming with me.” He moved slowly forward, realizing now that she was dangerous. This was not just a helpless, retarded child.
He moved again and then abruptly halted. Her dark eyes had found their focus and across the wide pupils quick, sudden bolts of violent light flashed and blazed in her retinas.
“Cindy!” Her eyes flamed up with color, beautiful blues and greens and yellows, all blinding him with their brilliance. “Don’t!”
He turned his head to one side and raised his arm, shielding himself, and she pushed forward, ran by him, and out of the corner of the loft.
Tom shouted for her to stop, but she had already reached the stairs and was disappearing. He went after her then, out of the empty building, out into the old pigpen, then over the fence behind the stables and into the cornfield, the last remains of the working farm land.
He kept gaining on her as she thrashed through the field, hurdling the rows of stiff yellow corn stalks, moving uphill and deeper into the five-acre patch of corn.
It was deep twilight and his field of vision had been reduced to only a few yards. She was almost lost to him, he realized. Already his side hurt and he was gasping for breath. He couldn’t keep up with her. He stumbled forward, nearly falling, and when he glanced up, she was gone.
“Oh, shit!” He stopped at once and listened. Ahead of him, and to his right, he heard someone racing through the corn. He started running again, following the sound, and ran for another twenty yards, then paused. Once more he heard the frantic thrashing through the thick corn, but now from below him in the wide field.
“God damn it!” he swore and kept running, racing downhill, then cutting through the corn, pushing his way from one row to the next.
It was night in the field, the dark had rolled across the hillside, filling the rows of corn. The last light of the day was high in the sky, a pale, soft light sprinkled already with stars.
The wind had picked up, and it whipped through the corn stalks, ripping the stiff husks. The field sounded like an angry orchestra, swirling around him.
He had lost her, he realized, and he was exhausted, tired from his run, out of breath, and in pain. He turned around, started once more to walk uphill toward the top of the field. They would have to get more help,
he decided, call Santucci and involve the police in the search. Then he looked up, checking to see where he was in the field, and caught a glimpse of Cindy crouched in the corn a dozen feet away.
“Cindy!” He jumped towards her, beating back the stiff stalks. She had Benjy with her, holding the small boy in her grip. Tom lunged forward, arms outstretched, reaching through the stiff rows, and she dropped Benjy and jumped away, slipped aside from his grasp. He fell forward into the corn, tripping on his own feet, and tumbled over.
The boy was crying, and Tom quickly picked him up, hugged the child to his chest, spoke softly, whispered that everything was all right, that he was safe, but realized as he spoke that Benjy was not safe, that none of them were safe in the Village.
ELEVEN
Sara Marks woke after midnight with her hands inside her nightshirt, fondling her breasts. She rolled on her back and felt the rush of blood to her vagina. In the dark bedroom she moaned with pain, then gasped, as the orgasm tore through her. Her pelvis shook with each wave, and she grabbed hold of her pillow, clutching it tightly, and submitting herself to the driving thrust.
It was over in seconds, and Sara panted as she struggled to the side of the bed, her white cotton nightshirt damp with perspiration. For several minutes she just sat and let herself recover her breath. The sudden, unexpected, and violent orgasms no longer shocked her; only in the aftermath of its violence was she again frightened.
She stood and walked unsurely to the bathroom, stripping off her nightshirt. She had to shower. Her body was soaked with perspiration.
In the dark, Sara pulled a towel off the rack and wiped the sweat from her neck and body. Then, she flipped on the lights, and as the intense fluorescent bulbs blinked on, she looked in the mirror and saw the bubble of blood in her nostril.
Tentatively she touched the bubble with her finger and broke it. The blood beaded at the corner of her lip, then ran down her chin. She was trembling, confused as always by the blood. She opened the medicine cabinet door, took out mouthwash, and rinsed her mouth, then, stepping into the shower, she spent ten minutes letting cold water pound her body.